are things complicated yet?

The Raptors are gonna get out!

This week, Claire discovered Jake's door.  We have joked about Claire's escape-artist tendencies before, in the context of the Velociraptors from Jurassic Park escaping.  Whenever Claire is about to get into something she shouldn't, we often exclaim something about "Uh-oh, if you're not careful, the Raptor is gonna get out!" 

We think this sort of talk is hilarious.

When Chris saw Claire discovering the possibilities of the tiny door, just her size, he sent this photo to my brother and some very nerdy movie-quoting and Fun With PhotoShop ensued.

***
TO:  Rollin (my brother)
FROM: Chris
SUBJECT:  The raptors are gonna get out!

Dr. Alan Grant: Do they show intelligence?
Muldoon: They show extraordinary intelligence, even problem-solving. Especially the big one.

TO: Chris
FROM: Rollin
SUBJECT: Clever girl

I was overwhelmed by the power of this place; but I made a mistake, too. I didn't have enough respect for that power and it's out now. The only thing that matters now are the people we love: A'Dell and Jake and Rollin.

Chris, they're out there where people are dying.

Cancun Adventure Part Three: It's the sort of thing that always looks a little tacky, no matter where you hang it

After a day and a half in the pool we decided to mix things up and go deep sea fishing.  We picked it for two solid reasons:

• Chris likes to fish
• A trip to the Mayan ruins sounded terribly boring

We were going to share a boat with 4 other people and we were supposed to be in the lobby at 630 am for the tour company to pick us up.  We were in the lobby at 620, but that didn't do us any good since they never showed up.  At 715 am the concierge called them to see what had happened.

It was pretty clear that we'd been forgotten about and that the boat probably left without us.  They end up sending a taxi and then, much to our delight, giving us our own boat with nobody else on it.  This is pretty cool since a private charter normally runs several hundred dollars an hour and we still only had to pay the shared rate.  (Which was considerably less than several hundred dollars.)  SCORE!

At 745 we hit the water.  It's already hot and muggy and the camera fogs up when we turn it on.

The great part was we didn't actually have to do any of the dirty work.  We had a crew for that.

This is Martin.  He drives the boat and hollers at the other boats on the radio.  As far as I can tell, that's all he does.

This is Luis.  Luis pretty much works his ass off the whole 6 hours we're on the boat.  He puts all the lines out, takes care of the icky bait and takes the fish off the line after we reel them in so I don't have to touch them.  Luis doesn't wear shoes even though there's a big knife and a lot of sharp, poky fish hooks on the deck.

(Also, we were not given a safety briefing before we left the dock.  They just told us where the cooler with the beer was.  I tried not to think about if there were even ANY life vests on board.  Ah, Mexico!)

Anyway, for a while it's pretty boring.  We're just tooling around, it's godawful hot, the sun is beating down and the the fumes from the exhaust are starting to make me ill.  Luis is busy putting out lines and we've got 3 or 4 sticking out the back of the boat.

Here is Luis working hard while I sit and take pictures of myself. 

After a while, I start to wonder if we're ever going to catch ANYTHING.  I mean, there's totally a possibility that we drive around for 6 hours and catch NOTHING.  It could happen.  I tell Chris there is NO WAY I can do this for 6 hours and we might have to go back early.  I am starting to think that fishing really IS as boring as I thought and that Chris was lying when he told me it can be "pretty exciting."  2 hours in and this is the exact OPPOSITE of exciting.

Finally, Luis starts messing with one of the lines and then declares that we've got something.  He hands the rod to Chris and he starts reeling it in.  To my complete surprise, I'm getting kind of excited.  It's sort of like a grab bag - what will be on the other end?  I don't know!  IT'S A SURPRISE!!!  SQUEE!!!

My excitement turned to horror though when Luis just freaking STABBED our grab bag fish with a giant hook.

He did it as easily as you stick a toothpick in a cube of cheese.  POKE.  Then he threw the fish in a cooler where it flopped around NOISILY until it perished all the way.  He also dumped a bucket of seawater on the deck to wash away the blood.  It was beyond unsettling.  (But really, how do you humanely kill a fish?  Do you pop him in the head?  What's the correct protocol here?  Clearly, I've never been fishing where you KEEP the fish.)

Before getting on the boat, nobody really told us what happens to the fish we catch.  The brochure said they'd filet them for us if we wanted to take them to our hotel and grill 'em up.  But since we didn't want to do that they never said what might happen instead.  I sort of assumed this would be a catch and release type of deal since that would obviously be the responsible thing to do.

