The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

“This is not a good start,” I say to myself as I frantically wake the children, prepare them to leave, and pack the van. I have only slept two hours out of the last 24 due to my frenzied state of last minute preparations for Disney’s Social Media Moms Celebration. Having registered for the event a couple months ago, I would normally have all of my Donald Ducks in a row. Recent events, however, have kept me from my usual, diligent readiness.

No more than six weeks ago, Joel and I decided to take a big leap and move our family to Florida. It has been something we’ve discussed for about a year. Our last annual trek to Disney inspired the notion, and the idea has continued to grow in our hearts.

The house has to be renovated before it is sellable, so the NDKs and I had to leave immediately, allowing for the projects to begin. Therefore, within the last six weeks I have put away the Christmas decorations, packed up our important possessions, maintained a homeschooling schedule, and moved us into two bedrooms and one bathroom in Florida . . . at Grammy’s house.

Joel was left behind in Virginia to manage the remodeling and tie up business affairs with his partner. I miss him terribly, but in the next hour he should be boarding a plane to meet me in Orlando for this incredible family extravaganza within the context of mommy blogging. In the meantime, I have to get my kids and myself ready for the ball and loaded into our coach for a 2 1/2 hour drive down I-95.

“Oh no!” I lament as I glance at the time. We are behind schedule when I finally pull out of the South Florida driveway at 7:30am. My fellow blogging NDMs are going to arrive sometime between 9 and 9:30am, and I feel a sense of urgency as I push the gas pedal a little closer to the car floor. I can’t stand the idea of people having fun at Disney without me, and I acknowledge that Aladdin’s magic carpet would come in handy right about now.

The cell phone rings; it’s Joel. “Hi sweetie,” I cheerfully greet.  “Hey,” he replies in a concerned tone. “The blizzard that was dumped on us yesterday is causing some problems. The first flight out of here was just canceled, and most of the flights out of here are oversold. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it.” My heart freezes. Not only does this mean I may not see my Prince Charming but I’ve never been on a Disney trip without him since we’ve had kids.

Because I have come to depend on him in some ways, I am slightly out of practice when it comes to the menial duties of Disney vacationing (like remembering room numbers, keeping track of park tickets and monitoring expenses). I am the brains behind all of the leg-work that is done before a trip like formulating park strategies, making Advanced Dining Reservations and packing. I can also run through a vacation itinerary like its nobody’s business. It has become apparent over the years, though, that once I pass through the hallowed gates of the Walt Disney World Resort I become a wide-eyed bubble that floats on Cloud Nine. The atmosphere of Disney is a distraction to me because it is far more important to look for Hidden Mickeys than to remember something as uninteresting as where we parked the car. I wonder and worry about my ability to focus on the less magical yet completely critical aspects of this trip while managing my three dwarves. Then I remember THE KIDS! How am I going to attend the conference sessions without someone to watch my little people?

My mind immediately starts thinking of alternative modes of transportation for Joel. At this late hour neither car nor train are an option since they wouldn’t get him here in time. As a result, travel by land is out. It is pretty obvious that travel by sea is a no-go as well since I am certain there are no cruises that sail from central Virginia to central Florida. That leaves us with travel by air which is currently hindered by the worst snowstorms to strike many parts of the country in 15 years. I fight the urge to hyperventilate, but I know that if anything keeps me from attending my very first special event hosted by Disney I will lose my Mickey-loving mind.

“Breathe . . . breathe,” I speak out loud after I hang up with Joel. A friend of mine on Twitter had warned me prior to leaving that I shouldn’t worry about “stuff” until it actually transpires. The advice is so good, but it is hard to put into practice. In the life of a Neurotic Disney Mom, anything that endangers a Disney experience not only causes worry but it practically paralyzes her mental faculties.

I press a little harder on the gas pedal and comfort myself by chanting, “Once we get there it will be OK. Once we get there it will be OK.” But something deep within gnaws at my heart, tormenting me with the possibility that not all of us will get there.

