The Crazy Adventures of the Johnson Family: Cozumel Addition

How excited am I that we are finally in Mexico? Its similar to the euphoria one gets when entering a chocolate factory and being told he/she can eat as much as desired. (So basically its unprecedented).

The journey here has been INSANE. And I really hope the tornado of our departure has calmed down.

Special shout out to our AMAZING renters!! You are AWESOME!! (Last week when we were scrambling with a total of 4 hours of sleep a day, they not ONLY came and helped us TWO nights, they also brought us dinner. And it was delicious).

I tried to pack a separate cruise bag than the move bag. But that worked out for all of about two seconds. The swimsuit I packed for the cruise was OBVIOUSLY the one I wore when I was nursing and actually had something to FILL the top cups. So the FIRST thing I had to do when we got on the boat was unzip my preciously folded and vacuumed magic bags of clothes and dump them all out and find a good “flat chested” swimsuit. (This may shock you, but NO swimsuit looks flattering when your stomach exceeds your chest. Cruise food= I became an Ethiopian caused by gluttony instead of starvation).

Cruise Highlights

The first time we went to dinner in the little shazzy snazzy restaurant with two of every eating utensil, white table clothes, and breakable water glasses with our CHILDREN (probably the only children EVER brought to dinner), Boeing discovered the knife made a fantastically obnoxious and excruciating noise when he scraped it across the top of his water glass. He then said, “I need to go potty!” And while I tried to find a bathroom he PEED. ALL over the floor.

The next night we ate at 7 o’clock with all of our kids and Brooklyn, Brighton, and Boeing wanted to go to the play place. How TERRIFIC! IF only they let in kids under THREE! Ugh…  Boeing threw a fit of complete despair begging with all of his heart to go “wif bwy and bwookin to pway.” We tried to cheer him up by goofy golfing with him. Which was really us dodging flying golf balls being THROWN, not putted by one of those golf sticks. Even though we’d just finished eating at the buffet, we went to dinner with Boeing. (Yeah. I don’t know why either. Its like we just LOVE public humiliation).

We learned the night before to move all metal and glass apparatus FAR from Boeing’s reach. Smart. But not smart enough. Barely seated, Boeing immediately climbed on TOP of the table and grabbed a handful of the individually wrapped butter. Starling seated Boeing as discretely as an elephant, and Boeing settled down playing with the butter. “Pick your battles.” We’ve all heard that. So butter was the battle we picked. I actually breathed a sigh of relief and almost relaxed enough to ease the giant KNOT that had replaced my spine. And just as suddenly as he had calmed himself, Boeing opened a butter and said, “I wash my hands wid da soap!”

“Not SOAP!” I whispered yelled. He was getting his clean on like a magic eraser. If only it hadn’t been BUTTER. I TRIED to pry the butter from his gleefully squishy hands. And it did. End exactly like you predicted. He was covered. I was covered. The poor white table cloth… And since he wasn’t hungry and Starling and I were consuming a 3 course meal, he decided to play the “potty game.” (Also known as Baby Poker. This is where he asks to go potty every time I sit back down at the table. And Starling has NO problem saying, “You just went. Sit down.” I, on the other hand, take him to potty pretty much every time he asks because he actually pees or poops every time I take him. Boeing obviously comes to ME when he needs to go to the bathroom). When I took him for the fourth time and he only “too-dood” as he calls a pass of gas, I decided to gamble. But only until mid desert, after I’d watch him chug two glasses of lemonade. He was suddenly famished when he saw the desert on the table we’d only been away from for less than a minute. As I tried to protect the glassware under attack by flailing arms, I elbowed MY desert. It was a pink substance that didn’t blend into the carpet At All. Bless Boeing’s little heart. He spent most his first cruise in time out and getting his butt beat. And he wouldn’t repeat his crimes. He’d just move on to new ones.

Our last night on the ship, after Boeing threw another heart wrenching plea tantrum to go play with his ecstatic siblings going to a Pirate Party, we took him to the nursery to let HIM play. For $8 an hour. He was TERRIFIED. He didn’t want to be with strangers. I wasn’t going to make him stay when Starling intervened and said we should have ONE dinner in peace before we left. So we had a little date night. We goofy golfed without getting pegged in the shin by wayward balls, we ate a peaceful dinner, we relaxed in our room. We tried to absorb as much peace and quiet as possible.

PORTS

Jamaica’s port was beautiful. VERY commercialized and obviously not at ALL real Jamaica. We bought the kids colorful sea turtles being hand carved in front of the kids. You would have thought I’d given each of them a fluffy puppy. And we finally found out Brooklyn’s dance genre. She looked a lot more in synch with the Jamaican drums than she ever did with the other girls in her ballet class.  

