You can't make childhood longer. You can make it bigger.
7 days. 7 mothers. 7 sons.
Six guest families. Plus the mother + son who started the whole thing.
Volcanoes. Waterfalls. Horses. Canyons. Lake days. Zip lines. A mother + son adventure for the years when he can finally do the really good stuff with you, and you still get to be the one beside him.
Actual busy. Not "I can't come downstairs right now because I'm in the middle of a game" busy.
Jobs. Friends. Relationships. College. Plans you are no longer automatically included in.
But right now? He's in this weird little window.
Too big for kiddie vacations.
Old enough for actual adventure.
Still young enough that if you said, "Want to go ziplining through the rainforest in Costa Rica?" there's a reasonable chance he'd look up from his phone.
You're not sitting by the pool while he does the fun part.
For a minute, you're not Mom reminding him to put deodorant on. He's not the kid who somehow cannot see the wrapper he just left on the counter.
You're just two people trying something neither of you knows how to do. That's where the good stuff tends to sneak in.
You adore your son and occasionally express that devotion by yelling his full government name from another room.
You keep catching glimpses of the grown-up face beginning to appear inside the little-kid one and frankly would like to file a complaint.
You want one-on-one time with him that doesn't depend on manufacturing a Deep Meaningful Conversation over dinner.
You'd love to travel somewhere incredible together, but planning an international adventure involving horses, volcanoes, guides and teenage appetite logistics sounds considerably less relaxing.
You want him to meet a few other boys his age.
You'd be delighted to meet a few women who understand why you're suddenly emotional about sneakers sitting by the back door.
You like the idea of adventure. You also like coming back afterward, showering, eating something someone else made and having nowhere else you need to be.
Perfect. We made this for the two of you.
Six guest families. One week in the rainforest.
We're taking a small group of mothers and their sons to La Fortuna, Costa Rica for six nights of the kind of adventures that make regular vacations look a little underqualified.
This isn't a bus tour. It isn't an all-inclusive resort where your biggest decision is which identical beige buffet station to visit.
We'll handle the planning, the transportation, the food, the packing list and an unreasonable amount of making sure we're doing the good version of everything.
We've brought Wandering Roots groups to this part of Costa Rica again and again, which means we've already done the extremely scientific research required to determine:
This time, we're taking everything we know about the destination and rebuilding the itinerary specifically for moms and sons.
And frankly? These boys are going to lose their minds.
My son was three when I started following Wandering Roots around the world with my camera. For most of his childhood, watching Mom disappear with an unreasonable amount of camera gear was just… normal.
Then in September I left for our Norway retreat.
For the first time in nearly a decade of watching me leave for these trips, he tried to get in my suitcase.
He'd spent his whole childhood watching me go.
Now he wanted to come.
Finding the thing that belongs to just the two of us at this age hasn't been easy. He and his dad have sports and a love of cars and a dozen things they genuinely love doing together. I love that.
AND sometimes I feel a little left out.
I've wondered what belongs to us. Then when he showed interest in what I do, I thought, maybe it's travel. Adventure. Going somewhere neither of us has been and trying something neither of us knows how to do.
Instead of trying to wedge myself into the things he already loves,
I want to discover what we love together.
So I'm taking him to Costa Rica. (And I thought maybe six other moms might want to come too.)
Old lava fields. Rainforest. Arenal looming over the whole thing. We start the week hiking across the landscape left behind by the 1968 eruption. Yes, your son gets to tell people he hiked a volcano. (A considerably better answer to “What did you do over spring break?”)
We're taking over Lake Arenal for the morning.
Wake surf beneath a volcano. Learn to wakeboard. Take a Jet Ski out with your son. Drop a fishing line. Get dragged behind a boat on an inflatable object at an irresponsible-looking speed.
Or don't. Swim. Sit on the boat. Eat something. Watch your kid attempt something new.
The lake is ours for four hours. We'll figure out what sounds fun when we get there.
Horseback through the Costa Rican countryside, then a hike into private waterfalls tucked away from the tourist circuit. The day you'll still be talking about at Thanksgiving five years from now.
Massages. Pool. Books. Snacks.
Boys doing whatever seven boys do when nobody has scheduled them.
No excursion. No departure time. No pants before noon.
We'll bring the massage therapists to us.
First, we rappel into the rainforest.
Waterfalls. Natural pools. Optional cliff jumps. The sort of activity that makes a twelve-year-old suddenly extremely interested in the family vacation.
Then we change direction. Zip lines through the canopy.
Safely. With professionals. We remain extraordinarily annoying about safety.
Boys disappearing together and returning only when hunger achieves emergency status.
A retreat does not improve in direct proportion to the number of items we cram onto an itinerary. We've learned that one the expensive way.
We have a volcano. We don’t need an icebreaker.
This isn't therapy. It isn't parenting school. We're creating the conditions where connection tends to happen naturally: novelty, challenge, play, time, and nobody asking you to unload the dishwasher.
Twelve guests.
Not a sea of matching retreat T-shirts moving through an airport in formation.
This isn't a limitation.
It's one of the luxuries.
And kindly remove "What's for dinner?" from your brain for the duration of the trip.
Abbey has fed our retreat guests around the world for years, including multiple Costa Rica adventures. She handles dietary restrictions without making anyone feel like they've inconvenienced the entire nation.
Breakfasts · Dinners · Snacks · Adventure fuel
No mother in this house has to figure out dinner.
You've probably documented roughly 93% of your son's childhood.
