It’s been awhile, I know. This time of year is haaaard, between all of the days the kids are off school and the miserable weather making us stir crazy.
Over the holiday break we took a family trip to the Caribbean with my parents, it was Ninjas first time travelling internationally. If I’m being honest I was hella nervous leading up to it. The idea of taking a predictably unpredictable kiddo through customs seemed super stressful, and I had fingers crossed that the agents would have a sense of humor. When we landed at the airport where our layover was to be, the boy presented the pilot with a thank you note for flying us, and next thing I know he is in the cockpit taking pictures and posing with the throttle.
During our first full day at the resort Ninja discovered NA strawberry daquiris, and proceeded to make numerous trips to the bar throughout the stay. He befriended other guests in the elevator, and we learned from them that six seeeeeven is also a thing where they lived in Canada. Each night the resort put on different shows – our favorite was the Michael Jackson themed dance show. The boy declared that he wanted to be a part of the show, and genuinely did not understand why they could not just add him to the lineup and put his name on the big screen with his own graphics. I knew this was gong to be a problem, because there was a very real possibility that he would try to dart up onstage anyway and attempt to moonwalk. Because reason is a thing that Ninja eschews, I tried to be practical about this situation.
First I told him that he could not be a part of the show because he did not have a work permit. The dancers must surely have filled out lots of paperwork and gone through some sort of official channel to be cleared for performing. They probably went through safety training so they would not trip over wires or fall off the stage. Not a problem, he said. Shortly thereafter he presented me with a permit he had hand drawn on purple construction paper. Well played, kid. I then informed him that the resort was owned by Marriott, and all the shows had to be approved by the corporate headquarters back in the states. His permit would have to be submitted and it would take several days for them to review it. Ninja then disappeared momentarily, and I found him emerging from the front desk area. He had handed his permit to the women behind the desk and asked them to submit it to corporate so that he could be part of the show. I’m willing to bet that was a first for them.
When it was time to go home a few days later, there was a major meltdown over the sand bucket and shovel my parents had bought in the gift shop for him to play with while he was there. We cannot take it home with us, we explained, because it would not fit in any of the bags and we each already had two carryon items. He found this most upsetting, and needed some recovery time. I suggested that he leave it for the next child who visits, to enjoy during their time on the beach just like he had. This was unacceptable, but he did agree to donate it to the front desk to use as a decoration, with explicit directions that it was only for decoration and no other kids would be allowed to play with it. This most definitely confused the nice women, who had to be thinking that American kids are very strange indeed.
On the flight home Ninja proudly wore his pilot wings pin he had been given by the crew on the way to our destination. This caught the attention of another wonderful flight attendant, who complimented him and welcomed him as part of the crew. This, of course, resulted in the incorrect assumption on the boys part that he was allowed to help with takeoff procedures and drink cart service. At one point he went back to give the gentleman attendant a picture he had drawn of the airlines logo, to hang up in the plane for decoration, of course. Moments later the man crouched down in the aisle next to my husband and commented on what a cool kid he is, then offered us adult beverages on the house. Win!
I’ve learned that if we jsut expect the unexpected we will neve
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