Um, not so much.

After the tuna stops flopping around in the cooler and making it jump and shift in a really gruesome way, things start to happen that make me forget about the poor stabbed fish in the cooler.  Luis is messing with the first line and he says there's something "really big" on it.  I thought the first fish we caught was pretty freaking big so I'm curious what he means by this.

It doesn't take long to find out.  Luis and Martin practically explode with glee when they see a sailfish dance out of the water.  It's pretty exciting and we're all hollering when it jumps up because really, it's pretty impressive.  They start asking immediately if we are going to mount it.

"It's very rare! Very lucky! Not every day!!"

All Chris and I can think is,

"Where the F would we put a 7-foot stuffed fish in our house? There is NO SITUATION where that does not come off as the most gaudy thing in the world. NONE."

Luis and Martin tell us that it costs about $1,500 to stuff it.  YES, ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AMERICAN DOLLARS.  FOR REAL. 

But on the other hand, this is pretty cool.  I mean, it's a really rare thing!  Some guys fish their whole lives and never catch one of these!  Maybe we should?  We could put it....um....somewhere that we have 6 empty feet of wall?  Like in our bedroom?  And it would look...totally and incredibly tacky this is stupid no no no we are not going to take this stupid fish home.  Luis and Martin, that is our final answer.  No.

I just sort of assumed that since we didn't want to take him home, and that since we would not be putting him in the cooler to die alongside the tuna (since he was SEVEN FEET LONG AND ALL), there was no reason to stab him or kill him.  By saying "we don't want to mount him" we would be letting this magnificent animal live another day.

RIGHT?  That's what you'd think too if you said, "We are going to let him go."  THAT HE WOULD BE LET GO.

45 minutes later Chris finally has the sailfish reeled in and he's all sweaty and tired.  To my shock, 5-foot-tall Luis somehow lugs this sailfish on board and he's holding its pointy jaws with a rag. All I can think is,

"Oh please Lord, don't let us get Steve Irwin'd."

What I'm imagining is this fish is going to start flopping about violently when it gets short of air.  I am imagining him stabbing everyone in a crazed frenzy while we're a few miles from shore and then we all bleed out in the ocean in Mexico and Brian Williams will lead Monday night's news about "those poor tourists." 

He stays on board for about 30 seconds and I keep my distance.

We take some pictures and tell the guys we're done, toss him back in the water.  We wanted him to live a long and happy life in the ocean.  And we don't want to get stabbed.

Martin gets on the radio and calls the other boats nearby to see if anyone wants our sailfish.  I am so stupid that I thought he meant that they'd cut the line and then be like, "Ok guys, there's a sailfish RIGHT HERE IN THIS WATER so drop another line and see if you can get him too!  He's RIGHT HERE."

Oh, I'm so stupid.

Another boat comes trolling up and Luis hands him the rod.  There was some dude on that boat who wanted to put our sailfish on his wall.

You *try* and be a good person and look what happens.  Someone just steals your sailfish.

After that things went downhill.  I mean, what else was going to be more exciting?  We caught several more tuna and then we think a barracuda chomped some of our bait in half.  (See that knife?  it just rolled around down there while Luis continued to not wear shoes.)

We saw some dolphins (at first, I thought they were sharks and had a major Jaws flashback) and sea turtles and then headed back.  We took naps at the pool that afternoon and then spent the entire next day in the pool again.  I will not bore you with more of the same pictures of the pool.

When we came home I was really glad it was only a 2-hour flight and not those 8-hour flights home from Maui.  Claire was at home waiting for us and from the sound of it she really didn't miss us at all.  While that is moderately insulting, she was perfectly happy with her grandparents and I can't really ask for much more than that.

We had fun and the trip served its purpose well: three days of sleeping in and laying at the pool without having to pack diapers and toys into my purse.  Thus concludes the Cancun Adventure and our first trip without Claire.  Success all the way around - I highly recommend a few days sans baby in the first year. 

(For everyone who has asked, we stayed at Le Blanc.  It is about ten minutes from the airport and it was amazing.  I highly recommend it.  Pool, food, service - all incredible.)

We interrupt this ongoing vacation saga to bring you The Incredible Growing Baby

Seriously, I look at these photos and I can't believe it.

CAN. NOT.  BELIEVE. IT.

