The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

THE QUEST FOR THE PERFECT PANCAKE

Recently, I found a pancake recipe that uses almond flour rather than the digestively forbidden wheat flour.  It spurred me into action.  Finding an organic, raw almond distributor online, I ordered these savory nuts in bulk and patiently waited for their arrival.  The delivery was made a couple days ago.  Since then, I have been looking for a day that affords the time I need to test the new recipe.  Perhaps today is that day. 

It is a beautiful Saturday morning.  The sun is shining.  The air is crisp.  Little buds are appearing on the trees, and the daffodils are in full bloom.  I am refreshed, energized and ready to take on the challenge of a new day. 

My mouseketeers are happily sleeping in on this lazy spring weekend.  It seems like the perfect opportunity to try out my breakfast discovery.  Then, like a lightening bolt sent straight from Mt. Olympus by Zeus, I am struck with a fabulous idea.  Today I will make Mickey Mouse pancakes! 

I have never made Mickey pancakes before, but I can’t imagine that it is terribly difficult.  It’s just a big pancake joined by two little ones.  For added flair, I reason that I can use blueberries for eyes and a nose. 

My last attempt at eliciting enthusiasm for our upcoming Disney adventure was a disaster.  It ended with me exasperating all who were involved.  For the sake of my family’s well-being, I must recover the ground in Disney love that was lost.  There is no better way to accomplish this than by serving a breakfast of Mickey blueberry pancakes.  This is going to be rich! 

I go directly to my stereo and pop in the latest CD of Disney soundtracks.  Next to whistling while you work, bopping around to classic Disney tunes is the best thing for encouraging high spirits.  This should help sustain me through the mundane task of grinding almonds, thawing frozen blueberries and combining the various ingredients into a batter. 

The music does–in fact–do the trick.  While the process of preparation is a bit time-consuming I sail through it easily enough as I sing the anthems of various Disney characters.  Once or twice I am so caught up in the music (which always prompts NDM daydreams) that I come close to culinary catastrophe.  But, thankfully, I snap out of my dream state and catch myself.  Now it is time for the fun part, creating the mouth-watering Mickey morsels. 

I happily pour the mixture onto my griddle, but I am surprised by the behavior of the batter.  The texture is slightly different than that of wheat flour.  It has caught me off guard, and I don’t manage the surprise well. “Oh Hades,” I declare and use that dreadful Disney demon’s name in vain.  Rather than a Mickey head, my pancake resembles a cocker spaniel caricature.  “Well,” I rationalize, “I’ll tell DD2 this is a Lady pancake.”  When it reaches a golden brown color, I scoop up the pancake travesty, place it on a plate, and try again. 

Oh!  I didn’t use the blueberries.  I place the bowl of blueberries next to the griddle to ensure that I remember next time.  This time as I pour the batter, I am careful to get the head and ears just right.  It’s perfect!  I add the delectable blueberries and am so pleased with the adorable face frying before me . . . . that is until a blue juice begins to ooze from the berries.  What is happening?  Have the berries not thawed completely, leaving a watery blue mess to spread as the ice reverts to its liquid state?  I am sure I don’t know, but to my horror Mickey begins to look as if he is crying and his nose is dripping.  Well, shrink me down and call me Grumpy!  These pancakes are meant to inspire happiness about our trip–not depression.  Besides that fact, it is not so appetizing to imagine eating a runny nose.  “Ugh,” I exclaim.  When it is done, the depressing pancake gets put on a plate, and I have another go at it. 

A half-hour passes, and time after time I fail to achieve Mickey pancake perfection.  I have Mickey heads that are too small for the blueberry facial features.  I have Mickey heads with lop-sided ears.  Some look like Mickey is sporting a dangle earring.  Others look like he is sprouting antennas or a sphinx-like goatee.  Some have fallen apart as I’ve flipped them and are no longer Mickey heads.  The plate is piled high with deformed Mickeys, and with every attempt another atrocity is created. 

My frustration is mounting, and I am tempted to spout a few words that are not “Disney approved.”  “All I want is for my kids to wake up to a special breakfast.  Is that too much to ask,” I yell as I clench my fist around my spatula and brandish it in the air. 

