If you thought it’s been a bit quiet around here, you’re not imagining things.  It has been.  And no, I’m not staging another hiatus.

Instead, my family and I took a much needed vacation.

Last week we spent five days and nights on a Disney cruise aboard the Disney Wonder, sailing out of Miami to Grand Cayman, and Cozumel, Mexico.  Five days immersed in the magic of princesses and pirates and plush characters.

And it was awesome.

Let me first state, my husband and I are not “cruisers.” I detest using the word “cruise” in any way, shape or form that might sound like something out of a Jimmy Buffet song. “Take a cruise,” or “Go on a cruise” I can swallow.  I did not want to “go cruising” or “be a cruiser,” all said while wearing a shirt from Tommy Bahama and flashing a Hang Ten sign.

My only experience on a cruise ship was one I took with my family over a decade ago on a Carnival ship for a week.  Most of it is a blur of booze, binge eating and trying to avoid being roped in to a “find your partner blindfolded by the feel of their hairy chest” contests.

So as we approached the idea of taking a cruise vacation as a family, I had my hesitations.

I had been told by many parents that if you were going to go on a cruise with your kids, a Disney cruise was the way to go.  And they were right.

From the moment we stepped on board the ship, Disney didn’t disappoint.

We were greeted by energetic crew members who asked for our family name.  Then, in grand Disney fashion, they announced that our family was on board and the line of crew applauded our arrival, as if we were walking on the red carpet.

Next, we headed to our room to check out our digs for the next few days.  We decided to splurge and get a room on the seventh deck with a verandah because the thought of being cooped up in a dark, black hole on the inside of the ship gave me the cold sweats.

The room was actually bigger than I expected, with two separate rooms for the toilet and the shower (both equipped with sinks), a large queen bed for the parents, a pull-out sofa and bunk bed for the kids, and a mid-room curtain so parents and kids could have their privacy.

The next stop was lunch in the buffet restaurant, because I can’t make it longer than two hours without needing a carbohydrate.  And here’s where my fears of contracting some type of pandemic bug were alleviated.

If you know me well, you know my anxiety about vomit.  Even hearing or reading about a Norovirus outbreak halfway across the country makes me reach for a face mask.

Yet, even before getting on the ship, I knew my fears were unfounded.  First of all, Disney hasn’t had a reported outbreak in over a decade.  And secondly?  My kids have a better chance of contracting some debilitating stomach virus at school then they do on a ship.

But this discovery made me happy:  Disney cleans the shit out of that ship.

Everywhere we turned, someone was disinfecting sinks or scrubbing walls or wiping stair rails.   And there were greeters standing at every entrance to every restaurant handing out sanitizing wipes before we ate.  Disney don’t mess around, y’all.

Then, our Disney cruise took off.  We had two full days at sea, where our kids swam in the pools, dove down the slide, treaded water while watching their favorite Disney flicks, and ate all the ice cream their small stomachs could hold.

And did I mention that there were Disney character meeting opportunities at every turn?  We saw just about every major character on the ship, and the lines to meet them and get their autograph were a snap compared to what it takes to meet a character at a Disney park.  The one thing I was amazed by with the Disney characters is that they seemed to take their time with each kid.  There wasn’t an urgent rush to do a fast turnover, and they made each child feel special.  That cements more memories than any photo or signature ever could.

A friend asked me if the ship was all “It’s a Small World” all of the time on the Disney cruise, and surprisingly, it wasn’t.  Sure, they piped Disney music in to the hallways and such, but it was at a modest level (and I have to admit, I was prone to singing along).  There were adult clubs, bars and pools where we could escape children and feel like we were on a legitimate adult vacation.

The shows on board were pretty impressive, featuring Broadway-style choreography and music, but just short enough to keep a little one’s attention.  My son loved heading up to the Wide World of Sports deck a couple of times a day to play hoops, jump in a soccer game, or swat at a ping-pong ball.

And the Oceaneer Lab was a big hit too.

I wasn’t sure how well the “kids club” was going to go over with our kids, since they protested their time at Club Med like it was a prison sentence.  But after seeing how much awesomeness there was during the Oceaneer Lab’s open house, the kids were sold.

We took advantage of their excitement and participated in the Dine and Play option, since we ate so late for the second seating at 8:15pm.  The servers would bring out our kids’ food first, and then at around 9, the activity counselors would come get them and bring them to the lab so that Jon and I could finish our dinner in peace and quiet.  Like a date.  Like grown-ups.