A few days after we brought her home

Last night, 10 months old

Cancun Adventure Part Two: For the first time ever, I failed at ordering a cocktail

Thursday afternoon

We drop our bags in the room and skedaddle down to the pool pretty fast.  There is a swim-up bar and a dizzying display of liquor.  With the knowledge that I can order anything I want, I go big and order a...vodka tonic.

What?  I felt PRESSURED and I folded.  The idea of limitless/unlimited/anything you want is a bit paralyzing. 

I felt like I needed an iPhone app to help me think of something inventive and out of the ordinary.  I didn't want just any drink.  I wanted a Vacation Drink.  I felt ill-prepared and briefly chastised myself for not doing some research.

Yes.  COCKTAIL RESEARCH.

You're not supposed to go to an all-inclusive and drink stupid VODKA TONICS.  I don't drink liquor very often, so I was feeling a little lost.  I resolved to order something more snazzy next time.  Five minutes later I was horrified to hear myself order another vodka tonic, but with Peach Absolut this time.  I know.  Not much better.  Kind of more sissy, actually.

(Chris was drinking Dos Equis on draft though, so he wasn't much better.  You can get that at freaking ON THE BORDER for crying out loud.)

We ordered some snacks and lazed about in the pool.  I moved on to something called a Lime Daiquiri, which was basically a margarita with rum.  Chris commented that it "aged well" which is to say that as the ice melted it didn't taste like crap.

At dinner that night it's more of the same dazzling array of choices.  Even though I knew I COULD, I don't want to be that obnoxious person who orders 5 entrees just to flex my "because I can" muscle.  For one, that's pretty wasteful and two, our table was totally not big enough for five dinner plates.

I order Provolone Ravioli (along with a salad - I was feeling like a light dinner).  My plate shows up with three silver-dollar size raviolis.  And that was it.  (Damn. I wasn't feeling THAT LIGHT.)  I resolve to be a little more offensive and ordered at least TWO entrees the next night.  

We go to the lobby bar and I order a double Grand Marnier on the rocks.  It's delicious.  I finally feel like I ordered the right drink.

 

But the night's not over yet!  Our hotel has Entertainment de la Noche!  It's something they're calling a "Fire Show" and Chris is eager to see it.

Turns out that The Fire Show is a bunch of scantily clad young women who light things on fire and twirl them around.  Oh, all right, there were a couple of guys but the girls were totally the centerpiece of the act.  It sounds stupid, but it was weirdly entertaining.

 

Check out my awesome photography skillz wherein I do not use a flash, do not use a tripod and I end up with....pretty crappy pictures.  Oh well.  You didn't come here for Fire Show pictures anyway.

Friday

We spend the morning on the beach where a nice lady called Stefanie brings us more lime daiquiris, a club sandwich and a steady stream of chips and guacamole. 

 

There is a man on the beach (employed by the hotel) with a stack of umbrellas and a post-hole digger.  He will put an umbrella wherever you want.  Later, when the sun moves, he comes by to ask us if we need him to move the umbrella.  I die a little inside and think that I never want to leave this lounge chair on the beach where they bring me club sandwiches and lime daiquiris, no questions asked.

 

The water in Cancun was unbelievable.  Really.  People had told us that it was pretty but nothing prepared me for the fact that it was such an incredible shade of turquoise-y/aqua.  It was gorgeous.  The sand was fine and clean and looked like sugar.  I could see my toenails when I was in chest deep water.  It was cool and refreshing, but not brrr-cold like the Pacific.

Meanwhile, back in Austin, Claire is having a Grand Old Time with my parents.  They send us pictures that we pick up on the wireless network on our iPhones.  She is quite obviously not missing us.  I'm a little bit insulted, but the knowledge that she's completely happy makes it easier for us to kick back and not worry.

Cancun Adventure, Part One: We have to get out of the country first

Wednesday

My parents pick up Claire at 11 am.  I go over detailed instructions, pack her things in the car and kiss her goodbye.  She is totally oblivious ("Wheee!  A car ride!").  I am already starting to miss her even though she's still in the driveway, but I let them take her to Austin anyway.

I get the first of many, many photos a few minutes later from my mother's iPhone:

 

Nope.  She's not missing me.

I work from home for the first time in ten months that afternoon.  I get more done in 5 hours in the kitchen, totally uninterrupted, than I can tackle in three days at my desk. 

Thursday

We get to The Parking Spot at 730 am for a 1030 am flight on Wednesday.  The attendant tells us that there are spaces available on aisle V. 