We then entered the real Jamaica. Yikes. Everyone kept handing Brooklyn things and she kept saying, “Oh! Thank you SO MUCH!” And I would say, “No thank you. Give it back.” I felt like I was in a swarm of bees. Or a swarm of maracas and cheap jewelry. We were going to go to the falls but the kids were already whining, “We are TIRED of walking… we are ready to get back on the ship with our turtles.” We’d been there a total of 30 minutes. Despite my inner cry to experience the unsculpted parts of the island, the audible outer cries far outweighed it. Luckily my kids loved Margaritaville. We swam there For Free until 1 or 2:00. Then we went back to the ship and ate lunch while Starling went back to explore the island.

When asked about Jamaica, my kids said their favorite part was getting the sea turtles and seeing butterflies. Of course. Nevermind swimming under a waterfall in Margaritaville.  

When Starling returned just before he got left (on the wrong island) I was (how do I put myself in a positive light here? oh I can’t) furious! Not about him coming back late. I couldn’t believe all the (and I mean this with all do respect to the amazing artists that created the objects) CRAP he bought!

A wooden CANE (bc we ALWAYS need a walking stick), a THREE foot ALLIGATOR eating a baby alligator (because I ALWAYS decorate with wooden gators), a bambalin (exactly! what tha frick is THAT), a GIANT wooden unpainted fish (again with the wood?), a HIDEOUS wooden monkey (seriously?? a creepy monkey??), a jewelry box, and a SHARK TOOTH necklace. (Starling Johnson has never worn a necklace in his life). The ONLY thing I told him I liked that I was fine using to decorate a house we don’t even HAVE yet, was a small fish painted in our decorative colors. He bought it. AND a random GREEN fish. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.

What goes through ones mind when they decide to buy random objects they know they are going to have to hide from their psycho wife. WHILE on a cruise ship. WHILE moving to another country. WHILE being house-less. What could possibly be THAT compelling that you would risk the WRATH of ME? And its not a risk. Its a DEFINITE occurrence. Its not like he can say, “Oh I got it to hang in The Barn.” There is no barn. There will BE no barn.

“You just THREW away MONEY on a bunch of CRAP that will NEVER be used! I MARRIED a HOARDER!! Like we don’t already have a MILLION piles of luggage! We don’t even know where we are going to LIVE! This is exactly what I did NOT want to happen! I wanted to LEAVE all of your crap behind so I could start with an EMPTY, clean, DECLUTTERED house! How can you DO this to me!?” And that was the pretty part of my lecture. It was all downhill from there. I’ve been accused (completely unfounded accusations obviously) for being a little over the top dramatic at times.

I have a love/hate relationship for Starling’s four-wheeler side business. I have a HATE relationship with all unnecessary clutter. (Which is anything that doesn’t turn a profit OR anything that doesn’t have its own place even if it DOES turn a profit). (Hence the HATE part of Starling’s obsession with motorized objects). Starling and I differ on our opinions of NECESSARY.   

All I could think is WHERE’s a dang HAPPY pill when ya need one?

His excuse was he needed a souvenir from Jamaica. He may never be there again.

OKAY. GET something a couple of INCHES long. NOT a billboard!

Then his new excuse was that the people were so poor. The further he got into Jamaica the worse the poverty was. And he didn’t WANT the objects he bought. They were the only thing remotely interesting on specific peoples’ tables that his heart went out to. They needed the money more than us.

I HATE when he does that because its almost EXACTLY what I would do. ALMOST. BUT I would have looked for something small and dainty that I could gift or donate, OR I would just give the beggars some money and leave the clutter for them to sell to another person.

While mid drama, Starling told the ship people we were getting off the boat in Cozumel. You would have thought we said we decided to be pirates. We had to go through immigration the next morning. THAT was exciting. They counted every penny we had so they could record it, took Starling into a room to interview him separate than the rest of us. We suddenly went from people moving to Cozumel for a year or so, to “vacationers for 6 months.” Because that is what you tell Immigration to enter Mexico.

The blessing that arose out of all the rig-a-maro was Daniel. Daniel was the same man that helped us LAST time we got trapped in immigration. He not only requested all of our luggage be trollied out of our ship and reloaded onto his own trolleys, but he also loaded our luggage into one of his ginormous work vans and drove us to a hotel. (If you saw how many trips we had to make to get our luggage into our hotel, you would understand that a normal taxi wouldn’t even FIT half of our luggage).

Daniel wanted to take us to a nice hotel that cost $80/night. I said, “No, no. We’ll stay at the one we did last time. It only costs $45.”

