Den of Sickquity update: week seven and still going strong. Friday night, Hadley coughed so much she puked all over herself and her bed. That was the highlight of the weekend.

On another note, part of Hadley’s obsession with Dora the Explorer revolves around the antagonist, Swiper the Fox. For those not blessed enough to live, breathe and sleep this program, Swiper is a “sneaky fox” who tries to swipe things that Dora needs to complete her quests. When Swiper has swiped something he then hides it and it’s up to Dora, Boots (her freaky monkey sidekick) and Hadley P.I. to find where it is hidden.

It was recently revealed where Swiper lives: a foxhole. Since that time, Hadley has insisted we build “Hadley Holes” all over the house. We all cram into her imaginary dwelling, watch as Swiper sneaks down the stairs and shout out the requisite, “Swiper, NO SWIPING,” which makes him slunk back into his world of transgression.

As we were playing our game the other day, I thought I’d add some excitement to it. I tossed one of our pillows on the stairs and exclaimed, “Haddie look: Swiper tried to swipe our pillow!” My desired reaction was for her to once again boldly proclaim, “Swiper no Swiping.”

But it had the opposite effect. The poor kid tore into my arms SCREAMING in terror. So much for bravado. She reminded me of my childhood dog, Lacey who always boldly barked at the doorbell. Until one day when she thought no one was home and the doorbell rang. Instead of attacking, the woosy mutt retreated under the bed until they went away. Some watch dog.

And so now we are living in a foxhole of fear and Hadley cannot turn her back because Swiper is surely going to swipe everything she owns. She claims this is monumentally worse than the formerly dreaded ‘S’ word (sharing.)

It kind of serves her right. When we were at the store several months ago, an innocent shopper grabbed some clothing off the rack, only to be confronted by an indignant Hadley who, waving her finger accusingly, shouted, “Swiper no Swiping….”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

The remainder of our ports were spent at THE BEACH! In St. John’s, Antigua, we jet skied and splashed around at Jolly Beach.

In St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, we hit Magen’s Bay, ranked as one of National Geographic’s Top 10 Beaches in the World. The drive up the precipitous mountain in our open-aired taxi was my favorite part. Maybe it was the view of the inlet or more likely it was the exhilaration from knowing that if we hit so much as a pothole while I was leaning out the window to take the following picture, I would be ejected like a rock in a slingshot. That’s why they call me the Craaaaaazy Canuck.

My Descent into the Ant Kingdom

St. Thomas touts itself as “The Shopping Capital of the Caribbean.” As a non-shopper, I renamed it “The Tacky Jewelry Capital of the Caribbean.” Forget the overabundance of diamonds. Do you think we could find even one cheap T-shirt for the sole purpose of boasting to our friends that we leave the house at least once a decade?

We finally found a flea market with tawdriness galore. For a little background, my attempts at bartering are weak at best. In Antigua, most of the shirts were $12. When I distractedly approached a local and asked the price, I generously counter-offered her $10. She then informed me that was the price she just gave. Note to self: do not offer the same price they did.

I was out to redeem myself in St. Thomas. Some booths had T-shirts that ran 3 for $10 and I casually asked a woman why some were also marked up to $12 each. I hadn’t even given her my show-stopping offer before she went ballistic on me, starting to swear and calling me nasty names, such as a “Little Ant.” Truly, that final affront was the biggest blow of all.

My gallant husband intervened and defended my non-ant honor. The psycho lady then unleashed on him for several minutes and looked like she was going to snap and wallop him at any moment. It was so completely unfounded that we were both stupefied over the drama.

We avoided her corner of the market as we proceeded with Operation: Cheap T-shirt but later encountered her at another booth. Immediately, she started screeching at us and I countered with a sweet, “Ohhhh look! It’s my new friend!” I’m sure I graduated to “Big Ant” status after that. I have since been banned from any attempts at bartering due to the international bounty on my head.

Our Own Private Idaho

Our final port was a private island in the Bahamas. “Private island” conjures up imagery of having an enigmatic paradise all to yourself. Now, add about 2,200 people from your ship on a 400-foot stretch of beach. The whole congested thing was a bit overrated but we did find a little hammock in a cove of palm trees as refuge and also had a great day snorkeling. On an artificial reef. OK, so it was really overrated. But a really overrated day on the beach is better than an underrated day of sub-zero temperatures at home.

Le Cirque Bijou

By far, our favorite show at sea was a spectacular Cirque du Soleil-style aerial thriller. Karla and I were eager to see the acrobatics. Jamie and Ivan were ecstatic about the prospect of girls soaring above in their underwear. We ensured our seats were front and center six rows behind the stage. And we all marveled at the spectacle of superb high-flying athleticism that unfolded.

Just when we thought the show couldn’t get any better, it did when I felt a WHOOSH above me. When what to my wondering eyes did appear but a male bungee jumper, coming so near. With a beautiful, rippled body plunging from above, I knew in a moment it must be hunka hunka burning love.

Sadly, I don’t have any pictures because the theatre rules stated there could be no flashing during photography. And I just didn’t think I could abide by that.

On the Road Again

Suffice it to say, there were some serious withdrawals upon debarkation. What: no one to make my bed for me? To turn down the sheets, make funky animal shapes and leave chocolate? No more 10-course meals that I do not have to cook?