There are no spaces available on aisle V.  Or any aisles actually. 

The entire place is full and it took us ten minutes of circling to figure this out.  However, there are tons of spots with cones in them marked "Reserved."  Chris wants to park in one of the reserved spots.  I don't want to park there because I'm afraid that we'll get in trouble when we get back.  He puts the car into a reserved spot and runs over the cone and I get all sissy on him and wring my hands and say something like, "But Chriiiiiiis.  We'll get in TROUBLE."  Exactly who I think we will be in trouble with, or what the consequences might be, I have no idea.

All I know is that I have an unreasonable desire to follow the rules.

We roll up to the attendant and inquire, ever so politely, "What. The. Fuck. No. Parking. Spaces."  She shrugs her shoulders indifferently and says that they must be full.  We leave The Parking Spot in a fit of rage - they've wasted 20 minutes of our time and it's almost 8 am now.

We end up parking at the airport where their shuttle bus drops us off 20 yards from the door (again, WTF?).  We decided to check a single bag and we have to pay $15 for it.  We are flying Sun Country.  (This will be important later.)

Chris produces a crisp $20 bill, fresh from the ATM.  The attendant look at it like he's trying to hand her Claire's dirtiest-ever diaper.  With a slight sneer, she says to him,

"I ain't got change."

Huh?  No change?  You're asking us for money to complete a transaction that you initiated and YOU DON'T HAVE CHANGE?

"No.  No change.  My supervisor has the change and she's not here and it's too early and I don't have change.  No change."

I can't decide if her statement is a sly way to ask for a $5 tip or if she's not intelligent enough to find the words to ask for alternate payment.  She just keeps refusing our $20 and doesn't ever offer any other options.  In any case, Chris produces a credit card.  We feel kind of smug about it since we know they'll have to pay an interchange fee and this ends up costing them more.  Suckers. 

We get on the plane.  We notice that the seats I selected at Travelocity are not the same seats we are sitting in.  I'm not sure if this is Sun Country's fault or Travelocity's but somehow our reservation has been jacked with.  It doesn't really matter though because the body-builder who sits in our row leaves after take off to go sit with his buddies in the back of the plane.

Phrases yelled out during the flight by other passengers:

• It's time to get DRUUUUUNK!  (we heard this one several times actually)
• Where's the drinks!?
• WOOOOO!  CANCUN BAYBEEEEEEE!
• Let's get trashed!

Chris and I raise our eyebrows at each other and really hope that these people are not staying at our hotel.

We land and go through customs without incident.  We pick up our suitcase and find that Sun Country has smashed/crushed/ripped the crap out of it.

 

The metal frame was crushed in and it ripped out the seams surrounding the zipper.  The rip spans the corner and it's about 12 inches long.  There are no Sun Country agents to be found in the baggage claim area so we head to the hotel and figure we'll deal with it later.  I'm annoyed about it (since I paid FIFTEEN BUCKS for them to take care of my bag) but I'm not going to let it ruin my day.

But still.  FIFTEEN BUCKS.  FOR THAT.  The damage is such that I'll have to put it out with bulky trash when we get home.

At the hotel though, people finally start to treat us nicely.  You know, like WE'RE PAYING THEM.  (Imagine that.) 

We are greeted with cold washcloths that smell like lemons.  The air conditioning is frigid and fantastic compared to the sweltering humidity outside.  Everything is white and minimalist.  I want to lay my head on the cool floor and take a nap for ten years.

Our room is fantastic.  It is chilly, with soft linens and a ceiling fan, the biggest bathtub I've ever seen, 7 showerheads in one single shower and a view of the ocean.  I immediately think that I could spend the entire vacation in this room and be perfectly happy.

 

And then I saw the pool and decided that no, I would rather spend the entire trip out there in a lounge chair while someone brought me drinks and sandwiches. 

Do you see the genius of this pool?  There are lounge chairs IN THE POOL.  There's a ledge about three inches deep and 10 feet long that the chairs sit on and then the pool is 1.2 meters deep everywhere else.  No kids allowed, so no shallow end needed.  The entire thing is chest deep and perfect for lounging and drinking.  They also had noodles so you could just float on one of those, sip away and gaze at the ocean.  GENIUS.

Ocean?  Pool?  Ocean?  Pool?  I just can't tell the difference.

 

Yes!  Another Club Sandwich please!

 

This is just my starter list. I have many, many more lists after this one.

