Our Go-To Spots That Keep Us All Smiling
If you’ve ever tried wrangling two excited kids and a husband who swears he is paying attention (Wyatt, I see you), then you know picking a place to go as a family can feel like juggling flaming pool noodles. But Orlando keeps us spoiled with choices, and over the years we’ve fallen into a sweet little rhythm of spots that feel like “us.”
Take Lake Eola Park. The girls dart straight for the swan boats like it’s their personal racetrack. I try to act calm and collected, but inside I’m thinking, “Great, I’ll be pedaling this thing like it’s leg day at the gym.” Wyatt pretends he’s steering—he is not—but it’s become one of those silly traditions I weirdly adore.
Then there’s Leu Gardens, which sounds fancy but really is a place where I bribe the kids with gummies to wander through flowers for at least ten minutes before someone announces they’re starving. I swear Krysta can smell a snack bag from half a mile away. Still, the quiet corners and little hidden spots give me this soft feeling I can’t quite shake, like we all slow down for a breath without saying a word.
For food (and let’s be honest, snacks are 75% of our outings), we’ve fallen in love with The Coop in Winter Park. Wynonna swears the mac and cheese tastes like “sunshine,” which might be true or might be that she was already covered in sunscreen that day. Wyatt orders fried chicken like he’s doing something mysterious and new, even though he picks the same thing every time. I love that place because no one judges me for ordering dessert before the meal arrives. Normalize that, please.
On days when the heat feels like it’s trying to melt my eyelashes off, the Crayola Experience saves us. It’s bright. It’s loud. It’s borderline chaotic in that “this might be too much but the kids are happy so we keep going” way. The girls come home covered in marker smudges and Wyatt inevitably turns into a big kid himself, which is honestly pretty cute.
And then there are the nights we end up at ICON Park. That Ferris wheel always looks a little too tall for my comfort, but something about seeing the whole city lit up makes me feel tiny in the best way. The kids press sticky fingers to the glass, Wyatt cracks jokes to hide that he’s a tiny bit nervous, and I just soak it all in—my favorite little people suspended in the sky for a moment.
These places aren’t fancy or complicated. They’re just the ones that feel like home stitched together with laughter, sunscreen, and the occasional meltdown (sometimes mine). I guess that’s the magic for me: noticing how these small pockets of time turn into memories so bright I can still see them long after the day is done.