The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

THE TRAVELING CIRCUS 

When I was a young girl, Christmas mornings always started out awkwardly. Right after waking up, the first order of business each year was to empty our stockings of its contents. In the homes of my friends this was a highly anticipated event because they could look forward to finding things like cassette tapes, candy, and other really cool items. In my family, however, this was not the case.

Grammy, my mother, was always too practical and frugal to splurge on desirable stocking stuffers. Instead of the latest recording by New Kids on the Block, I would pull out trial size bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray sprinkled among pencils, erasers and thumbtacks. These meaningless fillers never expressed “love” to me. To me they expressed Grammy’s desire to meet an obligation rather than her wish to make me happy. The difficulty was showing enthusiasm for these Christmas Day bombs when I usually felt a bit appalled by the apparent lack of consideration. Year after year, though, I pasted a huge smile on my face and gushed with gratitude as I held up my pack of q-tips for everyone to see. It was an exercise in forbearance.

In this moment, I am reminded of that old, familiar feeling that accompanied every Christmas morn. Our 2-bedroom villa at Disney’s Old Key West Resort has a room capacity of eight plus a child under three. Grammy was expected to arrive with my nephew, Buddy, which would bring our room occupant number up to six plus a child under three. However, standing at the door to greet our new arrivals, I find Grammy and Buddy accompanied by my sister, brother-in-law and their set of toddling twins.

I stand at the door in shock as the traveling circus files into my peaceful retreat. Grammy sets her bags down near the couch, turns to me and says, “SURPRISE!” Politely I remark with a wide grin, “It sure is! Wow!” From here, the appropriate rounds of hugs are given to our new additions.

As Auntie and Uncle make multiple trips carrying in all the equipment that typically accompanies a pair of 18 month-old twins, Grammy gives her explanation for this unexpected treat. “Well, you’ve never had the chance to meet the twins since you live so far away, and there was room for two more here. I figured I’d bring everyone with me for the trip. Even though the twins put us over room capacity, no one will notice they are here. They are very quiet and as good as gold.”

I shift my position and face Angel and Pooter who have littered the entire living room with all of their playthings in a matter of minutes. DVDs, stuffed animals, riding toys, and countless plastic figurines are scattered everywhere. Every item has some type of electronic feature that loudly speaks, sings, or plays music, and the twins have mastered the trick of activating them all simultaneously. As Pooter glides by me on a toddler-sized fire truck that comes equipped with siren effects, I remark at an elevated decibel, “Oh yes, I’m sure that we’ll hardly know they’re here.” Grammy smiles in agreement. Obviously, the fact that I have to yell over the cacophony of preschool electronics to communicate with her escapes her observation.

I try to think of a statement of gratitude that would hold truth. Shouting above the escalating racket, I exclaim, “I am glad that I can finally see the twins! I’ve hated that I missed their first year of life, and I’ve longed to meet them!” This is accurate. In spite of the fact that Auntie never made a trip to my home for the sole purpose of visiting my children, I still regret that challenging circumstances have relegated me to the same fate. I have fully looked forward to introducing myself to my precious niece and nephew . . . just not necessarily in an overcrowded condo on my romantic 10^th anniversary get-away.

I excuse myself from the conversation with Grammy to step out the front door and check on Uncle and Auntie who are still making trips back and forth from their SUV. I wonder if any Key West neighbors have spotted them. Is it possible that someone has been watching and keeping track of our party’s size? Would someone actually tally who goes in and out of our door, realize that we are in breach of room capacity restrictions and turn us “in” to Disney authorities? What consequences await those who dare to sneak in an extra two heads? Are we risking our good standing with Disney and in danger of being forever banned from Disney resorts?

I quickly glance back and forth to see if I can detect any suspicious onlookers, but no one is in sight. Perhaps the massive amount of unloading taking place has gone undetected, and we are clear for now. I can’t help but worry, though, as I wonder whether we will be able to keep our illegal activities under wraps for an entire week. The shame of being labeled a Disney criminal would be more than I could bear. 

I turn to go back inside. Once I open the door, I am lambasted with the wailing of a little one. Something has upset Angel, and she wants everyone to know about it. Much to her dismay, though, no one is paying attention because there are too many other things happening. The television has been turned on and is playing at a high volume. My kiddos, who were napping, are napping no more. Instead, they have joined their cousins in an orgy of wild behavior in the living room. There is shouting, jumping, and dancing.

Grammy looks as if she has just entered Heaven. Finally seeing all six of her grandchildren in one room together has given her the treat of her life. She beams with pride, sitting on the plaid couch, and encourages the youngsters to get more riled up.