I have to say this is not at ALL what I expected. I envisioned staying a single night in the hotel. Maybe two while a realtor showed us a few houses and we picked one. I had NOOO idea that we would rent a car and drive aimlessly over the entire island writing down phone numbers that we can’t call because our phones can’t even be used here. For DAYS on end. And I would be trapped in a one room hotel room with three boisterous children wanting to play inside, outside, swim, not swim, eat, eat, eat. While Starling sat in the front lobby making phone calls, appointments, checking prices. We came at peak season so rentals are filling up with their top dollar clientele. We are looking at apartments and houses from $300/month to $1200/month. There is no rhyme or reason to neighborhoods. There are terribly impoverished people living next to 2 million dollar mansions. Half the rental signs hung on houses are actually advertising a rental in another location. The first two days the kids and I rode around with Starling from house to house. The kids loved the little orange convertible bug we rented. (By convertible, I mean no roof. Sounded like an airplane, no seatbelts). The policemen waved at the kids that were hanging out of windows and standing up in the back seat. Four wheelers, scooters, bicycles, and horses drove past us. The kids thought it was WAAAY cooler than Cruising the Coast. It wasn’t fun to them after 2 days.

“When are we going to GET there??”

“There is no THERE. We are looking at places to live.”

Not really a suitable answer. So the kids and I are now beach residents while Starling does all the shopping. (Even though house hunting is my FAVORITE thing to do. But being on the beach does plenty to dull my trepidation regarding Starling culling out properties). The kids crack me up (sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a mental institution way). I told the kids we will go to whichever beach they want tomorrow. (The two sides of the island have two COMPLETELY different beaches. I call them the sandy beach and the rocky beach).

Bry said, “Lets go to the sandy beach!”

To look at the beautiful water and the fish right under his nose? To stare in awe at the tropical paradise we are living in? No.

He held up a plastic water bottle he found. “Because I want to find gu-lass and put it in here!”

I was confused. So he dumped out the contents he’d already collected while we were walking. Brown glass. Broken beer bottles. Of course. That was SECOND on my list of reasons to move to Cozumel.

Brooklyn likes the hotel pool better than the beach. To swim? No. They have a little kiddy pool that comes up to her thighs. She, Brighton, and Boeing have a game they play. They will play it until it gets dark. You ready for this? Its called “Throw the Coconut in the water and get it out.” I’m guessing I don’t have to explain the rules to you. Because there are none. They literally grab massive coconuts and chunk them in the water, laugh hysterically, fish them out, usually without ever touching the water, and repeat. I really wish I’d brought a 500 page book. Because watching them play that game stopped being fun after about 5 minutes.

Today we WALKED to church. Of course we stopped and asked for directions to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. EVERYONE knew where it was. Yet EVERYONE gave us compLETEly different directions to get there. I saw a man wearing a white shirt and tie and knew he was a Mormon. There are two wards that meet in the chapel. North Cozumel and South Cozumel. We went to both to meet the people. There are other Americanas in both wards. I sat through church catching lots of “Jesus Cristo” and “familia.” And everyone says “entonces” a lot. The speakers talk so fast that’s about all I got from the meetings. But the people know a little English and I know a little Spanish so usually after a little game of charades we can communicate our thoughts to each other. There are 12 missionaries in Cozumel between the two wards. They speak English, too.

I was worried about the kids, how they would do in a church where they couldn’t understand anything. I don’t know why. They are MY kids after all. Brooklyn ran out of Sunday school with some kind of drink and odd looking edible stick and said, “MOM! LOOK what my teacher gave me and I said, ‘Muchas gracias!” And Bry got one, too! And I saved some of my drink for Boeing since he wasn’t in there!”

Boeing could hardly be bothered by a drink. He was yelling at the top of his lungs outside in the fenced in grassy area, “Ca get me!” He was leading about four or five kids of all ages in a game of tag the Boe Boe. He was IN Heaven. He belly flopped into the grass from the sidewalk repeatedly to either see the kids laugh or the mothers have a heart attack and die.

Bry, our shy one, ran up giggling with three other kids, he talking to them and they to him. I guess none of them noticed that they didn’t speak the same language. Bry, also our little “can’t act TOO excited about anything even if he is” said, “I LOVE this new church!”

So THAT’s a relief. We have automatic friends. Two families invited us out this week. One from each ward.

Not that only the Mormon’s are instant friends here.

We left the beach yesterday and stopped to look at a house. (In only our swimsuits). It was REALLY nice and exactly what I want for $1,000/month all things included and fully furnished, yard, etc. The lady that is renting it out lives next door. She talked to us for a little while, showed us all around, made us sit in her house and gave the kids yogurt. Starling said we had to go because he was meeting his friend. (Which is the guy we met last April that owns THE most beautiful hotels you will EVER see right on the sandy beach. That’s why we went to the beach in the first place because, in Starling’s book, after you have a conversation, even if it was only once eight months ago, you are BFF’s. And I guess that’s the Mexican culture because the guy told Starling he’d pick him up at our hotel at 5 to show him all the houses he knew of for rent). Starling and the lady were saying, what I thought were good byes. Then that little fart of a husband I have turned around and said, “K I’ll be back to pick you guys up when I get done.”