You appear in approximately six photographs.
Four are selfies. One is blurry. One was taken during Christmas morning while you were wearing an expression that accurately captured the sleep deprivation of 2019.
Professional photography has always been part of Wandering Roots retreats, and it remains part of this experience. I'll photograph the week as it unfolds.
The ridiculous stuff. The beautiful stuff. The quiet stuff. The two of you together. Some directed portraits. Plenty of candid moments.
And photographs your son may roll his eyes at now and secretly be very glad exist someday.
You were there too. There should be proof.
One evening when the light cooperates, your son gets promoted to production department and you get your main-character moment.
Because I want our sons to see this version of us, too.
Women taking up space. Feeling beautiful. Being bold. Letting themselves be seen and celebrated.
I want him to see his mom as more than the person taking the pictures, carrying the snacks and making sure everyone else has what they need.
I want him to see you.
Someday, these boys will become men who live, work, love and build lives alongside women.
I like the idea that somewhere along the way, they learned that celebrating a woman while she takes up the whole damn frame is a perfectly normal thing to do.
Then we'll get him in there with you.
Someday, this photograph belongs to him too.
Maybe nothing profound happens. Maybe you just have the best damn week together.
That's enough.
We're not trying to manufacture significance.
We're carving out space for it to show up.
At our private home base in La Fortuna, complete with INSANE volcano views, a pool and hot tub.
Arenal Volcano hike, private Lake Arenal experience, horseback + private waterfalls, waterfall canyoning and ziplining.
Your own room for you + your son.
Breakfasts, dinners, snacks and adventure-day food, all week.
Actual photographs of you and your son. Together. Revolutionary.
SJO transfers in the arrival window, plus every scheduled excursion.
Concierge-level: flights, packing, prep and a virtual meet-up.
Also at the house · Massages. Cooking with Abbey. Creative projects with me. Pool time. Games. Doing nothing whatsoever (highly encouraged).
Not included · Round-trip airfare, personal travel insurance, alcohol and personal purchases, and anything you choose outside the itinerary. Bring a little spending money.
Reserve your mother + son room.
Food, injuries, activity comfort, travel experience, important quirks.
Flights, packing, weather, shoes, money, excursions. Everything.
A virtual pre-trip gathering for moms + boys.
That is essentially your final assignment.
But we're still going to make it easy.
La Fortuna is about 3 hours from SJO, and group transfers both ways are included. We'll recommend flight times that leave room for international check-in + a 3-hour drive + Costa Rican traffic + whether Mercury is in retrograde.
We'll send suggested flights, arrival windows and complete travel instructions.
Not included: airfare + personal travel insurance
Payment plans available. Airfare + personal travel insurance are separate.
Mothers and sons approximately 12–16. Old enough for real adventure. Young enough that they still occasionally admit they know us in public.
Our dates intentionally overlap spring break for many West Michigan schools. School calendars vary, so check yours before booking.
Neither are we. You should be comfortable being active, getting sweaty and trying things, but you don't need to be a hardcore athlete. We'll explain the demands of every excursion in advance, and you can always opt out of any of them.
No. Our retreats have always run on a guilt-free, choose-your-own-adventure philosophy, with no woman holding a clipboard publicly shaming anyone.
Abbey. Next question.
Kidding. We'll collect dietary information before the trip and make a plan. She has handled allergies, restrictions and highly specific preferences for years.
We always recommend bringing any creature comforts from home too. Sugar-free toffee nut coffee creamer isn't really a thing in Costa Rica, so squirrel that sucker into your suitcase if it will make your morning coffee from the hot tub THAT MUCH BETTER.
Congratulations. Costa Rica would like to discuss this with you.
Seriously, tell us. You'll know exactly what each activity involves before deciding. We're here to support bravery, not override consent.
If heights and the idea of ziplining are an absolute NO for you or your son, you can take solo time at the house or sit in the café at the park. Plenty of photo evidence will be made so you can celebrate him and his bravery while he tells you ALL ABOUT IT over dinner.
We're going to a rainforest. There is a small clue in the name. We'll adapt when necessary. Sometimes Costa Rica is even better wet. Your hair will disagree.
We will recommend packing a raincoat and waterproof shoes, always.
Maybe, but ask us first. The experience is designed around one mother + one son because that one-on-one dynamic matters. If we have a suitable room, reach out before booking and we'll talk it through.
We like Dad. Dad can go somewhere else. This one's yours.
No. But we'll give you recommended flights, arrival windows and planning support so you aren't abandoned on the internet with 48 browser tabs and a personal grudge against airline pricing.
Yes. Professionally. And no, you don't have to perform for the camera all week. A lot of my favorite images happen while you're busy doing something else.
Anyone looking for a resort week by the pool, a fully scheduled tour or a structured parenting program. It's also not ideal if your son is coming entirely against his will. A little eye-rolling is normal. Full mutiny is not.
There will be another somewhere.
Wrong dates? Wrong destination? Not quite the year? Get on the list and you'll be the first to know where we're taking them next.
You'll hear where we're going before anyone else does.
Take him somewhere green.
Somewhere loud.
Somewhere the rain feels different.
Somewhere he tries something he's never done.
Somewhere you try something you've never done.
Somewhere he sees you as more than the person who knows where his missing sweatshirt is.
Somewhere you get to see who he's becoming when everyday life stops interrupting.
He doesn't need you to freeze him at twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. That's not how any of this works. You just get to be there for it.