Ah, 2008. The year of flip phones, MySpace top 8 drama, and for Kevin and me—a five-day, four-night cruise aboard Majesty of the Seas by Royal Caribbean. A majestic name for a majestic boat. Or should I say… ship? (I learned very quickly that cruise people take their ship terminology very seriously. My bad, Captain.)

Okay, people, brace yourselves. January is about to get a whole lot more… tropical. That's right, after 20 years of marriage, countless arguments over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher, a trillion conversations that circle around "what do you want for supper?" and "I don't know. What sounds good to you?" and approximately 473,000 loads of laundry, Kevin and I are FINALLY escaping to Waikiki! Consider this my official announcement that I will be accepting zero responsibilities, zero complaints, and zero dishes for an entire week. This is my reward, and I plan to enjoy every. single. second.

Every summer, like clockwork (and with about the same level of coordination as a military operation), we pack up and head to Daytona Beach, Florida. But this year? This year was different. For the first time ever, it was just me and Kevin—no kids, no responsibilities, no tiny humans asking for snacks every five minutes, no whiny teenagers upset because their life sucks so bad while on a vacation that cost them absolutely nothing. Just me, my husband, and the sweet, sweet sound of nothing but ocean waves and Kevin asking where the beef jerky is.