And he was out the door before I even had time to sputter, “ARE you NUTS?!”

So there I was. In my swimsuit. With two kids in swimsuits, and Boeing butt naked because his swimsuit fell completely off and was soiled with sand. And a Mexican woman who spoke NO English. AT all. I don’t even think she knew “Hello.” She was grinning ear to ear like she’d just won the Bingo. And I smiled back, trying to repress the terror rising from my stomach. She started talking ninety to nothing. I just stood there blinking. Forever. Then I shook it off and said, “Despacio por favor. No comprendo nada. Repite por favor.” So she started again very slowly. I only caught “something something something...sientete”, which I know means “sit down.” So I sat. And had the kids sit. They were oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation.

She brought me a HUGE plate of chicken. OH my GOSH. I have NEVER had chicken that good in my LIFE. I don’t know WHAT she did to make it taste like that, but it was juicy, melt in my mouth delicioso. I know several adjectives of praise. So I threw all of those to her. Probably some that can’t actually apply to food. She also brought a huge bowl of spaghetti and a massive smoothie. I fed some to the kids. They ate some chicken but not the spaghetti. It was fantastic except for some seasoning that I’m not accustomed to. The smoothie. Well. Lets just say when she went outside to pay her employees, I pinched my nose and tried SO hard to chug it. But I was gagging. It was NOT an American smoothie. No ice. Not cold. GOSH awful taste. She was about to poor the kids some and I said, “No, no…” And I showed her I’d share with them. Each took a swig and did the “WHAT was that poison you put in my mouth” expression. She thought it was hysterical. I told her that I liked it. Because I’m a liar and I didn’t want to offend her especially considering I was her prisoner until further notice. She gave the kids cereal and milk. She just doted on the kids like a little mother hen. She kept hugging them and squeezing them and laughing at them. She showed me her grandson who now lives in Canada. She really, REALLY wants us to rent the house next to us. She said she would babysit for us anytime and cook for us.

It got well past dark and I was freezing. The kids weren’t because they were playing tag around the back yard. Angela, the lady, had just hung up her linens to dry. The kids played hide-and-go-seek. You know how that goes with little ones. Brooklyn would find a hiding spot and then the boys would hide together in that same spot until Brooklyn found another spot. Brooklyn hid behind the linens. But the linens didn’t touch the ground so her legs were exposed from the ankles down. Angela laughed until she was crying. She kept trying to express everything to me. But it was all lost on my uncomprehending self. She had an alligator and frog yard ornaments. Boeing was terrified of the gator, but obsessed with it at the same time. He would run to her every few minutes and grab her hand and say, “yook! uh awigay-der!” And she would say, “o! el cocodrilo!” And he would say, “No! uh awigay-der!” And they carried on all around the yard, he pointing out things to her in English and her saying it in Spanish.

After six years of waiting, Starling FINALLY came back. Not alone. He was with Edwardo and his spouse. Angela tried to feed them, too, but they only accepted drink and then she showed them around her property. Starling apologized about a hundred times, but he was laughing so I don’t think it counts. I thought we would NEVER leave. And when, after THREE hours of being there, everyone decided to part ways, the KIDS didn’t want to go! I was completely baffled. Angela’s yard is about the size of our hotel room. And so is her house. It was an eye opener to me about my kids. We were ready to move on her house for rent, but someone is in it until January 4th. And NO WAY am I living in a hotel until then. Even though Brooklyn said, “Mom… I REALLY like this place.”

   

So we are back to house hunting.

It’s kind of funny. We started with me saying, “I don’t want to live in the city. I want to live in a rural area. And it must be at LEAST 3 bedroom 2 bath. WITH a large yard. Close to the beach. A house. Not an apartment.”

I have now been in this hotel room for a YEAR (actually 3 days) and I am about to DIE if I don’t leave. I don’t know if you got this from the previous part of blog, but I HATE clutter. We literally have a trail winding through our luggage from the door, to the beds, to the bathroom. And find something? IMPOSSIBLE. And there is an odor seeping out of that bathroom, a stench so grotesque that every time someone opens the bathroom door I gag and my eyes water. Seriously I threw up because of it this morning. (Starling said they don’t have a pee trap. I don’t know exactly what a “pee trap” is, but I now know that it may possibly be more important than air conditioning).  I just have to get out of here even though the kids love it. They LOVE living in one room together, building forts out of our luggage, climbing on the beds covered in sand, dog piling me every time I sit ANYWHERE. Its fantastic.

Starling wants us out of here by tomorrow (for MY sanity’s sake). FINGERS crossed.

So my stipulations have a changed a little since day one. Here are my new stipulations for living.

Not a hotel. MUST have a pee trap.