I hear the “Zip-a-dee-do-dah” track begin on the stereo.  It is more than I can take.  Why can’t Disney produce a cranky song every now and again?  Do they think that EVERY DAY is filled with happiness and sunshine?  Well, Brer Rabbit may not approve, but there is no Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder.  And if there were, it would be smacked with my spatula. 

I stomp over to the stereo.  While my instinct is to pick the contraption up and hurl it out the window, I harness my extreme irritation and just seethe as I flip the off-switch with all the fury of Beast.  I huff and puff my way back to the kitchen, but I am abruptly halted by the angelic presence of DS5.  “What are you doing, Mommy,” he sweetly inquires.  Suddenly, I am acutely aware that the foul attitude I exhibit is only suitable for Mickey’s House of Villains and has no place in my House of Mouse.  Realizing my inappropriate manner, I promptly transform into a calm–albeit defeated–NDM. 

My time is up.  A child has awakened, and breakfast must begin.  It will not be the special occasion that I’d hoped for, but there is nothing to be done about it.  With a heavy sigh, I direct DS5 to retrieve his sisters for breakfast. 

Once all my eaters have been seated at the table.  I place their full plates in front of them.  I begin to explain, “Guys, I made you . . . . “  “PANCAKES,” my kiddos squeal.  Poor things!  They haven’t realized the deformed nature of their nutritious breakfast.  “Yes,” I continue in a somber tone,” I tried to make you Mickey pancakes, but . . . .” DS5 interupts, “Look!  I have a pirate Mickey!”  Confused, I examine the pancake in question.  DS5 has the Mickey pancake that was accessorized with a dangle earring, but I now see how it could be viewed as a pirate ear hoop.  Why didn’t I think of that?  DD7 thrills, “Mine is a Mickey with clown make-up!”  I look over to find that she has discovered a comical blueberry-smeared Mickey where I found a sorrowful one.  I am cheered up by these artistic interpretations. 

“I don’t know what mine is,” DD2 mumbles in disappointment.  I reply, “Yours is a Lady pancake just like the dog in Lady and the Tramp.”  She squints her eyes to examine her food more closely.  “Oh yeah,” she agrees and giggles with delight. 

After a blessing is spoken, the kids dig into their surprise breakfast.  It is enjoyed with remarks of “This is the best breakfast I’ve ever had!” and “Thanks, Mom!  Eating Mickey pancakes is fun!”  I reason that this special occasion calls for music, and I feel grateful that I didn’t throw the stereo out of the window. 

The rest of our meal is filled with talk of our upcoming trip.  The enthusiasm for it is high, and I can feel the excitement continue to build as we discuss what awaits.  Life is good!  The only thing that is missing is Mr. Bluebird, but I expect he will appear any minute.

*Mickey Mouse pancake molds can be found at http://www.laughingplacestore.com/Product-10434.asp . Although NDM#1 warns that making pancakes with this mold is still a challenge, requires practice and may not be worth the expense.

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ON THE JOB TRAINING

The basic itinerary for our week has been set.  The few dining reservations that we needed have been made.  It is time for the task that all NDMs live for – designing a strategy for conquering the theme park.

I gather my three mouseketeers into our living room.  As a NDM, one of the responsibilities I hold is to teach my children the various facets of living The Disney Driven Life.  Among these, vacation planning is paramount, and this is a perfect opportunity to begin instruction in this crucial life-skill.

I line my troops up in military fashion for inspection.  They are a young bunch, but they come from good stock.  Being my own offspring, I know the Neurotic Disney gene is somewhere in their composition.  It is up to me to lay hold of whatever Disney instincts each child displays and nurture these inbred inclinations until they blossom into undeniable characteristics of Disney neurosis.

The little mouse that shows the most promise is Margeaux.  She is my mini-me.  From physical appearance to dramatic temperment, this one is almost a carbon copy of her NDM.  She already shows organizational abilities that should serve her well in vacation planning.  Her Disney trivia is nearing perfection due to regular pop-quizzes to which I subject her.  And–on occasion–she even mentions concepts for theme park rides.  As I look her over in my line-up, I surmise that she is definitely going places.  Margeaux is one to watch.