When we finally arrived back in Denver at 1 a.m., we commiserated with our Turkish shuttle driver about all the snow and the dire winter we’ve experienced. Juxtapose this against Ivan and Karla’s cabbie in Miami. Or should I say crack-dealing cabbie who took them to all the corners of the city where he went about his dealings during his fine tour of the city.

Maybe being home ain’t so bad after all…

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

It wasn’t enough that we were born on the exact same day and year. Or that we’re left handed. Or that we both have gargantuan size-10 feet. Or that we’re tall, skinny dancers (errr…yeah). Karla just had to take it one step further and buy matching Crocs.

The following is my favorite shot of the trip and was taken later, all cuddled up on the hammock. With Jamie. Not twinner Karla. Matching Croc affection only goes so far.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

My welcome-home gift was kids who are sick again. Or should I say still. Unbelievably, we are all still suffering from the same blasted virus; they are at week six and I’m at whopping week seven. The plane ride home was hellacious as I thought my ears were going to explode. I’ve been left with an inner-ear condition that leaves me [brace yourselves] even more dizzy and lightheaded than usual.

Poor Grandma’s only outings last week were taking the kids to the doctor. When I retrieved them on Monday morning, she looked like the lone survivor of a hurricane. The Hurricane. I don’t think she’ll fully recover enough to watch them again until 2009. My only consolation is this at least added validity to my sufferings the entire month prior.

InSecurities

The cruise was amazing, possibly my best vacation ever. It didn’t start out that way when I had an atrocious encounter with a cold-blooded security chick that not only dismantled my carry-on but proceeded to confiscate most items in it. Because I was planning to blow up the plane with my exceedingly threatening mascara and lipstick. I could handle the loss of these items but when she impounded The Only Gel on the Earth That Can Tame This Mane, I lost it. A week with inexorable bad hair days was more than I could handle.

Bejeweled

Fortunately it got better (the trip, not the hair). We sailed via the Norwegian Jewel, a beast of a ship with oodles of luxuries that we enjoyed to the fullest: the amazing shows, outstanding ports, workout/sports facilities, kicking the boys’ butts in shuffleboard, a murder mystery where ma honey turned out to be Mersad, Mr. KGB, and freestyle dining at the restaurants. All those glorious, glorious restaurants where we averaged about 10,000 calories. And that was just before noon.

It took less than 24 hours for me to catch the cruise bug—impressive for even me. Of course, it hit right before the meal I have craved for two years since my last cruise: the Beef Wellington and Lobster at the Captain’s Dinner. Because there’s nothing like experiencing it all the second time around in the bathroom afterwards.

I Left My Poop…in Puerto Rico

My little condition was still lingering when we hit our first port: Puerto Rico. We signed up for the ship’s shore excursion through the national rainforest, El Yunque. Our 5-mile hike to La Mina Falls had all the makings for an eco-tourist paradise and Ivan and Jamie delved into the crystal-clear waters.

But while others enjoyed the falls and the exotic flora and fauna, I spent much of the time analyzing which plant had “crouch-behind-ability” potential.

It gives a whole new perspective to getting back to nature. And the true origin of the yukka plant…

In Cruisin’ for a Brusin’ Part II, stay tuned for details of the gay Chippendale dancer who made a play for us and the day we were almost assaulted by a local after my attempts at bartering.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Well, sort of. My sea legs are finally planted on firm ground. Unfortunately, that ground is the filthy carpet at the airport as we await our fight out of Florida. That same flight which will only get us as far as Chicago and we won’t arrive home until well after midnight. After almost 13 hours of travel. Frequent flyer miles are good for a lot of things but not direct flights.

And so I thought I’d post now due to the inevitable craziness of our return into the Real World: Denver. Where the snow is deep and the kids and I are still sick. Where those days of blissfully sunning myself in the tropics will only be a distant memory. Oh wait. They never existed. OK, the good ol’ days of sunburns and heat rashes will be a thing of the past. This is me we’re talking about.

Our cruise was fantastic and I will expound upon it later when I can carve out some time to download accompanying photos. I am pleased to report the only dancing that occurred (of the Conga) was completely voluntary and done under the influence of ice water that had likely been spiked.

Our plan today upon debarkation was to rent a car with Ivan and Karla and hit the beach before our flight. Sound foolproof and fun? We thought so. Until we discovered Miami is hosting a little event some of you may have heard of called THE SUPERBOWL. And that we had to mortgage our house in order to rent a crappy Taurus that barely fit all our crap. At least Ivan was a good sport about being strapped to the roof.

We headed up to Fort Lauderdale with the intention of hanging out on the boardwalk, grabbing some food and soaking in the rays. Yeah, right. One would think the beach and the boardwalk would not be difficult to find but they (not we, of course) got lost. Oh, and did I mention it was down pouring and cool the entire time? When we finally did stumble upon the boardwalk, we only had time to stuff our faces (after getting an are-you-insane look when we tried to order hot chocolate) before darting off the airport where we’ve been waiting ever since.

I knew the only thing that would get me through the next several hours would be a good book, something I’m not often able to indulge in. As I poured over the selection at the airport, Hunky Hubby stood disinterestedly nearby. Even though he was bored, I knew I couldn’t tempt him. The reason being his prolific response earlier in the trip when I asked him if he wanted to buy some reading materials.

“It’s not that I don’t like books, Amber. It’s just that I don’t like reading them.”

It should be a long trip home.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog