Ever experience that fleeting moment where you add the combined cost of a week of vacation travel expenses and stare at your credit card, wondering if a better option exists? 

It does. Take it from me. I’ve learned the hard way. 

If you’re like me, when the dog days of summer roll around and it's time to plan your annual vacation, there’s only one traditional vacation spot in your family legacy. The Jersey Shore. 

For those of us who hail from anywhere in the Delaware Valley in the great Northeast of the U.S., you are headed “down the shore.” Not east, south, west, or any other directional adjective. Nope, you are going “down” there for vacation. The rest of the country thinks that you are down under in the Australian jungle. You are not.

And we have plenty of company. According to recent tourism reports, the number of visitors to the Jersey Shore spiked 18 percent in 2022, bringing an additional 18 million more visitors than the previous year. The same reports suggest that another 10 percent increase is expected this summer. 

There’s a pattern to these visits, and that pattern isn’t designed for maximum family fun. 

With vacation rentals beginning on Friday or Saturdays so that rental rates can be maximized (tourists spent $12.3 billion on New Jersey shore lodging last year), that means you have to coordinate the entire family schedule so that you can pile in the car and leave at the worst possible time for summer travel – by 6 p.m. 

So you get the house locked up and the car piled high with all of your worldly belongings. You know that you have a rear windshield, you just can’t see it.

After traveling for 10 miles, you reach a bridge (the only way to get to New Jersey unless you live there.) Lady luck is once again shining down on you, as you arrive at the exact time of a bridge opening and a frigate the size of the Titanic is passing underneath. The kids jump out of the car and watch on the railing as the ship passes. Your arrival time is now one hour behind.

Once you cross into New Jersey, cries go up from the back seat for a stop for beverages and fast food. And your local rest stop is here to help. With the last Roy Rogers on the planet and restrooms the size of a professional basketball locker room, everyone in your car soon gains 30 pounds and is ready for the last leg of the journey.

Finally, you arrive at the rental property shortly before dusk, only to discover that contrary to previous assurances, the “beachfront property” is 12 miles from the shoreline. You can somewhat see water, but only if you brought a pair of binoculars. 

For the next week, the kids are either consumed with their phones, or are doing things on vacation that could be done at home. Everyone gets sun stroke. You take a late afternoon whale-watching expedition, and half of the family gets seasick while the other half is occupying the restroom for long periods, having eaten some boardwalk food that they “shouldn’t have.”

Then, to top that off, a tsunami that conveniently moves up the East Coast interrupts your moment of most enjoyment, tossing beach chairs and livestock into the air and forcing you to spend two more days indoors.

Other than that, the week flies by. Sitting on your rented balcony, enjoying one last sunset on Friday night, your eyes focus on the packed car in the driveway and one thought creeps into your mind.

Never, ever again. A week-long “staycation” at your home without any travel, any cost of the vacation home, or any need to pack the car sounds better than ever. 

Just then, as darkness falls on the Jersey Shore skyline, your phone lights up. Your boss just approved another week of your vacation. 

For this one, you’ll be staying put. At home. 

Michael Thomas Leibrandt lives and works in Abington.