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It has come to this.  DD5 must stop sucking her thumb.  Our dentist informed me at the last appointment that her nasty habit has begun to change the shape of her mouth.  As a result, her tongue protrudes from behind her teeth in a serpentine manner so that she can pronounce her words.

I have approached this problem from many different angles — positive reinforcement, reverse psychology, displays of disapproval for non-compliance, praise for compliance, empty threats, and bribery.  All have failed, and I am discouraged as my options diminish.  Nevertheless, I persist in my belief that there must be something to capture DD5’s heart and persuade her to give up her unbecoming ways.

Finding an answer to my quandary has been at the front of my mind for weeks.  This morning is no different, and I consider the situation as I open my e-mail.  Scrolling my inbox screen, I come across an unfamiliar address with an intriguing subject line.

The sender is a social media analyst.  The note tells me that as a result of extensive research, I was selected to receive a sample box of one of Disney’s products to hit the store shelves — The Princess and the Frog band-aids.  As I read further, I learn that my voracious appetite for Disney and my passion for incorporating the brand into everyday life impressed the band-aid marketers so much that I was deemed worthy to snag some of these first-aid necessities before public release.

“Tremendous!” I exclaim even though no one is listening.  This may be the very thing I’ve been waiting to discover.  I quickly respond to the generous band-aid givers, reaffirming that I am — indeed — worthy of the gift they wish to bestow and will put it to very practical use in my Disney-focused family.  With that I devise a clever scheme to motivate my little one to forsake her infantile habit using nothing less than Disney magic.

A couple weeks later, a box arrives.  Never ones to ignore the arrival of mysterious packages, my three young treasure-seekers gather around whilst I bring in the non-descript box.  “What is it?” they all cry.  “You’ll see,” I remark in a teasing voice.

I ceremoniously pull out the small box of Johnson and Johnson adhesives from the packing paper.  “Oooh!” my girls admire.  “Band-aids?” DS7 questions with disappointment.  I reply, “These are not just any band-aids.  These are The Princess and the Frog band-aids, and they are for DD5.  DD5, let’s go sit on the couch and talk about them.”

Not only does DD5 follow me to our sitting area but my other kiddos do as well.  They are not sure why DD5 has been blessed with these boo-boo busters, but they want to find out.

“DD5, you are such a big girl now.  In fact, you are just about the age when girls become princesses,” I explain.  DD5’s eyes light up.  I continue, “However, there are some things you must know before you can become a princess.”  “What is it?” DD5 asks in a whisper.

She is taken in by the mystique of the moment.

“The primary thing,” I state, “is that princesses do not suck their thumbs. Do you know why?”  DD5 shakes her head.  I suggest, “It is because it makes their teeth stick out, and it makes them talk funny.  You don’t want that to happen to you, do you?”  DD5 shakes her head again.  “Well,” I continue, “that is why we have these magical band-aids.  You see, this is Princess Tiana.  She is . . .”  “Disney’s newest princess,” DS7 interupts in a bored voice.  I gather from his unenthusiastic tone that he is slightly irritated by the Disney website’s current emphasis on another princess as opposed to his favorites, Phineas and Ferb.

“Yes,” I agree while I try to maintain an excited atmosphere despite DS7’s cranky demeanor.  “Tiana is a beautiful princess who makes a bad choice.  She kisses a frog, and because of her bad choice she becomes an ugly frog for awhile.”  “Actually Mom,” DD9 interjects, “Tiana is a hard-working girl who is trying to save up money to open a restaurant.  She does kiss a frog, but it’s not because of a bad choice.  She takes pity on the Prince Naveen, who was turned into a frog, and is trying to help him become human again even though kissing a frog is gross.”

DD9 is correct in her assessment.  It is obvious that my NDKs are more up-to-date on Disney developments than I’d anticipated.  Normally this would thrill any NDM, but on this occasion it is interfering with my clever scheme.  I need to steer the conversation back into focus.

