If you read my last post, you know that we recently embarked on our first cruise, 7 days from NYC to Bermuda on the Norwegian Breakaway. And you also know that we’ll never ever venture beyond the suburbs again.
Here we are boarding/embarking/loading/whatever cruise people call it:
As soon as we unpacked, the children did what they do best:
they watched TV.
Determined to get this party started, we shut the TV off and forced the kids up to the top deck for a little miniature golf action.
First up was Ana. As she swung the putter back like she was teeing off at the Augusta Nationals, Collin decided that this was theeee perfect moment to bend down and survey the slope and grain of the course.
First injury of the trip. Frankly, I was surprised it took that long.
After the crying died down, we were shocked at how quiet it was on deck 15. In fact, other than an elderly couple, we were the only people up there.
“See” I said, “There might be 4,000 people on this boat but it doesn’t feel crowded.” to which Brian replied, “Yeah, and it’s surprisingly quiet. Almost like we’re the only ones outside.”
Turns out we were.
So the next day, while everyone else was playing Bingo and shuffleboard, we got our fake story straight (we voted on ‘group nausea’, 3:1) then headed to the restaurant for a quaint safety drill.
He was so annoyed, he refused to make direct eye contact with us.
After experiencing nautical humiliation, we went to the pool and relaxed…until Ana slipped and hit her head. Luckily, it wasn’t serious. But unfortunately, like a form of bad onboard entertainment, she went on to repeat this performance at various pool locations throughout the trip. “I’m here all week, folks!”
Our cabin was quite lovely. Small, but lovely. It helped that we had a huge balcony:
Not having a balcony would’ve been like driving cross-country while sitting in the backseat between my kids while they wrestled. Yes, without the balcony, someone would have been “accidentally” left behind in Bermuda.
Ana loved the bunk bed which lowered from the ceiling. Collin, who slept underneath, grew to hate it.
Fourteen. It seems that 14 is the number of times a 10 year will stand up, hitting their head on the underside of a bunk bed, before the thought “hey, I better not stand up because there’s something above me” becomes second nature.
Each night, our cabin steward, Cornelious, would leave us an adorable, yet slightly ambiguous, towel animal on our bed. And every night the children would scream and argue over what kind of animal Cornelious had intended to make. One night, on our way back to the room, they started on the towel animals again,
Me: LISTEN TO ME! WHEN WE GET INTO THAT ROOM, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ONE SINGLE WORD ABOUT TONIGHT’S TOWEL ANIMAL!
Them: —–
And there it was…
the literal and figurative ‘elephant in the room’.
.
to be continued…
Last cruise post. Spoiler: we eventually make it to Bermuda and back.