Next in line is Miller.  I suspect that this little guy will be my toughest case to crack.  As most little boys do, Miller holds his daddy in high regard and tries to imitate every move.  Since Joel, my husband, only shows an amused tolerance for Disney, this puts me at a slight disadvantage where Miller is concerned.  However, since I began my indoctrination early on with him, I have made impressive strides.  He has developed a solid interest in Buzz Lightyear and Captain Hook.  Plus, when Miller does get caught up in a moment of Disney whimsy, he has been known to gather the money he’s received for chores and present it to me in support of our Disney habits.  A tiny smirk appears on my face as I look Miller up and down.  He is not a lost cause, but there is work to be done.

Elle is last in my brood.  She cut her teeth on Disney due to the obsessive Disney nature of her NDM and influence of her siblings.  As a result she puts all topics of conversation within the context of Disney (whether it is their proper context or not).  It occasionally makes for amusing misunderstandings that always cause Joel to shake his head in dismay (such as referring to her immature breasts as “Minnies” rather than “ninnies”).  This reality is paired with the fact that she is the most dynamic personality of the group.  The fresh discovery of all things Disney along with her expressive nature is a powerful combination, and I find she has the ability to force all other family members to join her in uninhibited giddiness or despairing gloom as she learns the inner-workings of a NDM family.

“Well,” I begin my pep-talk as I pace back and forth in front of them, “as y’all know we are going to Walt Disney World.”  My composed infantry erupts into chaotic silliness, whooping and hollering while “getting jiggy with it.”  “ATTENTION!” I yell.  My undisciplined company looks at me quizzically, and they settle enough to allow me to continue.  “There will be a time for celebration, but this is not that time.  This is the time where we buckle down and get to work.  There is a lot of preparation that needs to happen before a family can go to WDW, and everyone has to do his or her part.  Today our job is to devise a plan of attack.  Can I count on you to make productive contributions?”

Margeaux looks slightly stressed by my battle cry, but she obediently salutes me and shouts, “Yes, m’am!”  Miller raises his eyebrows and looks at Margeaux with a confused expression.  He doesn’t quite understand the meaning of my speech or his sister’s response, but he figures he better comply.  His chubby little hand goes up to his forehead, and he says with some uncertainty, “Yes, m’am?”

All eyes turn to Elle.  Everything that just occurred has gone completely over her head, but she detects the serious tone of the moment.  Her little brow is wrinkled in determination.  She is going to participate like the big kids, and she’ll put all the pieces together later.  “Yes, m’am,” she bellows.  Then she slaps her forehead with her tiny palm in an attempt to salute.

“Let’s do this, ” I command.  I take my place on the couch with my map, notebook and pencil.  Then I motion that my little brigade should gather around my feet on the floor.  They position themselves appropriately and look to me for instruction.

“The first step in conquering a theme park is to define the attractions that you must see no matter what.  That way if something goes wrong and everything cannot get done, there are some priorities in place to help make wise decisions,” I begin.  “Do you understand?”  Margeaux nods her head, but Miller and Elle shake theirs in a negative response.  I try again, “Mommy just wants to know what you want to do most when we go to Walt Disney World.  OK?”  Everyone chimes in with, “OK.”

“Elle, we’ll start with you,” I initiate.  “What do you want to ride or see the most?”  She replies with absolute resolve, “Dumbo!”  I try to explain, “Oh honey, we can’t go see Dumbo.  Dumbo is in the Magic Kingdom.  We are going to Disney’s Hollywood Studios.  What would you like to do in Disney’s Hollywood Studios?”  “Dumbo,” she declares.

Clearly Elle has not grasped the concept of Walt Disney World being a segmented entity.  I realize that I must back up a little to address this misunderstanding.  “Elle,” I remark with a tender tone, “we are going to Walt Disney World, right?”  “YES,” she shouts.  I continue, “Well, did you know that Walt Disney World has a lot of different parts inside it?”  Her eyes grow wide, and she shakes her head.