To myself, I do admit that it is a joyful site to behold. I just wish it had taken place at another time and in another location. I hadn’t intended on sharing my 10^th anniversary with more than half of my extended family. When will DH and I ever find the time and space to be alone now? And will we be able to keep this menagerie from drawing too much attention to itself?

I bite my nails in my anxious state and close the front door. But as I walk toward the three-ring circus in my living room, my nerves subside a bit. I consider that this is not what I hoped for on my vacation. Nevertheless, it is the situation I now find myself in, and no matter what the show must go on.

Angel and Pooter still haven’t been formally introduced to me, and I realize it is time to correct this unfortunate fact. There is fun to be had with these little monsters, and I don’t want to miss it. “Angel and Pooter,” I call to the little people and gather them to my side, “How are you? I am your auntie. Have you ever heard of a Neurotic Disney Auntie? No? Well, you are looking at one.”

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Stepping inside the two-bedroom unit at Disney’s Old Key West Resort instantly cures my stair-induced depression.  After the entryway, I step into a large open area.  Windows are in abundance, allowing the sun to brighten the room with natural lighting.  I survey the space and note that it showcases a great kitchen, a large living room and an eating area for meals. 

The first area to hold my attention is the living room.  There is a sofa that pulls out into a queen-sized sleeper as well as a matching loveseat.  Both are upholstered in soft, hues arranged in a cozy plaid.  A large television is cleverly tucked away beneath the kitchen’s island that directly faces the living room.  Still having room for a coffee table, end table, extra chair and ottoman, I am stunned by the sheer size of this space. 

My eyes move to the kitchen.  Again, it is obvious that Disney did not skimp when creating these accommodations.  Here I find a refrigerator, large sink, dishwasher, oven, stove and microwave.  They are intelligently placed within beautiful cabinets and granite countertops.  A colorful green and white tile arrangement pulls double duty on the wall as a protective backsplash as well as a cheerful element for this culinary spot.

Next is the dining area.  The table sits near an alcove where more cabinets and a shelf are tucked away.  This furniture coordinates with the cabinetry in the kitchen and is lit beautifully with recessed lights.  The shelf supports a couple artifacts that I would have selected to decorate my own home.

Behind the table, I lay eyes on two glass French doors that open to a balcony.  “AH,” I scream as I run to the doors.  After wrestling a bit with the locks, I fling open the doors.  Taking in a deep breath, a grand smile overtakes my face. 

The balcony affords much space just like the rest of the unit.  Here I find a sizeable table that is surrounded by four patio armchairs, yet there is still ample room for my children to play.  I overlook a pond that is complete with spouting fountain and have a pleasant view of the other Old Key West buildings that encompass our shared water view.

I step back inside our villa.  The aesthetics are perfect.  The décor is so tasteful and soothing.  The casual aura of it instantly makes me feel as if I am in my very own residence rather than a borrowed unit.  I know I could live here permanently if given the opportunity.

“I just love it,” I gush to DH who is beaming as he watches me glide across the room in princess fashion.  I ramble, “Can you believe we are actually here?  We did it.  I don’t know that I ever thought I’d get to stay in a Disney Vacation Club resort, but here I am.  Thank you!  Thank you so much for helping me get here for our anniversary.”  I run over to DH, throw myself into his arms and shower him with kisses.  Chuckling, he says, “Well, you haven’t even seen the bedrooms or bathrooms yet.”  “BLUE FAIRIES,” I exclaim, “You are right!” 

The big, open room was so large, I completely forgot that there was more to the unit; however, I realize there is a lot more to the unit when I see the second bedroom of the villa.  It is an enormous size, holding two queen-sized beds, an armoire with television, small table, two chairs and closet.  This ample space also claims its own personal bathroom with tub, sink, and toilet. 

Cheerful and bright pastels are the color scheme for this area.  When Grammy and Buddy arrive, I am certain the size of the room will overwhelm them.  It will be just the two of them in this space made for four.  Hopefully, the ample room will allow for me to be in the villa with Grammy but not feel like she is breathing down my neck.

Discreetly located on the opposite side of the entryway, I find a room dedicated to laundry.  There is a full-sized washer and dryer here, and an ironing board and iron hang on the back wall.  Being a significant room as opposed to a large closet, it is more than I expected.  It is definite that I will have to do our family’s laundry before returning home, so I am relieved to know that it will not consume the rest of our accommodations and can be confined to this location.

There are two exits in the laundry room.  The one I walked through came from the entryway.  Looking through the other with great curiousity, I see that it is an entrance to the master bath.  I gasp.  It, too, is gigantic, exceeding the size of any bathroom in my personal home.  Actually composed of two separate rooms, the one I find myself in has a shower, sink and a large counter space.  The other area is where the whirlpool tub, sink and vanity are located.