Our port adventures were pretty fun too.  We spent our day in Grand Cayman on the beach.  Did I mention how spectacularly gorgeous the water is in the Caribbean?  It’s so much prettier than the mysteriously brown stuff I grew up wading in in the Gulf of Mexico.  The kids loved strapping on their goggles and swimming to see colorful fish.  And I didn’t mind sipping fruity cocktails on the shore.

But perhaps the best thing we did was swim with the dolphins in Cozumel.

When I first booked this excursion, I grappled with the dilemma.  I hated the idea of these captive dolphins being cooped up for human enjoyment.  But then countered it with the thought that I would probably never get this chance again.  And that thought won out.

Because two seconds after being in the water with these beautiful mammals, all of those animal rights thoughts rode the current out to sea.  What an amazing experience!  And to see the wonder and excitement on my children’s faces as they took a ride in the sea with a dolphin was pretty priceless.

All in all, our family had a fantastic time on our Disney cruise.  So much so that coming back to reality has been hard.

No one wanted to head back to work or school.  We’re suffering from self-serve withdrawal.  I miss having someone make my bed twice a day.  We didn’t get our “land legs” for a couple of days and Jon and I feared that other families who spotted us at IHOP the next morning we returned suspected we were all drunk.

The kids are already asking when we can head back to a Disney cruise again.  And my guess is, we’ll definitely do it again.

Who knows.  Perhaps we’ll become “cruisers” after all.

There are lots of things I like about the ocean.

I love listening to the waves crash upon the shore.  I will gladly lounge on a balcony, sipping an adult beverage and soaking in the view of the ocean.  I enjoy strolling just on the shoreline’s edge, letting the water lick my feet.  And napping on the beach is one of life’s greatest indulgences.

But swimming in that gigantic and seemingly endless body of water?

Not. A. Fan.

I can remember going to Florida as a kid, and wading out in the Gulf of Mexico with my family.  My father would take off on his own, swimming out a bit too far for my liking.  With only his head visible, I’d start to worry and panic.  “DAD!!!  COME BACK!!!” I’d yell, knowing full well that he couldn’t hear me.

He always returned safe and sound, and with the full force of my 6 year-old fury, I’d scold him to never scare me like that again.

My daughter, much like my father, is a water dog.  Fearless.  Thinks she’s a better swimmer than she really is.

Jumping through waves with her on our recent trip to Myrtle Beach gave me a panic attack the size of the Atlantic.

She wanted nothing to do with holding my hand.  She wanted to stand unassisted and plunge her body in to an oncoming wave that was two feet taller than her head.  Every time she’d go under, I’d survey the water like a bear searching for fish, hoping she’d surface.

I couldn’t go on like this forever, on the brink of completely losing it.  So I did what any protective mother would do.

I clutched on to the back of her bathing suit tutu as hard as I could and let her flail her small body through the crashing waves.  With that fistful of cheap Target tulle, I felt a bit more in control, a tad more comfortable, just shy of exuding the confidence of David Hasselhoff in a Baywatch beach rescue.

What was I afraid of?  With my dad, and my children?  The list of reasons I avoid the ocean are endless and read like phobic lunacy.

Unless I’m in the crystal clear and calm surf of somewhere tropical like the Caribbean, that murky water is just too mysterious.  When something brushes against my leg, I can’t tell if it’s a fish, algae, or a diaper gone AWOL.

The pull of the ocean is stronger than my preschooler’s ability to dog paddle.

Have you seen Jaws?

Some people use it as a giant toilet.  A Giant. Freakin’. Toilet

Once I get pulled under, sand gets everywhere.  And I do mean everywhere.  In painful and discreet places in folds and creases I never even knew I had.

No, no.  The sandy beach is where it’s at.  It’s my happy place.  The one that offers solid ground, cold and fruity alcoholic drinks, and serenity.

On the beach, the only thing I have to fend off is the seagull that wants dibs on my can of Pringles.  The sand doesn’t plot to topple me over, suck me under and leave me scraped and cursing.  It’s a gentler side of nature. The shore provides a place to relax, soak in the sun, and pretend I’m the star in an anti-depressant ad.

And, not to toot my own horn, I do make a mean sand turtle.