It occurs to me that this concept begs for an illustration, so I send Miller to retrieve one of our Mickey Mouse plush dolls from the playroom.  Once Mickey plush is in hand, I start my object lesson.  “Here we have Mickey. Mickey has many parts, doesn’t he?  He has ears.  He has eyes.  He has pants.  He has a tail.  They are all parts of Mickey, and when we put them together we get one whole Mickey.  That is how it is is with Walt Disney World.  There are different parts like the Magic Kingdom, EPCOT and Disney’s Hollywood Studios, but all the parts make up the whole Walt Disney World.”  I continue, “Now there are certain things that only go with one part.  For example, we wouldn’t find a button on Mickey’s ear because buttons only go on his pants.  We wouldn’t find a shoe on Mickey’s nose because shoes only go on his feet.  It’s the same way with rides.  We can’t go on Dumbo The Flying Elephant because that belongs in the Magic Kingdom.  We are going to Disney’s Hollywood Studios.  In the Studios, they have Voyage of the Little Mermaid, Playhouse Disney — Live on Stage!, and the “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids” Movie Set Adventure.  Why don’t you think about which one you like best.  Then you tell me your answer in a minute.”  “OK,” my sweet cherub agrees.

“Miller, what do . . . . Miller?”  I look to the spot where Miller was seated, but he is no longer there.  “Where is Miller?” I ask my daughters.  Margeaux points her finger in the direction of the playroom.  “Miller!” I holler, “Get in here right now, young man!”  Miller comes stomping into the room.  I reprimand, “What do you think you’re doing?”  “I’m bored,” Miller responds, “Well, if you don’t do your part today, you are going to be bored when we go to Walt Disney World.”  I am well aware that the statement I just made is not only inaccurate but an impossibility; however, there are times when a NDM will spew nonsense in order to enlist the cooperation that is needed.  “Please have a seat,” I request.  Miller plops on the floor, and I ask him, “Now what do you want to do most in Disney’s Hollywood Studios?”  “I don’t know,” he replies.  To help refresh Miller′s memory of some options,  I look at my theme park map.  “Some things that you might like are Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular!, Star Tours, Muppet Vision 3-D and Lights, Motors, Action! Extreme Stunt Show.  Do any of these appeal to you?”  My pencil is poised, and I’m ready to record his dictation.  But there is no response.  I look up from my notebook.  Miller is staring out the window.  “Miller,” I whine.  My cranky call pulls him out of his daydream state and back into our living room.  He displays a blank expression and says, “Huh?”  I heave a big sigh.  This is proving to be more difficult than I’d originally thought.

I turn back to Elle.  “Have you thought of what you want to do most,” I ask her.  She nods her head in affirmation.  “Mom,” Margeaux interupts.  “Yes,” I reply.  “Do I have to ride on the elevator ride?” Margeaux inquires.  “You mean The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror,” I correct, “If you are tall enough to ride it, then you have to ride it once.  If you don’t like it, then you don’t have to ride it again.”  Margeaux sits in silence and considers the words I’ve spoken, so I focus once again on Elle.  “Tell Mommy, Pumpkin, what did you decide is your favorite attraction.”  “Dumbo!” she proclaims.  I close my eyes and give a frustrated smile.  “OK.  Thank you,” I tell her.  “You may be excused.”

Elle toddles off to the playroom to play while I try to make some progress with my remaining planning partners.  “Miller, please stop pulling the threads out of the throw rug,” I fuss.  “Mom,” Margeaux interupts again, “I don’t want to ride The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror.  It looks scary on the DVD.”  I try to calm my irritated nerves and rationally explain, “Sweetheart, it’s not as scary as it seems on the DVD.  You are in a seat with a big seatbelt.  You’re perfectly safe.  Did you know that when I was a little girl, Pop-pop made me go on all the rides that scared me?  Because he did that, I got used to them.  Now I love them.  But I never would have liked them if I never tried them.”  Margeaux’s lower lip begins to quiver.

Oh dear!  This situation is deteriorating at an accelerated pace.  I look over at Miller.  He is picking at a scab.  “Oh!  Stop that, son!” I say in disgust.  “Stop that now!  Gross!  Yuck!  Eeew!  You may be excused!  Go play,” I exclaim.  Miller gets up and walks off to the playroom.

