Diana, to combat feeling uninspired, is sharing her adventures Down Under, complete with awesome pics. (I want to see the ice. *sniffle*) Well, I’m feeling a bit uninspired, too, so I’ll share a tale of an old adventure I’d previously written up for another board. Vacation, Stacey style. *g*

The following takes place in August of 2003:

WHAT THE STACEY FAMILY DID FOR SUMMER VACATION (Or: Emboldened by the Power of the Golden Cajones, the Staceys Journey to Nova Scotia and See Beaver Butt)

Chapter 1: FULLY STABILIZED. We thought this meant the ship wouldn’t buck like a bull on crack. We were wrong. (Highlight of this chapter: The tall kid, recently diagnosed as pronunciationally-challenged, announcing in the ship’s crowded cafe that his Bionicle has the Power of the Golden Cajones.)

Chapter 2: DISEMBARKING. This involved being yelled at to find our car among hundreds in the bowels of the ship. No highlights. I’ve repressed the entire thing.

Chapter 3: WHAT THE HECK’S A KILOMETER AND HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO DRIVE ONE? We still don’t know.

Chapter 4: SHANNON DRIVES. In one giant circle, right back to the same Tim Hortons. (Coffee is my destiny.) DH shook his head and resumed driving—different route. Same big circle and same Tim Hortons. We decide to buy a map. At some point.

Chapter 5: DRIVE. Drive, drive, drive, get out and look at a lighthouse, drive, drive, drive, drive, find a motel. DH calls this “exploring”. *snort*

Chapter 6: VISITING DEB. We had an absolutely lovely visit. Very relaxed, and the kids had a blast. I saw very little of the tall kid, as he and Deb’s boys hit it off immediately. And Liam had a blast playing with the toys. We got to chat a little. *g* The time to drive, drive, drive came much too soon.

Chapter 7: MAKING IT OUT ALIVE: At the intersection where Deb’s neighborhood remeets the main road, we came within inches (centimeters?) of being introduced to a young lady who apparently slept through the speed limit and red light portion of driver’s ed. Luckily DH’s reaction to my screaming his name was to yank left and brake hard. (We’re working on screaming “Stop!” for next time.) She was going fast enough in an SUV large enough that the parental reaction to the tall kid’s first driver-directed obscenity was “Damn straight.”*

Chapter 8: DEEP BREATH. We pulled into a gas station to give DH a chance to stop twitching. I reached into the backseat and POOF! My diamond fell out of my engagement ring. The one the jeweller had put a new head on 11 days before. I did find it. After terrorizing my family and giving one gas station attendant a case of Post Tourist Stress Syndrome that’s going to buy her therapist a new boat everytime she sees a NH plate.

Chapter 9: PARRSBORO, NOVA SCOTIA. The quaint little town where, after having the financial ramifications of child support for 2 explained to him again, DH decided we could get out of the car and spend a couple of days. I LOVED it there. Spun myself a nice lil fantasy around this town, and if that certain fisherman tying up his boat had so much as winked, I’d’ve thrown myself out of the car and put the scandal machine in high gear. Alas, I had to settle for fossil hunting. *ggg*

Chapter 10: CANADIAN SPEECH THERAPY. As some of you know, the short kid only says a few words due to a speech delay. Mom. No. Dada. Ow. No. No. *g* Well, he learned how to say “Bye, Bob!” while on vacation. *shrug* Don’t ask, cause we don’t know.

Chapter 11: WILDLIFE. While driving a long, red dirt road out to a lighthouse, I saw a mole run across the rode. While I was gushing over the cute rodent, my husband says “Hey, did you see the beaver?” I didn’t, being distracted. But the tall kid starts yelling from the back seat. “I saw its butt! I saw its butt! I saw its butt!”

The following takes place…NOW:

So that was it. We hated the ship so much we forfeited the return passage and drove home. New Brunswick…buttload of trees. More trees. On a side note, I entered Canada ass-first. *g* The chaos of getting off the ship and the danger of cars pulling out of the sardine can had me tossing the children in the car. So when we went through customs, I was backward over the seat, trying to strap the short kid into his car seat. *g*

Next time I get uninspired, I’ll tell y’all about the camping trip with the tarp, the steak blood, and the new car.

*(For those New Englanders out there, yes the tall kid called her an “F-ing Flatlander”. Ironic, considering we were the tourists.)