Things I should be doing:

• Packing Claire for a week with Grammie and Colonel

• Selecting toys
• Selecting outfits
• Corralling hair bows that match all her outfits.  (You know, important stuff.)

• Printing the "Everything about Claire" 5-page novel I typed up last night in a fit of OCD

• Locating passports

• Doing laundry

• Organizing my clothes so I don't forget to pack something important, like my bathing suit and hat

• Decide if I am going to pay to check my bag or carry it on so I can begin creating tiny travel sizes of my toiletries in those stupid tiny plastic bottles from Target.

• Clearing the memory cards on my cameras.

• Figuring out if I need to turn my iPhone off so I don't get a bill for a million dollars (probably yes)

• Brushing up on key phrases in Spanish

• I would like another club sandwich please
• I would like another margarita/pina colada/beer please.
• Yes, of course I want two desserts.
• What time is my massage appointment at?

Things I am doing instead:

• Watching Season 4 of Weeds.  (Thanks Netflix!)

• Drinking a beer

• Wasting time on the internet

• Considering going to Wendy's for a Frosty.

Yeah, I'm TOTALLY going to panic pack tomorrow night.  I would put money on that one.

Line the margaritas up; we're going to Mexico baby!

With just 72 hours until I wedge my ass into the seat of a 737 bound for Mexico, oddly enough, I am in total denial about it.

This is an accidental vacation.  We booked it just to book SOMETHING, so we'd stop feeling sorry for ourselves about not taking time just for us.  We booked it to Cancun because it was close and because we got a killer deal on the hotel.  We weren't that excited about the destination except for the fact that it's on a beach.

If I'm being really honest?  I like experiencing new places and cultures but my most favorite vacation is in Hawaii because it has gorgeous beaches, great weather and it's in America. 

I love vacationing in America and spending my American dollars and gallivanting around with the knowledge that I am laying on the beach with my Constitutional Rights intact and if anyone jacks with me then I'll sue 'em, because I LOVE AMERICA and that's what we can do when we get jacked with.

WOOT FOR AMERICA!

(I'm arrogant like this.)

Mexico bewilders me because of the widespread graft, drug dealers, homicide and utterly horrific poverty that the government doesn't seem to really care about.  It seems to be so...lawless and wild and crazy.  Whether I'm correct in feeling this way or not, I'm not really loving a gut reaction of "uh-oh" when I step off the plane. 

In Mexico (and I have been recently to Mexico City, Acapulco and Veracruz, I'm not just basing this on headlines) I always feel like I'm about to be the victim of a crime worthy of a Harrison Ford movie where Special Forces are going to have to rescue me.  I don't like that feeling so much.

Also?

Chris took French in high school and I think my 11th grade Spanish teacher pity-passed me that last semester because after three years in his classroom, Senor Fleming figured out that I was never going pick up much of anything beyond basic vocabulary.  Being somewhere that I'm not fluent makes me feel like I'm already in a compromised position.

All this to say that we're flying a few thousand mile south with the intention of spending 4 days within the confines of the hotel.  No Mayan pyramids for us!  We're staying in the infinity pool with a swim up bar and eating nachos all week.  This is SO unlike me; normally I'd like to venture out to explore and soak up some local flavor.  Make the most of being there.  Be the sort of traveler that gets her hands dirty.

But in Mexico?  I think not.  Seems safer to stay on a lounge chair with a margarita.  Several margaritas.

***
My parents are fetching Claire on Wednesday morning.  It was supposed to be Wednesday night.  When I found out that I'd have to say goodbye 8 hours sooner I kind of freaked out and then I realized that Chris and I could go to the movies on Wednesday evening and that might be positively THRILLING to go to the movies.

This is indicative of how I feel about the whole trip.  I get sad and mopey about leaving Claire and then I remember that leaving Claire means FREEDOM SWEET FREEDOM.  I get excited and consider packing high heels since I won't be toting around a 20 lb free weight on my arm that throws off my balance.

(I mean SERIOUSLY.  My 20's were full of awesome shoe purchases that have been languishing in my closet.  It PAINS me to look at them now and know that I can't bear to even wear them out to the freaking car.)

We're leaving in two days and I've got lists to make and things to pack.  (I haven't even practice packed yet, which is highly, highly unusual for me.)  And what am I doing right now?  Watching Season 4 of Weeds and drinking a Dos Equis while my daughter slumbers peacefully.

Ah, the good life.  It would appear I've got it this week.