I move into the whirpool’s vicinity.  The atmosphere of this bathing location is incredible.  A corner cabinet and hutch provide the homey factor that is consistent throughout.  The walls are covered in paneling that resembles the sun-washed siding of many Key West homes.  But the final touch is an open cut-out in the wall that is behind the tub.  It has functional shutters that will enclose the bathroom for privacy or open it up to the master bedroom for television viewing in the adjacent room.

I giggle a little as I approach the space that I will claim as my own this week—the master bedroom.  The master bedroom is engulfed in muted pastel colors and is a romantic paradise.  The bed is so wide that I wonder if I will be able to find my way out of it once I finally tuck myself in its covers.  Not surprisingly, there is a storage bench, armoire with television, stuffed armchair and end table.  The thing that does take me by surprise is a glass door on the far side of my sleeping quarters.  What is this?

Fumbling anxiously with the lock, I release the barrier and step onto the same balcony that connects with the eating room.  I whisper to myself in awe, “A direct entrance to the balcony from the master bedroom.”  This will give me access to the balcony without disturbing my kiddos who will be slumbering on the pull-out sofa.  I swoon in my state of rapture. 

I retreat back to the master bedroom.  I notice a door that allows entry from elsewhere as opposed to from the bathroom.  I deduct that a hallway leads from here to the living area and completes a layout loop of sorts.  I have walked through so many doors at this point, though, that I am not completely certain I am right.

It all is so dreamy.  I collapse upon the bed in my temporary home—partially from exhaustion and partially from being overwhelmed by my surroundings.  Sighing, I know that nothing will be able to disturb the perfection of this trip.  It is so magnanimous that any unexpected difficulty will seem trivial.

 Just then, there is a knock on the front door.  Grammy and Buddy have arrived.  It is time to introduce the remaining two of our party to our villa that comfortably houses eight.

Walking to the doorway, I acknowledge that challenging circumstances often accompany Grammy.  I am so captivated by the beauty of our accommodations, though, that I’m sure even she will not be able to shatter the illusion of my utopia.  But when I swing open the front door, I realize that nothing could prepare me for my discovery.

“HELLO,” Grammy sings and smiles from ear to ear.  She pushes her way into the peaceful villa, dragging luggage.  My mouth is agape, for her entourage is composed of more than just Buddy.  It also includes Auntie, Uncle and my toddling twin niece and nephew.

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OUR KEY WEST KINDGOM

As we pull into our parking space, I look upon some of the most inviting condos I have ever laid eyes on.  Surrounded by tropical palm trees and lush shrubbery, three stories of pastel-painted units sit behind a section of white picket fence and a pleasant bench area.  I can hardly wait to find out which unit is ours.

I turn around to face the back seat of my van and capture the look on my cherubs’ faces when I am abruptly reminded of our incredible amount of luggage.  In the past we have never required this much stuff during our trips, but this time we needed to literally pack everything but the kitchen sink due to the childrens’ medical condition.  The thought of lugging all these boxes, coolers and suitcases through long, winding paths is a very unappealing one.  Even though we are now in the midst of Key West bliss, nothing can make that chore magical. 

“I hope our unit isn’t too far,” I slightly whine as I think of past escapades that involved walking endlessly to designated accommodations in Disney’s moderate resorts.  “It isn’t,” DH cheerfully remarks, “It is right in front of us.”  I say with surprise, “What?  I thought you said we have a water view.”  DH exclaims, “We do!”  “I don’t understand,” I reply with confusion, “Are you telling me that we have parking just outside of our unit and we still have a water view off of our balcony?  How can that be?  When we wanted a water view at Disney’s Coronado Springs, we had to walk at least five minutes around fountains and cacti, towing all our luggage, before we reached our room.” 

Apparently I had been too preoccupied with my DVC status inferiority complex during check-in, and I failed to hear the lovely hostess explain that all OKW units have parking directly outside their front doors.  I am completely tickled by this, for nothing gives you the feeling of “home” quite like your own parking space.  “Wow,” I exclaim, “unpacking the van is going to be a breeze compared to our past trips.” DH agrees. 

We excitedly jump out of the van and begin removing baggage and children from within.  I suggest that I start taking luggage up to our unit on the second floor while DH continues to unload the van’s contents.  Finding this to be a good idea, DH nods his head, tosses me a key card to our Key West Kingdom and tells me the number of our “home away from home.”