“That is right,” I retort. “But it is always a bad choice to kiss a frog.  It simply isn’t sanitary, and there were consequences.  After all, it turned Tiana into a frog!  DD5, you don’t want to become like an ugly frog by making the bad choice to keep sucking your thumb.  Do you?”  DD5 considers my words of wisdom, but decides to express some of her own.  “Well, Tiana is a pretty frog.”  This isn’t turning out to be as simple as it was in my mind’s eye.

“She is a pretty frog,” I concede, “but she’s still a frog.  She’s not a princess while she’s a frog.  You want to be a princess, and Tiana wants you to be a princess.  She sent me these magical band-aids to help you become one.  Everyday we are going to put a magical band-aid on your thumb.  This will keep your thumb out of your mouth.  Then when you grow up your teeth won’t stick out, you won’t talk funny, and you’ll be very beautiful . . . just like a princess—not like a frog.”

“Mom,” DD9 condescends, “The Princess and the Frog isn’t about being beautiful.  In fact, it is about the opposite.  The point is that it’s more important to be beautiful on the inside than it is to be beautiful on the outside.”  I sigh in frustration.  Will I ever regain control of this scene?  I always encourage my brood to seek out the moral value in Disney films and ponder its practical application in life, but this is the one time when a superficial theme would be of more assistance.

Exasperated, I exclaim, “Alright! But in the end she is still a beautiful princess! DD5, don’t you want to be a beautiful princess?”  Enthusiastically DD5 nods her head in agreement.  “OK,” I say with relief, “Tomorrow we will begin our magical princess training.  When you wake up from your beauty sleep, we will put a magical Tiana band-aid on your thumb.  This should do the trick.  In a few weeks you won’t suck your thumb anymore.  You’ll be a definite princess and avoid any future likeness to amphibian creatures.”

Satisfied with this arrangement, DD5 leaves my side with great anticipation of what the morning will bring.  I am left alone on the sofa, reflecting on the difficulty I encountered in just introducing my Princess Plan.  Hopefully, the institution of it will go more smoothly.

*Products supplied by Band-Aid® for review*

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I have never been much of a traveler.  It’s not that I haven’t thought about it.  I have. I can just imagine the places I would go . . . the things I would see . . . the people that I would meet if I were to travel!  However, there is one issue.  It is this one issue that stops me from even traveling beyond my own home–food allergies.

It’s hard enough just getting through an ordinary daily routine, but mine includes stressful meal preparations that must exclude foods like beef, pork and dairy.  The idea of accidentally overlooking any trace of these foods is a great worry for me.  If I don’t take great care to eliminate them, it is never certain what may happen or how I may feel afterward. This is really difficult to accomplish just at home.  Forget about traveling the world.  It’s out of the question.

I was fine with not traveling to the great unknowns of the world. My vacations consisted of heading down to the beach and preparing my own food every night. I was satisfied with anything that would ensure me not paying homage to the porcelain gods, and I let it be known that I would rather burn in the sun than have a rash from a reaction. However, when my husband asked for my hand in marriage four years ago, we began planning a honeymoon to mimic my Cinderella fairytale wedding.

He hated the beach, so my safe, go-to place was no longer an option.  We needed another destination to celebrate the start of our union.  It took us a little while (and quite a bit of arm-pulling from me), but I finally convinced my special guy to make ours a Disney honeymoon. So with reservations set, we made our way down to the happiest place on Earth.

Having no idea how Disney’s dining situation worked, I went down with my best “let’s see what happens” face.  I figured if I needed to, I would stick close to the hotel and the magical commode that Disney supplied in-room. At least my view would be nicer.

We arrived right on time to our first dining destination, Kona Café at the Polynesian Resort.  I smiled all the way to our seat even though I passed the dessert plate and longed for just a taste, knowing it would kill me.  My consolation was that I could still admire the beautiful delicacies despite my inability to eat them.