I am left with Margeaux who looks more depressed than Eeyore without his tail.  I know that some comfort is warranted as well as a talk to bolster her courage, but I am desperate at this point to accomplish something.  “Could you please tell me what you want to do most at Disney’s Hollywood Studios?” I beg.  With the dramatic flair that Margeaux is known for, she bursts into tears.  In between heavy sobs she manages to communicate, “I just can’t!  How can I possibly know what I want to do, when all I can think about is what I don’t want to do?”  With that she throws her sorrowful head in my lap and gives way to a pity party that is reminscent of Alice’s when she discovers her body is too big to pass through the locked door and into Wonderland.

With a sobbing child in my lap, I stroke her hair and wonder where I went wrong.  This was supposed to be a simple exercise in Disney vacation training that would help build excitement for our upcoming trip.  Instead it became a frustrating experience of torment for all involved.  “There must be a better way,” I think to myself.  I know I will find it, but in the meantime I think I will stick to designing park strategies on my own.

*for information about Disney theme park strategies contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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SAINT PATRICK

I sit at my computer to check the park hours of DHS.  While I’m notating particulars about Extra Magic Hours for Disney resort guests, a pop-up box notifies me that I have received an e-mail from someone named Chef Patrick. 

I open the letter to read a thoughtful note from the chef of The Hollywood Brown Derby.  He explains that he was contacted by Brenda about our family’s circumstances and is very interested in enabling us to visit the park.  He then requests an e-mail back specifying the items that my children cannot eat. 

I am quick to put my current task aside.  After all, if our dietary dilemma does not get resolved, Extra Magic Hours will be meaningless anyway.  I feel much like Milo when he cohesively organized all his research in hopes of securing passage to the lost city of Atlantis, and I carefully begin construction on my dietary epistle to Chef Patrick.  Since the list of foods my children can eat is more brief and specific than the list of foods they cannot eat, I start my small e-book with this itemized list.  After that I give an abridged explanation of my children’s medical diet, the science behind it and our current position in it progression.  This is all followed by explicit warnings of the potential physical, behavioral and neurological consequences for my children if their food is not prepared within the set guidelines.  

As I proofread my e-mail that is probably worthy of publication in a medical journal, I wonder what Chef Patrick’s response will be.  The diet actually is a return to whole foods in a very restricted and pure form.  However, I am acutely aware that to most contemporary persons, the kids’ diet seems like a maniacal menu designed by The Swedish Chef and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew. 

I expel a heavy sigh and acknowledge that the note cannot be helped.  If I am going to trust this man with the health of my children, I need to be sure that he understands the magnitude of our situation.  So with some reservation, I hit the “send” button, and my short novel takes off through cyberspace to an inbox somewhere in Orlando. 

Several minutes have passed, and I’m back to searching the Disney website for details on height restrictions of attractions and recommended activities for toddlers.  Another pop-up box informs me that Chef Patrick has responded.  Already?  I know that Disney tries to be timely in responding to guests, but this is very impressive.  I open the new message and read, “May I call you right now?”  “Oh my!  Is this a good thing or a bad thing,” I wonder.  I oblige by sending Chef Patrick more specific contact information and wait for the phone to ring. 

Over the last two years, our family has received a wide variety of reactions to our diet.  But the most common reaction is one of disbelief.  In spite of the evidence that my children’s recovery provides, most people seem unable to grasp that our extreme dietary measures have been completely necessary.  So–more often than I care to recall–I have been treated like a small child whose observations are received with an inattentive nod, vacant gaze or condescending smile that communicates, “You are misinformed and misguided, but I’ll pretend to agree just to appease you.”  When DH and I first encountered these responses, they were shocking.  Then they grew to be infuriating.  At this point, they are expected, but they have never become less painful.  So I brace myself for what I may confront in my next phone call.  

