The St. Thomas Clampetts
May 26-June 3 2011

St. Thomas was Rachel’s idea. She was six months pregnant and no longer glowing; in fact, she was a little mean. Out of the blue, she announced that St. Thomas was her choice for summer vacation; we were all going the last week in May; and the new baby—whatever it was—would have to adjust. So, St. Thomas it was then.

By the time I learned that plane tickets were in the $500 range, the ship of reason had sailed. She was bigger than a bread box and not sleeping well. When her husband, BJ, reluctantly revealed that he couldn’t leave work until two days after the rest of us were flying down, things really got ugly. I thought about checking out his story with his boss but decided that some things were better left alone.

Tim and I drove to Huntsville to pick up Bryan (6) and leave Lucy to entertain Bubbles, Bryan new lab puppy. We got back to the lake just in time. Rachel, Tyler (5), and Wynn (8 weeks) arrived with so much stuff that I was sure she was here to stay. Three bulging-at-the-zippers suitcases, a backpack, diaper bag, hobo purse, bouncy seat, stroller, infant car seat, and a booster seat—oh my!

The next morning, Tim courageously crammed three more suitcases, another booster seat, his computer bag, various and sundry carry-on bags, purses, and backpacks into Rachel’s overlarge SUV, and we set off in pursuit of Wally World, an off-site parking lot, and the Atlanta airport.

The driver of the van at Wally World nearly fainted when Tim opened the back of the SUV. But Tim tipped well, and the guy began breathing normally. The scene was repeated when we checked in curbside at the airport. TSA wasn’t particularly amused when Tyler replied that he was 5 and 4 quarters years old or when the stroller wouldn’t fold up for the conveyor belt. Some people just have no sense of humor whatsoever!

Thankfully, the flight was uneventful—Wynn slept and proved wrong all the passengers who had given us dirty looks. Tim, Bryan and Tyler forgot about their earphones and kept talking at the top of their lungs, but Rachel and I pretended that we didn’t know them until potty-on-demand time. Rachel and I had learned more than a few hard lessons traveling with my dad, who flew with a diuretic racing through his system, and Tyler, who once announced minutes before landing that he needed to potty. On that occasion, Rachel had to stick his “monster” down an empty Gatorade bottle. The other passengers were not fooled.

While Tim found the car rental desk and Rachel went in search of a customs form, the boys and I loaded some of the eight or so extra bags onto the stroller and headed to the open-air baggage claim/rum bar. Any guesses on how long it takes to retrieve six suitcases, one infant seat base, and two booster seats while holding a baby and keeping an eye on two rascally boys?

Finally, we were ready to start our family vacation. Unfortunately, the rental car lot was across the street and up a flight of stairs.

Our growling stomachs reminded us that we had to find a grocery store before we checked in at the hotel. At a red light, Rachel asked a guy in the car next to us for directions to the nearest grocery store. Up ahead and across from Wendy’s was Pueblo, the nastiest and most expensive grocery store on the planet. Still, we had to eat. Somehow Tim found room in the van for $200 worth of groceries that had cost me $400, and we set out to find the condo. We only got lost once.

At the condo, the pool was beckoning, so we quickly unpacked and slathered on the sunscreen. Rachel packed the stroller with all necessary and unnecessary baby paraphernalia, three battery-powered fans, pool toys, cooler, first-aid kit and snacks and away we went down three elevators in three different buildings to the pool. Oh, yeah. She also packed Wynn but forgot the towels. I cheerfully volunteered to go back for them.

According to Rachel, this trip was part family vacation and part anniversary celebration. (I remind you that BJ missed the first two days of the celebration.) Therefore, she and BJ needed massages to relieve the stress of the family vacation part and needed to go on an all-day, just the two of them, water adventure to celebrate their anniversary. Oh, brother. Call me when you have three kids, teach middle school, and have no idea where to get a massage.

We promised the little boys a trip to Iggie’s for Carnivale Night. Who wouldn’t want to watch a lady on stilts wildly swinging her legs or a guy walking across broken glass? They were most anxious to see if the guy doing the limbo under a flaming bar would burn anything important. We never suspected that BJ would be the star of Carnivale.

At Iggie’s, the can of OFF at the hostess stand warned us that the No-see-ums were going to be a problem, but nothing prepared us for the authentic Caribbean cuisine. We had already passed on eating barbeque out of the back end of a station wagon, and we should have skipped the $38 per person buffet. BJ survived the food but finding Bryan barefoot outside the men’s restroom almost did him in. According to Tyler, Bryan was not only walking around inside the restroom barefoot but also crawled on the floor. BJ snatched up Bryan, made him wash his hands twice, and shared gruesome details of hygiene in the men’s room. Bryan may be scarred for life.

Then things really got good. Carnivale Lady danced across the sand on stilts while trying desperately to keep on her full-face mask. After putting on quite a show atop those skinny-bottomed stilts, she spotted BJ in the crowd. He looked like an able and willing, if somewhat goofy, dance partner. All of a sudden, Carnivale Lady was riding high on BJ’s shoulders. I expect that the goofy look was wiped off his face, but we couldn’t tell. His head was somewhere in her voluminous balloon pants. BJ was in the moment. I was so glad that he had had a massage earlier in the day. It got his muscles all limbered up.

For a week, Bryan and Tyler built sand castles at Magen’s Bay Beach, petted sharks and stingrays and fed the lorikeets at Coral World, rode the sky ride to the top of Charlotte Amalie (while BJ, who is deathly afraid of heights, tried not to scream like a little girl), picked up sea glass and shells at Brewer’s Bay, licked ice cream from Udder Delight, sailed on a catamaran around St. Thomas, colored pirate pictures, played Zingo at the kids’ club, rode the car ferry to St. John, watched Gnomeo and Juliet at the dive-in, endured swimming lessons, watched movies, ate tons of junk food, and chased iguanas around the pool. As Tyler says, they were “living the life!”

Rachel and BJ went on their private water adventure and loved snorkeling in the Caribbean. Tim picked them up late in the afternoon, and they all went to Duffy’s Love Shack and got leid.

Far too soon it was time to leave St. Thomas. Somehow Tim managed to get everything back inside the van for the trip to the airport. He dropped us off and returned the van to the lot across the street. At the Delta counter, they refused to take our luggage, making us drag everything through customs ourselves. When we finally got to customs, we learn that we should have filled out two forms rather than one. I started praying that TSA wouldn’t make Tim take off his belt to go through security. That was usually his tipping point at an airport, and he was seriously close.

Family vacations are not for the faint of heart.