We were handed the menus, and I stared at the options. Hmm…this one had beef; this one had pork; this one contained milk. When the waitress came around to take our drink orders and asked if we were ready, I stared blankly at her.  What to do? What to do?

I decided to ask if there was any way I could get a substitution for something I couldn’t eat. “Of course,” she said and asked if there was a specific reason. I explained I had a food allergy to beef, pork and dairy.  She immediately turned and fled to the kitchen, leaving my husband and I wondering what had just happened.

It only took minutes, but the chef came out.  He was followed by our waitress. Around us, tables began to look up from their meals as he made his way to our seats. “I hear someone here has an allergy,” the chef greeted.

My first reaction was embarrassment. I hadn’t expected someone to come out of the kitchen just to ask me about it.  Quietly I nodded my head, reciting what I was allergic to once more. I began thinking that there would be an issue.  I began thinking that perhaps eating around “unsafe” foods wouldn’t be as easy as I had originally thought, but then the chef did something no one had ever done before with the exception of my own family.

He offered me my own variety of options. Sauces would be taken off; butter would be eliminated, and nothing would be cooked anywhere near the other meats. The possibilities were endless.  He assured me that whatever I wanted, he would create regardless of it being on the menu or not. Shocked, I placed my order for a grilled mahi mahi dish (without any of the frills) along with some fresh steamed vegetables. I was amazed at the effort Disney made to ensure I had a fabulous vacation.

“Do they do that everywhere?” I asked my waitress once the chef had left.  “Yes,” she confirmed.  “They do this anywhere on Disney property. All you need to do is inform your host or hostess when you check in that you have a food allergy and the chefs will handle it.”  She took down my husband’s order before turning back to me, “One last thing . . . what would you like for dessert?”  Dessert? Did she just say dessert?  I think I am in love with Disney dining.

Contributed by: Aleisha M. (NDM#150). Aleisha brings her experience with special dietary needs in WDW to The Disney Driven Life as this week’s guest writer.

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NDD#40 aka Marc L. submitted his confession in a very creative way, and I just had to share it with everyone.  He also generously offerred to help any other NDPs who wished to submit confessions of an audio or visual nature by organizing, editing and producing their clips for them.  If you like this idea but are overwhelmed because of the unfamilar territory of handling audio, video and photographs online, please contact Marc for help (marcmantoo@gmail.com).  He will walk you through the process, step-by-step, to help you record and mail him the things he needs to put together your own personal confession for posting on the DDL blog.  I hope that many of you will take him up on his incredible offer.

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MOM’S PANEL MANIA-part 3 

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MOM’S PANEL MANIA-part 2 

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MOM’S PANEL MANIA

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Dear tiki gods,

Hear my prayer. I need to live here in order for my life’s purpose to be fulfilled. Please have pixie dust fall on me and mine in the form of large dollar amounts so that my family can forever dwell in Mouse bliss.

Affectionately,
NDM#1

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SURVIVAL OF THE MOST NEUROTIC

There are some days when being a family member of a Neurotic Disney Person (NDP) is all about survival.  This is especially true when the individual is a parent and the primary caretaker.  The reason is because when important Disney events take place, the individual’s neurosis consumes the mind temporarily and often interferes with the person’s capacity to function in routine daily activities. Today would be one of those days.

Waking with a start, I realize I’ve overslept.  I shriek, “It’s ten past nine! They’ve been accepting applications for ten minutes already!”  Jumping out of bed and running to the computer in my pajamas, I wonder how something like this could have happened. 

I had carefully prepared so that this morning would be free, and I could focus on the event of the day.  Preparation for homeschooling was taken care of the previous night so that the kids could operate independently for a while.  The house was straightened and cleaned so that I could think clearly.  Our supplements were neatly laid out so that this part of the routine would already be out of the way, and everyone was informed that I was not to be disturbed until my task was completed.  It is completely frustrating, therefore, that I am off to a shaky start by rising late.

