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I collect witty little sayings, which seem to have an impact on my life. I find them everywhere from packaging of herbal tea boxes to dynamic modern sages disguised as tattoo artists.

Cluttering my workspace, they are taped all over my computer desk accessories for motivation and inspiration while I write. My latest favorite quip came from a fortune cookie of sorts, while eating at Jacksonville Beach, Fla., this summer during our fun-filled, family vacation extravaganza.

I won't tell you exactly what it said, but it gently reminded me of the grounding nature a simple life has for those of us who meet each day with a fistful of sticky notes and mounds of fine-tuned details. Well, let's start there.

We had just spent the last two days reaching our final vacation destination: the Florida coastline. Our blue Chevy Malibu, Route I-77 south, and a Comfort Inn in the Carolinas had simply become our new best friends during the last 48 hours.

The back seat of the Chevy contained one six-year-old and her 19-year-old sister. The property boundary line was obvious - a travel-sized pillow wedged between them separated the Justin Bieber fan club from the owner of a red geometric print college backpack filled to capacity with cosmetics, rap CDs and an endless supply of contact lens cleaner.

My motto this trip was, "We will have fun as one big, happy family. We will!"

My dutiful husband was driving while I was enmeshed in planning and executing the perfect vacation. The intensity of my studying a dog-eared Florida AAA tour book the last two-and-a-half hours could only be compared to a researcher in her final hours before finding a cure for cancer. That's when the wave of a palm tree branch caught my eye and jerked me back to the surrounding reality.

"We're here," I beamed out loud. "We're actually here - where the water touches the land and the smell of salt hangs in the air. Let the fun begin!"

"More like let the horror begin," I heard muttered from the college section of the entourage.

"The beach!" screamed our six-year-old.

"I think I'll stop for gas and fill up before we check in," my husband calmly stated as he made a tight right turn into a filling station, bringing a moaning reply from the Justin Bieber fan club section.

"We're only two hours behind our planned schedule," I broadcasted to an indifferent audience. "Not bad for a drive from Ohio. We can check in, take a quick look at the ocean, then hustle over to this restaurant called Billy's before the dinner crowd hits." Billy's was a favorite with the locals, or so the AAA tour book said.

"Mom, will you give it a rest? All I want to do is take a shower and order pizza," the eldest pleaded.

"I just want us to swim in the pool," her half-pint, copycat sister countered. "All of us - right Poppy?" she craned her head out the car window as she asked.

The fun was falling apart already, and we hadn't even unpacked one single pair of flip-flops. The remaining mile ride to the oceanfront resort was crammed with special interest groups each lobbying for their own concerns. Meanwhile, the AAA tour book, bulging with sticky notes and itineraries, lay motionless on my right thigh.

"Pizza is alright with me," my husband interjected during a moment of the debate lull. "I was just going to kick back and see what's on HBO this evening, anyway."

"HBO?" I choked out as my face did some squinting, scrunching thing out of disbelief of what he had just uttered. "Babe, this is vacation," I said so strongly that my top teeth nearly pierced my bottom lip while forming the beginning 'v' sound of vacation. "We're going to eat out, get some rays, relax and have some fun as one, big, happy family," I reminded him. "Not watch HBO!"

So, there we were, not quite checked into room 803, and the troops were already divided. Mutiny hung so thick in the salty air that, I swear, I could taste it and it wasn't filling. My stomach growled with disapproval.

Pizza and HBO, I thought. I can't believe what I'm hearing. There is no way I'm going to eat pizza when a scrumptious dinner in a three-starred eating establishment was on the agenda. And so I waited, patiently, for the right moment to enact this detail. Timing is everything, especially on vacation, and especially on a fun-filled family vacation.

The room was really nice and the balcony refreshing. I set up house, despite the advice from the crew to just relax. But in my mind, things needed to be accomplished first, relaxation last.

My negotiation skills were in high gear. Miss college town hit the shower; superchild was escorted to the pool and to catch her first glimpse of the "big water;" and HBO man found the remote. After about an hour, I stood up and said, "Let's go eat, I'm starving." And after only a mild skirmish, we set out for Billy's.

The atmosphere was great, with friendly staff and upbeat music, at this little fresh seafood pub only two blocks from the resort. I was ready to have fun and enjoy a great meal with the entire family, and that's when we ran aground.

"I don't want to sit in a booth. I want to sit on the big, tall chairs," the half-pint sibling fumed, furrowing her brow and folding her arms in her most familiar body language.

I saw a battle looming, so looked up at my husband. He shrugged his shoulders. She won this one.

We all climbed up into the towering barstool-like chairs and impossibly tried to scoot closer to the table. College girl was starving, superchild was developing an "I'm not hungry" look, and my husband was rubbing his forehead - all signals that the complications of the evening were about to deepen.

Now, when Mr. "take the easy road out, I'm not a confrontational guy" started rubbing his forehead as a non-verbal sign of collective discontent, I knew that pressing for Billy's had just become the worst idea of the night, planned or not.

"I don't see anything I want to eat, and I don't like this much noise when I do eat," he said flatly, tilting his head to one side while peering at me from under the brim of his khaki-colored hat. "Things would have been a lot simpler if we would have just ordered pizza tonight and stayed back at the resort like we all wanted," he said with a circular nod shared among the three of them.

"Well, we're here now," I countered. "We might as well just eat and have some fun while we can, then head back and pack it in for the night. I'm sure there will be a movie you can catch on HBO," I reminded him.

"I'm tired." And that was all he had to say.

Our food came, and it was delicious. As an after-dinner favor, our waitress brought chocolate mints and some little cookies with slivers of paper tied around them. I unwrapped mine carefully to examine its contents and there before my very eyes was a message from the wise beyond: "DON'T MAJOR IN MINOR THINGS."

I burst out laughing and later that night, when I composed myself, I apologized to my family for becoming so focused on the details of the trip and missing the big point: To have fun as one big, happy family, which we did from that point on thanks to some timely, noble advice from one sweet, simple cookie.

- S. R. Harper

S. R. Harper is a new-age journalist residing in Ohio's rural Appalachia. Although her days have revolved around non-profit public relations and public education, her desk light came on at night to write about the intimate details of life, often with a side of humor. Her journey has yielded a cover feature story in Harley Women magazine, and her features have appeared in Pattern Pieces, an inspirational and holistic magazine, 13 times. In the creative process, she loves to hear the friction of graphite rub against paper as words spark across the page with new life. Likewise, in a balance to that joy, she groans when it is time to edit. Her latest work, illuminated by the evening lamp, is a children's book manuscript.