A supposedly fun thing that I'll definitely do again if it's with Disney

Remarkably good spirits for like 0 o'clock at the airport. Check out Noshember Beardy, also.

Classic. The extreme wind made for a very sloshy first night aboard the ship.

Ethan enjoying Aladdin's carpet ride at the Magic Kingdom, the day before the cruise began, because full-on Disney Vacation Club is how we roll.

The view from one of our TWO four-foot-diameter portholes. Meh.

I'd never been on a cruise before—I mean, I'd taken a day cruise in Alaska's Prince William Sound, complete with glacier ice in my Coca Cola Classic (because I was young enough that I could drink Cocoa Cola Classic without paying for it in belly fat; now, I reserve Coca Cola Classic for when I really need The Hard Stuff, such as on our flight home from vacation). So the cruise.

The chandelier in the ship's lobby.

Noah's mom had been planning a Disney cruise for all of us—her three sons, two daughters-in-law, and four grandkids—for a loooong time. Very sadly, she fell and tore a ligament about a week before the trip, was and remains hospitalized, and wasn't able to go with us. However, Noah's wonderful 17-year-old cousin, Jett, who was our ring bearer, came along in her place. And we were all perplexed and amused when on our first night cruising, the server brought out a cake and the staff sang happy birthday to Jett—Debbie's 60th birthday was listed, but Jett's name had replaced hers. So we celebrated Jett's 60th birthday, with Debbie in our hearts.

Jett feeding Oliver. Isn't he adorable? And I mean that about both of them.

Jett back in 2004, with his sister Coral, who was our flower girl.

Twas a three-night Disney cruise, stopping at Nassau and Disney's private Bahamian island, Castaway Cay. I knew almost immediately that all other cruise lines would forever be ruined for me. Guys, Disney stuff is pristine. Pristine, I tell you! Ain't no grubby handprints on the walls, ain't no rusty portholes—heck, I even saw a "cast member" sweep up an inch-long piece of string from one of the lobby's elaborately colorful plush rugs.

Too bad the food sucked. NOT! (Eventually the millenials will make that a thing again; I'm staying ahead of the curve. Remaining relevant.)

Our stateroom was large and beautiful, the staff were accommodating and friendly, the nightly shows were spectacular feats of talent, the kids were pretty well behaved as a rule. We were only diddled out of $4 on Nassau, even though we never got beyond the port (more on that in another post).

Word to the wise: after having two babies, you can only take a decent photo in a damp swim coverup if you angle yourself in really awkward ways. If you don't feel like a twit, you're doing it wrong.

Me and my dudes.

Castaway Cay was delightful, one of my favorite moments being when Ethan and I sat in a clear inner tube and paddled alone all the way out to the buoys separating the swim lagoon from the snorkeling lagoon. The water was almost crystal clear, we could see all the way to the bottom, and we floated along in the Caribbean like it was just the usual.

Still, returning home was sweet. And not just because air travel with kids is a nightmare and a half. (After about five minutes, the kids are like, "All your base are belong to us," and we're all, "Pwned.") No, the best part about being glad to be home is that even without all the luxury and the wait staff and fine cuisine (although my dad's cooking pretty much is), we're happy when we're together, peaceful in our nest.