It is the first day that Disney is accepting applications for the 2010 Walt Disney World Mom’s Panel, a panel of online parents that share views, answer questions and provide vacation advice to families that are planning their own WDW trips.  Beginning two days ago, my ability to sleep left me because my mind refused to stop mulling over potential questions and answers for my online application.  Spells of jittering also began to affect my legs as I studied an online article detailing the application process experience of a past panelist.  Last night I finally collapsed in bed around nine o’ clock due to sheer exhaustion.  This must be the reason for oversleeping.

Thankfully, my darling offspring have taken initiative by rising and beginning their school activities on their own.  This allows me to find the coveted undisturbed time with the internet that I hoped to attain.  At least that part of my plan has gone smoothly. 

As I sit in my desk chair, I smile and think of my own cleverness in booting up the computer last night so as not to waste time with it this morning.  But when I shake my mouse to wake the desktop from it’s cyber sleep, I am horrified by my discovery.  A pre-schooler (most likely DD4) has attempted to start one of her CD-Rom games and–in the process–changed some of the settings on the screen and froze the CPU.  “NNOOOOO!!!,” I yell.  Now I will have to sit through the agony of shutting down the computer and rebooting as it checks our system for errors.

After a period of time that resembles eternity, I finally have rebooted, logged into the Walt Disney World Mom’s Panel homepage, and found the application.  It is “go time.”  There are three text boxes awaiting my carefully typed responses.  The first box petitions me: “Tell us about yourself and your family.”

I have always insisted that I am too complicated to be put into a box.  I have even declared it on my Facebook profile page, but this is the very thing that Mickey wants me to do within a hundred words or less.  There is so much more to me than a hundred words.  Where do I even begin?

I struggle to define myself with such brevity.  At least twenty minutes have passed, and I still can’t figure out which aspects of my personality I should highlight in my identification.  Wife?  Parent?  College graduate?  Honor student?  Disney fanatic?  Special dietary needs expert?  Creative writer?  Social media glutton?  Primary family vacation planner?  Toilet-bowl scrubber? The pressure mounts.  Everything rests on selecting the perfect words to adequately relay the thought that I AM A WALT DISNEY WORLD MOM’S PANELIST . . . or at least that I am meant to be.

I manage to simplify some of my thoughts and put them into 100 characters exactly when I hear, “Mom, we are getting hungry.”  Turning away from the monitor, I find DD9 standing patiently.  Pixie wings!  I have forgotten all about eating.  It’s nine thirty and no one has consumed the most important meal of the day.  “OK,” I respond.  “Go back to your schoolwork.  I’ll fix it in a moment.  I just want to proofread this response first.”  Hades!  This is one of those mornings when I wish I could just put a bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk in a bowl and be done with it, but our Special Diet eliminates all processed and pre-packaged edibles.  The “specialness” of our diet doesn’t feel so “special” at the moment.  It feels more like an inconvenient burden.

Five minutes later I am still at the computer proofreading my first answer.  “MOOOOMMMM,” someone wails.  Curses!  Why do little mouseketeers have to eat?  This just isn’t the time.  I hastily get up, run to the kitchen and whip up a balanced and nutritious meal for my three famished dwarfs.  Then I dash back to my cyberspace Disney connection.  There are more pressing things to attend to than creating food for little people.  I can’t help but wonder if Snow White ever felt this way.  After all, food was her downfall.

Next question to answer in 100 words or less: “What makes you a Disney expert?”  I respond out loud, “Other than the fact that I am completely obsessed with the brand and all it encompasses?”  I sigh and acknowledge that this answer will be no easier to tackle than the first. 

