Itinerary, Revised (2026)

25/06/2026

Here’s some of the good! More to come on the bad and ugly (the ugly is hard to find!) I’m weeding through all of the photos, videos, and notes but will be posting on packing, lessons learned, do’s and don’t’s and, of course, ALL the drama! This adventure was the best yet. We’re off to NYC for FIFA but I’m hoping to share more in the next few days.

UnCruise Adventures Leisure Travel Enterprises Alaska's Capital Inn

25/06/2026

UnCruise Adventures

25/06/2026

The most incredible family advententure!

UnCruise Adventures

08/06/2026

In a few days, we head North for what may be our most ambitious family trip yet.

By “ambitious,” I mean changing climates, boarding a small expedition ship, and voluntarily removing Wi-Fi from the equation.

Flying into Alaska the day before embarkation felt bold in the way bad decisions often do. One delayed flight, one missing bag, one weather system, and suddenly the whole thing becomes a travel insurance commercial.

So we’re going early.
Not because we’re relaxed.
Because we are not.

Fortunately, our buffer days include a historic inn, a gold mine, and a helicopter ride to a glacier dog camp. There are worse ways to protect yourself from airline logistics.

We start in Juneau, where the landscape is designed to make everyone feel underdressed. Mountains. Rainforest. Ocean. Weather with a personality.

We’re staying downtown at Alaska’s Capital Inn @, a historic Victorian inn that feels more connected to Juneau’s past than a hotel lobby with lemon water and one exhausted ficus.

Then we go underground.

Archer picked the gold mine tour, which tracks. He heard “gold” and immediately aligned himself with the mining industry. He literally just discovered that it’s underground and is now regretting his request.

Vivi’s pick was to see sled dogs. The next day, we fly in a helicopter over the Juneau Icefield, land on a glacier, and visit a dog camp where sled dogs train. If the conclusion of this excursion wasn’t cuddling the puppies, there’s no way these kids would board that helicopter.

Then we board the UnCruise Adventures ship.

This is where the planning becomes a suggestion and Mother Nature takes the wheel.

No waterslides. No pre-booked excursions. No restaurant strategy. No reliable Wi-Fi.

Just a small ship, cold water, big scenery, and two children who will either be transformed by wilderness, or launch an incessant “I’m bored” campaign before we even clear the dock.

From there, the itinerary is gloriously Alaska-shaped: glaciers, fjords, waterfalls, blue ice, Frederick Sound whale watching, brown bear territory near Chichagof Island, and two full days inside Glacier Bay National Park.

Not a quick pass-through.
Actual time.

Time to hike. Time to paddle. Time to stare at the water like it owes us a whale. Time to remember that not everything worth seeing comes with a replay button.

Weather, tides, wildlife, and conditions decide the plan.

Then we return to Juneau, trade glaciers for airports, wilderness for flight notifications, and peace for work.

Hopefully, we come home with good stories, feral children, and at least one photo where everyone looks cold but enriched.

Alaska, revised.

14/05/2026

I've had the UnCruise Alaska packing list on my screen for two months. I have opened it. Closed it. Opened it again. As of three days ago, I had not bought a single thing on that list.

We live in an area where “it’s cold and rainy outside” translates to “stay inside and pray for this front to move out quickly.” We don’t own thermal base layers, rain pants, rubber boots, or even winter hats. We definitely don’t own waterproof paddling gloves! I didn’t even know they existed until I read through that list the first time.

I counted what we already owned from the list. Collectively, we have exactly one pair of wellies, one lightweight puffer jacket, three rain coats, and one pair of binoculars. This isn't how I usually work. I’m the planner. Backup plans for backup plans. But every time I sat down to actually buy gear, I'd get 10 minutes in, stare at seven tabs of rain pants in three sizes across two retailers, close everything, and walk away.

Three weeks to go. Three people to outfit (my husband is on his own). I don’t have time to research everything, search for the most reasonable options and eventually click the “Check Out” button. So, I handed it over to Claude.

I provided the trip, the kids' ages, our sizes, my preferred retailers, and my budget — $300 per person, I said, confidently and very incorrectly.

10 minutes later:
* The official UnCruise list, cross-referenced with five traveler blogs on what people wished they'd packed in June
* Confirmation that the helicopter-and-dogsled operator provides over-boots but not parkas
* Confirmation that adult rubber boots are loaned onboard, but not in kids' sizes
* A sized, quantified shopping list for three people, grouped by retailer, every line clickable

All I had to do was add to cart and check out. Link to the general list is in the comments.

