I made a handmade birthday for my husband.
It was a special birthday. I had wanted to take him to Paris. (I'm sorry, I know it may sound posh.) But we have a special place in Paris—the place where he once surprised me on my own milestone, the kind of moment that roots itself in your chest and grows there. I wanted to give that back to him.
But life had other plans. Emergencies. Expenses. The kind of reality that doesn't ask permission.
So here I was, thinking about it.
The Hotel That Wouldn't Die
Five years ago, during Covid, my kids and I started doing something silly. We couldn't get out—we were in the very heat of the crisis—so we built worlds inside our walls. Hotels. Theatres. Sandwich shops staffed by pajama-clad servers with extremely questionable food safety credentials.
But "the hotel" stuck.
The kids earned their stays. Points for kindness, for showing up, for doing hard things. And in return? An experience. Sometimes five-star. Sometimes three. Sometimes gloriously imperfect, featuring a menu item we couldn't actually make and had to substitute with cereal.
My daughter got a full menu meal with the server (me!) present at all times. Twice. She has standards.
We Had a Council
Since Paris is too far, it's going to happen here. But bigger.
We decided to turn it into a "trip"—a week-long celebration. Because if you're going to bring Paris home, you might as well stay awhile.
(Parisians, please be kind.)
Yesterday was the big day. We transformed the kitchen, dining room, living room—everywhere—into a mock-up Paris. Flowers. Super-duper French champagne. Candles. Smells. Specially designed meals. Moulin Rouge references scattered like confetti. The main table set up with all things Paris—the kind of setup that makes you forget you're in your own house.
We had Casablanca movie night. Hand-made food menus. Gourmet treats that actually turned out gourmet.
But we're not done. This week? More French movie nights. French-styled meals every day. Special treats, just for Dad.
And at the end of the week? The grand finale. My boys will play several roles—wearing construction paper tuxedos (!). My middle son will be GM. He'll also be a server later on. My other one will be busboy and luggage hauler. (Well, there's no luggage, haha, but he's already committed to the bit.) I'll be chef—yes, we'll have a full child-designed Parisian menu on offer!—and chief of the operation. Of course.
We'll have flowers set up. Hotel signs. The whole nine yards.
My beautiful daughter, despite being so freaking busy, will make a special appearance as Manager on Duty. She's already practicing her lines.
What I Know Now
You can actually BE in Paris and not know the privilege. You can walk right past the magic because you're checking your phone or worrying about tomorrow or wondering if you locked the car.
Or you can create Paris—your Paris—right where you stand. In your kitchen. In your backyard. In the space between what you wish for and what you make real.
It doesn't take money. It takes deciding that love matters more than location. That showing up matters more than showing off. That the people you do it with—and the reason you're doing it—matter more than where you are when you do it.
Geography is just distance.
Magic is a decision.
Your Turn
Do you have a "Paris"? What magical thing did someone create for you out of love? Or what did you build for someone else when circumstances said you couldn't?
Share your story. I believe we all need to hear these reminders that the best gifts aren't bought, they're made.
With construction paper and questionable accents and hearts that won't take no for an answer.
Much Aloha,
Olga