The truth is that I spend a large segment of my life staying current on Disney news, participating in Disney forums, studying Disney trivia, listening to Disney podcasts, planning our annual Disney vacation in thorough detail, writing about the happenings of my Disney lifestyle, socializing with Disney contacts on twitter, guiding many others as they make Disney plans of their own and contemplating more creative ways to incorporate Disney into my life.  This is the reason that I was the one who organized a week-long reunion at Disney in celebration of my grandfather’s birthday for a 20+ member party even though my entire extended family lives in Florida (and I do not).  But how do I express this fully, sensibly and humbly in this restrictive box?  I hate restrictive boxes.

Ten o’clock finds me still typing, deleting, rethinking and retyping my words.  “Mom,” a voice timidly petitions.  This time it is DS7.  “What is it, son,” I ask in return.  DS7 seems a little nervous.  He was previously told not to disrupt the flow of my creative juices during this critical time, but something has still prompted him to dare challenge his instruction.  “I need some help with my schoolwork,” he presents.  “DS7, I know that I constantly emphasize that education is of utmost importance, but sometimes it really isn’t.  Right now what is of utmost importance is that your NDM finds a way to show Mickey Mouse how much he desperately needs her to guide the world in properly conducting their Walt Disney World Resort vacations.  Doesn’t that sound important?”  DS7’s eyes widen.  He grasps the magnitude of what I am attempting to conquer and nods his head in agreement.  “Well, why don’t you go play for a bit.  When I have wrapped things up in here, I will help you with your problem and we’ll finish your schooling which is almost of utmost importance.”  DS7 grins with this request and runs off.

Approximately 20 minutes after ten o’clock, I have completed and proofread my answer for the second question.  It was extremely difficult.  Trying to find words to make myself stand apart from every other WDW Mom’s Panelist applicant was not an easy task.  I still am not confident that I have done so successfully, but I concede that I have done my best and must proceed.

The third box requests that I explain any special talents that I possess.  Hmmm . . . I can think about Disney every waking moment to the exclusion of all else in life.  DH considers that a very rare talent, but somehow it doesn’t seem like that will secure me a position on the panel of which I long to be a part.  I am now sweating.  My nerves are wracked.  My stomach is in a knot.  Why now—in my moment of truth—can I not pinpoint the talents I hold, allowing me to dominate in this dog-eat-dog Disney selection process?  Have I made it this far to meet my end at this starkly naked text box?

Finally I manage to represent myself as a person with notable writing and people skills and pray to the Tiki gods that it is enough.  Ten thirty has come and gone.  Upon this realization, I experience a brief moment of panic.  Only the first 20,000 applications will be accepted.  After that the opportunity to apply is closed.  Am I too late?  It has been a whole hour and a half since the first applications were submitted.  Perhaps my faulty start this morning has disqualified me from this fierce competition.  I have not a second more to lose, so I hastily click the “submit” button on my screen. 

As I watch my screen flash to a new shade of purple, notifying me that my application has successfully been accepted, I breathe a sigh of relief.  It’s over now.  I can do no more, and life can resume in normalcy.  I have put my best squeaker forward, and now the only thing left to be done is wait . . . and wait . . . and wait.  But I wonder, ”Would it hinder life too much if I were to eat and sleep at the computer desk until the results are announced?”

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BIRDS, BEES, AND HONEYTREES 

The second time I was cornered, it was by Pop-Pop (my father).  While Pop-Pop and I got along famously, he was still a male.  This fact made conversation about a decidedly female topic a mortifying thought.  Anticipating my reluctance to engage him in this subject, Pop-Pop was clever enough to pick a time and location for his attack that would render me incapable of escape—a car ride while in transit to my friend’s sleepover party.  I was completely embarrassed by the escapade, and it ended with me screaming, “LEAVE ME ALONE” as I slammed the car door and ran to the safety of my friend’s home.