I asked for three tiers, because budgeting isn't my super power:
Required. Rain pants with taped seams (I don’t even know what that means). An insulated jacket each (LL Bean PrimaLoft Packaway Hooded — apparently worth every penny). Merino base layers. Wool socks. Kids' rubber boots. Paddling gloves.
Skip-and-regret-it. A second base layer set per person, so one dries while the other gets worn. A sleep mask (the sun sets at 11pm in June). A backup pair of warm gloves for the kids, because children get wet and this is non-negotiable.
Truly nice-to-have. Buffs (no clue). The fourth pair of socks. Anything else the Internet tries to sell you with the word "tactical" in the description.

Estimated family total: $1,697, about $800 over the budget I gave Claude. Probably $1,000 under what I'd have spent panic-buying the wrong things at the wrong stores.

Most of it is going to live in a closet after we get back. We may hike and kayak, but NEVER in the cold. We don't ski. None of this gear has a job where we live.

When we're back, I'll tell you what I actually used, what I wish I'd brought, and what stayed folded in the suitcase. We'll find out whether the second base layer set was the hero, whether I just spent $90 on unnecessary redundancy, and whether $1,697 on one-trip gear was the smartest or the dumbest investment.

Until then,
You plan it, they remember it.

10/05/2026

We are Royal Caribbean Suite Class people. Suite Sun Deck. Specialty Dining. Concierge. Waterslides, towel animals, Kids Club. We side-eye each other from across the pool deck like we’re on separate vacations. It’s blissful.

It’s a formula that works and we’ve run it for years.

So when “Alaska” moved from list to reality, my plan was simple. RCCL. Glacier itinerary. Done.

Then I started reading. Turns out the mega-ships can’t actually get close to the glaciers. They run the same five or six ports as every other 4,000-passenger ship that day. You see Alaska through a balcony window from a mile and a half offshore. The whole point of adding Alaska to the bucket list was, you know, the wilderness.

Enter UnCruise Adventures.

Everything about it is the opposite of what we do. The ship holds 76 people. No kids’ club. No waterslides. No wifi. There’s a DVD library, which my kids believe is a relic from a forgotten civilization.

What it does have? Two full days in Glacier Bay. Kayaks off the back of the ship. Brown bears off the bow at Chichagof Island. Whale watching in Frederick Sound, where the boat stops because nature sets the schedule, not the cruise director.

Every excursion is included. Excursions are also not optional. You will be in a kayak. You will be on a hike. You will be cold and wet at some point.
You’re also not saving any money. We’re at $6,800 per person.

And the ship is only half the story. Before we board, we’ve got two days in Juneau. Day one: a goldmine tour (my son insisted). Day two: the one that nearly broke us — a helicopter ride to a glacier dog sled camp. You land on the ice. You pet the puppies. You learn to mush. I’m the only one who was excited about the helicopter. The kids initially refused because helicopters are “death traps.” The puppies convinced them. Then, together they informed me we couldn’t all ride in the same helicopter. We aren’t the Royal Family and we will, in fact, be in the same helicopter.

The trip home is its own nightmare. Two layovers and a midnight landing. There is no version where the kids are functional humans the next day.

The kids must be so excited, you say? My daughter is indifferent. She likes otters and paddle boarding, so that’s a plus. My son is worried about being eaten by a killer whale, or a bear, or a puffin. We’ve explained repeatedly that orcas have never killed a human in the wild, but he’s not satisfied. We’re booking a short kayak trip on the river nearby so he can try it out before we are in Alaska, surrounded by other guests, who are waiting on my kid to get in the damn boat.

UnCruise’s entire brand is unpredictability. Nature sets the schedule, the captain follows the whales, and you go where the weather guides you.
That’s exactly why we booked it. We’re trading the formula for something we can’t fully control, and that’s the point.

Coming next: the packing list post, what we’re actually buying for a ship with no onboard activities, no wifi and a guaranteed soaking. Then, once we’re home and thawed out, I’ll give my opinion on what was worth it, what wasn’t, and what I’d do differently next time.

You plan it. They remember it.

10/05/2026

People hear “curated chaos” and picture me making pretty content out of mess.
That’s not what it is.
Family travel is chaotic. The meltdowns. The missed connections. The boring international flights. It’s not possible to eliminate the chaos, but we can plan in advance for situations we know will create chaos and decide whether they’ll be worth it.

A canceled flight in a city you love? Worth it.
A canceled flight in Atlanta? Ugh.
An excursion that doesn’t go to plan but ends in a story? Worth it.
An overbooked day that ends in three meltdowns and zero memories? Avoidable.