I carefully balance multiple bags from my neck and shoulders while I pull a rolling duffle bag with one hand and a tired two-year-old with the other.  It is an extremely awkward task, but since the door to my unit is so close I am not bothered.  It will be over soon.  Inching down the sidewalk, I pass some stairs on my left that lead directly to my unit’s front door.  However, with all this baggage, I am not about to take the stairs.  I walk further in order to find a nearby elevator. 

Ever so slowly, I progress down the cement walkway near the front doors of the first floor units. I pass a janitorial closet, a staff-only elevator, a couple designated smoke areas and beautiful landscaping.  Somehow, though, I fail to find the elevator.  “It must be here somewhere,” I mumble to myself.  “Mommy, where are we going,” DD2 asks in a voice that indicates her patience is wearing thin.  I respond, “Mommy is looking for the elevator.  If you see the elevator, tell Mommy.  OK?”  DD2 says in an irritated tone, “OK.”

After painstakingly walking the entire length of the condo complex, I am flustered with the fact that I must now walk all the way back and hope for better luck in spotting an elevator.  Centimeter by centimeter, DD2 and I trudge back towards our point of origin.  The luggage seems to be a lot heavier now, and it rythmically hits my ample rump while I walk.  A time or two bags slip from my shoulders, causing me to lose equilibrium and allow multiple sachels to fall in a pile on the sidewalk.  DD2’s tolerance for my misadventure grows thin and her fussing takes center stage.  I sigh heavily and long to have an elevator in my sight.

Eventually we come back to the foot of the stairs that lead to my second floor condo.  How could I miss the elevator for a second time?  At this point, I am too invested in the elevator hunt.  I cannot give up now.  “C’mon, DD2,” I prompt, “The elevator is here somewhere.  We’ll find it.”

Once again we begin a trek down the length of the building.  As I am about to pass the staff-elevator for a third time, I consider that the guest elevator must be in this vicinity.  Telling DD2 to wait with the luggage, I walk around the entire structure that houses the elevator shaft, looking for the hidden entrance to the luxury I long to find.  None is too be found.  “Pixie wings,” I expel in frustration, “Where could the dumb elevator be?”  I rejoin DD2 and my luggage on the path that lies between the staff-elevator and the front door of some DVC vacationer who is fortunate enough to have a unit on the ground floor.  Completely flabbergasted, I tell DD2 that the elevator must be camouflaged well.

Just then, the fortunate DVC Member with the ground floor unit emerges from his front door.  He obviously has some great vacation event to attend because he has a big smile on his face as he heads towards his car.  “Excuse me,” I yell as I quickly waddle in his direction with baggage and child trailing behind, “Can you tell me where the elevator is?  I have an incredible amount of luggage that I need to get up to the second level.”  The fortunate member’s big smile transforms into a sympathetic frown, “There isn’t an elevator for guests.  You’ll have to carry it up the steps.”  With that the pleasant member’s smile appears on his face again, and he says, “I hope you have a great vacation.”  Then he turns and continues on his way.

My jaw drops open at the words just spoken to me.  I have been up since one o’ clock this morning, driven nine hours in a crowded mini-van, listened to several hours of crying and complaining from bewildered children and suffered a severe blow to my self-esteem while waiting in the check-in line behind Botox Barbie.  Happily I withstood it all. But the injustice of enduring so much emotional pain and stress, clawing my way to get here, only to find that this deluxe resort property does not afford me the luxury of transporting my luggage from the ground floor to the second floor via a simple elevator overwhelms me.  The reality is too much for me to take.

As I hobble with my bags and daughter back to the foot of the stairs, I feel defeated.  I look up to the second level.  My door is almost directly above me.  It is so close, yet it is so far away.  Something in me gives way, and I feel a huge swell of exasperation overtake me.  I plop my sorry backside right on the bottom step and begin to sob.  It’s just too much, and my own personal meltdown begins.  DD2 has ceased to fuss and just stares at her NDM who has completely lost it.

“Love,” DH’s voice calls to me.  I look up and see DH looking strangely at me from the upper level where I want to be.  “Where have you been, and what are you doing?”  As I gasp for breath in between sobs, I try to relay the whole ordeal I just experienced.  But rather than a rational explanation, I am only able to spout nonsensical blubbering.

DH assesses the scenario and joins me at the bottom of the steps.  “Alright,” he says in a comforting tone, “It’s going to be OK.  I’ve already got all our stuff upstairs and in our condo.  I think you might need a nap.  Why don’t you go on up with DD2 and lie down.  I will bring the rest of these bags.  Can you do that?”  “Uh-huh,” I affirmatively answer through my sniffling, getting up and finally making my way to the front door and welcome mat that were meant for me.

 

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