These horrible memories still replay in my mind and send shivers down my spine.  I do not want to relive such tragedies with my own precious blossom, so I am determined to approach this necessary event from a different angle.  I do not really know what that angle is due to my lack of a good example; however, I do know that in the family of a NDM every momentous occasion should take place at Walt Disney World.  Certainly the explanation of puberty and its purposes qualify as a momentous occasion, so DD9 and I are planning a trip for just the two of us at the end of the year. 

DD9 doesn’t know why she has been singled out from her brother and sister for this momentous event.  All that she knows is that we will have lots of “girl time” and that she gets to pick our resort, our restaurants and one park to visit during our stay.  So while I am very unclear about pulling off a successful “talk,” I am dead certain that attaining a reservation at the selected resort is the first and most important step.  I’ll figure everything else out later.

A confident and friendly voice answers my call, “Disney Vacation Club Member Services.  This is Tim.  How may I help you?”  “Hi, Tim.  I need to make a reservation for a one-bedroom unit with a boardwalk view at Disney’s Boardwalk Villas during the second week of December.”  After confirming my identification Tim reports, “I’m so sorry.  There are no units available during that time at that resort.”  Panic hits me.  “What,” I question, “Are you sure?  It’s very important that I get a room at this resort.  I’m taking my daughter to Walt Disney World to tell her about ‘The Birds and The Bees’ in the homeland of Pooh’s Playful Spot.  This trip is going to be one that is cemented in her mind for her entire life, and she wanted to stay at that resort.  What if we were to just have a standard view?  Are any of those available?”

Tim is uncomfortably quiet for a brief moment, and I sense that he does not know how to respond to my descriptive monologue.  “Ummm,” he stumbles in a Bashful manner, “Err, let me check.  No, I don’t see any standard views available either.  Can I check on another week for you?”  I fuss, “No, it has to be that week due to the lower DVC point usage and my husband’s work schedule.” I continue to ramble, “This is dreadful!  It can be quite a shock for a little girl to learn that Mr. Stork didn’t actually deliver Dumbo but that Mrs. Jumbo did all the hard work herself.  I was hoping to avoid traumatizing my daughter during this impartation of knowledge, and the only way I know how to do that is by giving her the vacation of her dreams while I ‘impart.’  She says her dream vacation involves staying at Disney’s Boardwalk Villas.  Can nothing be done to save this situation?”

Once again there is an awkward silence, and I fear that I have given poor Tim too much information.  He fumbles for a response. “Uh . . . well . . . do you mind holding for a minute,” he asks in a squeamish voice.

While I wait, I wring my hands.  If I’m not capable of nailing down the desired resort, how will I be able to nail down a successful “talk”?    The dilemma has me on edge.

Tim timidly joins me once again, “I checked the availability of all the resorts for your . . . umm . . . your . . . uh . . . event.  The only one-bedroom units available are in Disney’s Old Key West Resort and Disney’s Saratoga Springs Resort.  Could I book your stay in one of those?  I can also put you on the waitlist for Disney’s Boardwalk Villas.  There is a slight possibility that something will open up there at the last minute.  In the case that nothing opens up, though, at least you know you will have a room somewhere.”  I consider this option and respond, “It looks like there is no alternative.  We’ll have to go with your suggestion.  Please waitlist us for Disney’s Boardwalk Villas and secure us a unit in Disney’s Saratoga Springs.”

Tim speedily carries out my request and expedites the routine review of my current standing as a Disney Vacation Club Member.  Whereas he stuttered and stammered earlier in our conversation, now he rushes through the little bits of required material that is always given after making a reservation.  His pace is unusually fast, and I wonder if he is trying to exit our connection as quickly as possible.

Once we hang up, I cannot deny the trepidation that I now feel.  Can a trip of such magnitude go to “Plan Bee” and still be successful?  Is Disney’s Saratoga Springs able to live up to the expectations for this trip?  Can a girl remain unaffected while transitioning from the naivety of childhood into the knowledge of womanhood if she is not in her ideal surroundings?  I fear that I will learn the answers within a few short months.

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