In the summer of 2012, my fifteen-year-old daughter, Sophie, urged me to take her on a trip to Montauk Point. Having grown up on the opposite side of Long Island, neither of us had ever ventured to “The End.” While we had nearly made it during Girl Scout camping trips, we had yet to explore the easternmost region, complete with its charming lighthouse and museum. It felt like an experience we simply couldn’t miss.
We transformed our day into an adventure, stopping for a delightful breakfast, braving heavy rain, and finally arriving at our destination just as the skies cleared. The lighthouse climb, museum visit, beach strolls, and casual exploration quickly made Montauk a cherished spot for us. We promised ourselves we would return for the holiday lighting event that takes place the weekend after Thanksgiving.
That Thanksgiving was significant, as my eldest daughter, Mia, was coming home from college with her girlfriend, who would soon become her fiancée. It was Tara’s first time celebrating the holiday with our family of six.
I had meticulously planned the weekend. The older girls would engage with my three-year-old, Lily, while I prepared the Thanksgiving feast. They would also bond through games with Sophie and my twelve-year-old son, Jack. We looked forward to a festive dinner with my in-laws, a movie night, and a special trip to Montauk the following day, with all the girls. Saturday would be dedicated to decorating the Christmas tree, reminiscing about the ornaments while enjoying holiday tunes and hot cocoa.
While most of our plans unfolded smoothly, our Montauk trip didn’t quite match my expectations. The journey took about two and a half hours, and traveling later in the day meant our visit would be brief. Frequent restroom and snack breaks added stress as we raced against time to witness the lighting. When we finally arrived, the weather was not forgiving; it was bone-chillingly cold and windy. We found a decent spot to view the lighting and catch a glimpse of Santa, but we soon decided to cut our time short. I struggled to navigate back to the car in the dark while Lily fussed about being cold and scared.
The ride home was eventful. My little one had a cold, which exacerbated her sensory sensitivities and rigid behaviors. At that time, I was the only one allowed to wipe her nose. From the backseat came the familiar refrain, “You g’ wipe my nose?” I explained that I needed to keep my hands on the wheel, but my explanations fell on deaf ears. “You g’ wipe my nose. We g’ walk fast home. Then I be happy.” This mantra continued endlessly, interspersed with laughter from the older girls. After about an hour, she finally relented and allowed one of them to help her. From then on, it became a game as she tossed her used tissues forward, often hitting me in the back of the head. It was not the relaxing drive I had imagined.
After the weekend, I spoke with Mia on the phone to hear about her experience. I was eager to know what Tara thought was the highlight of our time together. To my astonishment, she declared that her favorite moment was our Montauk visit.
“Really?” I asked, incredulous. “The long drive, the brief stay, the freezing temperatures, and Lily’s antics?”
“It was magical,” Mia responded. She described the joy of singing our favorite Christmas songs during the drive, the stunning view of the full moon reflecting on the water, and the perfect timing of our arrival at the lighthouse lighting. Apparently, Lily’s antics added a humorous touch to the whole experience.
As mothers, we often feel the pressure to create holiday magic for our families. However, our Montauk adventure taught me that the true magic lies in the moments we share and the joy that unfolds naturally in the hearts of our children (and their guests). All we need to do is invest our time and stay open to the experience.
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In summary, our Montauk adventure was a reminder that the best memories are often found in the unexpected moments.
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