Curation isn’t control. It’s filter.

This brings me to how we actually choose where we go.

We use a hat.

Every so often, the four of us sit down. Each person writes two places they want to visit on slips of paper. Everything goes into the hat. We pass it around, pull a slip, read it out loud, and every single one goes on the bucket list. No vetoes (though I do group by age). The last slip pulled gets prioritized for a trip the next year.

A few things you should know about my family’s relationship with the hat:
My daughter always adds Los Angeles. Always. We could be adding Japan, Patagonia, or Australia, and she will fold up “LA” and drop it in like she’s seeding the lottery. She can’t tell us what she actually wants to do in LA.

My son kept submitting France. Not because learned about the history or landmarks, but because, in his words, “they have really great cheeses.”
He hates cheese. Refuses to eat it. Has a strong, unshakeable dislike of cheese.

Last summer’s winner was actually France. But “France” doesn’t have to be just France. I built it into an Adventures by Disney Rhine River cruise that started with a few days in Lucerne, Switzerland, then sailed from Basel and ported through towns in France, Germany, and Holland. One hat entry, four countries. It worked out perfectly, though we did return with lessons learned that I’ll share in another post.

Sometimes, though, it doesn’t go as planned. Our next winner was Rome. I had an airtight plan. A cruise through Italy, Greece, and Turkey, with three full days in Rome on the front end. A private golf cart tour with gelato. Gladiator school. A kid-friendly Colosseum tour. A private Vatican tour. My cruise excursions were incredible.

Then an opportunity came up at work, the kind you don’t say “no” to. We made a family decision: postpone the Mediterranean to next summer, pull Alaska off the bucket list as a replacement.

I rebooked the whole thing. UnCruise. Glacier Bay. The Kids in Nature itinerary. A gold mine tour. A helicopter ride over glaciers to a dog sled camp. Fully paid.

Then the work opportunity was rescheduled… you guessed it… directly over the new Alaska dates. At some point, the universe is just telling you to take the vacation.

So in a few weeks, we’re going to Alaska. Small ship. No waterslides. No kids’ club. No WiFi. Just kayaks, glaciers, wildlife, and DVDs available to rent (I don’t think my kids have ever seen a DVD).

I’ll be sharing the planning, the prep, the “did we actually need to bring this?” packing decisions, and eventually, the verdict.
Was it worth it?

If you’re the one in your house who plans everything — the spreadsheets, the transfers, the backup plans for the backup plans, follow along.

You plan it. They remember it.

10/05/2026

I didn’t grow up traveling the world. I grew up on road trips. I didn’t fly until I was 12 and didn’t leave the country until I was 18. In college and grad school, I became a wanderer, a bit of a risk taker. I chased history through England, Spain, and Romania, jumped trains with no real plans, and more than once, landed somewhere with nowhere to stay and just to figure it out.

My husband’s path was different. Germany. Australia. Hawaii. All before he ever lived stateside. He grew up moving. Travel wasn’t something to plan for, it was just life.

Two very different starting points. Same conclusion: the world is meant to be explored.

Then real life happened.
Two careers. Two kids. Five houses before they were 5 and 3. For 15 years, I prioritized career and never earned additional vacation hours because I existed at the max. I was exhausted, overwhelmed by work and life, consumed by guilt pulling me from both ends.

Then came two crucible moments, months apart, that rewired everything. The first was my daughter’s first day of kindergarten. I walked her in and asked, “Aren’t you so excited to meet new friends?” She didn’t even look up. “Why? You’ll just make us move again.” I have never forgotten that. I don’t think I ever will. We had spent her entire life optimizing for our careers. To us, it was momentum. To her, it was instability.

That was the day we decided to settle down and start planning the future more intentionally for them. Six years later, we’re still in the same house, in the same city. The only thing that moves now is us, together, on family expeditions to explore the world.

The second moment came not long after, when I heard a mentor speak about work-life harmony. She said something I committed to trying once and then just never stopped.

Plan one trip. And don’t land back home without having booked the next.

That was it. Not as a luxury. Not as a reward. As a discipline.

I used to exist at the vacation cap. Now I consider getting near it a defect, both at home AND at work. If I’m nearing the max, it means I wasn’t intentional early enough. It means I let the year happen to me instead of planning for the year.

My daughter taught me that home has to be a place. My mentor taught me that harmony has to be a plan.

That’s where Itinerary, revised was born.

You plan it, they remember it.

Itinerary, Revised

25/06/2026

25/06/2026

25/06/2026

08/06/2026

14/05/2026

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