The phone rings, so I pick up.  I’m greeted by a kind voice, “Hi.  This is Chef Patrick from The Hollywood Brown Derby.”  I return the greeting.  Chef Patrick explains, “I’m sorry to bother you.  I received your e-mail and have looked it over.  With all my experience in dealing with dietary issues, I’ve never seen the likes of this.  I’m calling because I want to make sure that I fully understand it.  Is it alright if I ask you some questions?”  I take a big breath and agree to answer his questions even though most of these types of conversations turn into something resembling an interrogation.  

We start off discussing the kids’ medical condition and its affect on their digestive system.  I explain that most likely the reason he is unfamiliar with their prescribed diet is because most individuals on it are unable to visit restaurants.  This is why we haven’t been in a restaurant as a family in two years.  Chef Patrick exclaims, “Two years!”  But rather than with disbelief, Chef Patrick treats my research and experience with a sense of respect and admiration.  He continues to ask very specific questions about ingredients and cooking processes.  His manner is one of genuine interest, and he asks me to occasionally pause so that he can catch up on his notes.  I find myself feeling slightly at ease with Chef Patrick.  He is very likeable, and even though I am neurotic, he seems to take me seriously. 

After all the questions have been answered, I express my fear that the meals could accidentally be cross-contaminated due to the nature of a restaurant’s operation.  Chef Patrick very calmly addresses me, “I want to lay all your fears to rest.  Should you decide to come to my restaurant, your meals will be treated with the utmost care.  My restaurant is the only five-star restaurant within a Disney theme park.  For this reason, we have two kitchens–one that is rarely ever used.  If I’m on duty that day, not only will your meals be pulled off the main line and prepared in an entirely separate kitchen but I will also prepare them myself.  I want your family to eat in my restaurant.  You have been through so much.  Please allow me to serve you this way.  I truly want to feed your family.” 

I nearly choke as my eyes tear up, and I struggle to catch my breath.  His words ring in my ears. I WANT to feed your family?  Of all the times I’ve witnessed reactions to our story, I’ve never encountered this.  I’ve seen arrogant condescension.  I’ve seen irritated tolerance.  At best, I’ve seen sympathetic compassion.  This is the first time though I’ve seen aggressive inclusion, and I am moved in a powerful way.  

It is in this moment that I know I can place the safety of my family’s health in the hands of this incredible man.  He has succeeded where so many have failed by being humble and realizing there are some things that he can still learn in life (even from a Neurotic Disney Mom).  Because he has made himself teachable, he has also made himself trustworthy.  My defenses are coming down, and I smile as I imagine my family enjoying the luxury of a restaurant together for the first time since DD2’s birth. 

Chef Patrick and I end our discussion with my promise to make a reservation and his promise to remain in touch.  He says that he plans to periodically check on our progress before we arrive, and once again I’m awe-struck by his desire to be so “hands-on” with us. 

I feel most of my apprehension melt away.  In its stead, the familiar feeling of Disney excitement grows.  Somehow this saintly man, disguised as a chef, has broken the curse of Disney-phobia that has tortured me for too long.  Upon recognizing this, I whisper a prayer of thanks for his entrance in my life.  He is the Genie in a lamp that I’ve been waiting to find, making my Disney wishes come true.

 *Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/guest-services/special-dietary-requests/

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A MORSEL THAT’S HARD TO SWALLOW

It is decided that we will only spend one day in a theme park during our upcoming trip.  Although I have been doing my best to not allow my newly acquired Disney phobia to get the best of me, it has been hard for me to entirely shake it.  Traveling with our special dietary needs is a concept that still makes me very uneasy, so I decide not to set our expectations too high.  We will brave one park for one day, and we will remain content within that limitation. 

The park, Disney’s Hollywood Studios (DHS), seems like a good fit for this trip.  My little starlets have never been to this park, and DH and I have not been since our honeymoon.  It is a park that can be almost completely seen within a day if one carefully plans and strategizes (which all NDMs instinctively do).  And because DHS has a large amount of shows with only a couple rides that exempt small children, our choice is particularly wise for DD2. 

As I analyze the situation, I am continually frustrated by our dietary circumstances.  I want to feed my children food that I have prepared because I know this guarantees their safety, but it is impossible for us to carry entire meals for our family around the park.  The amount of edibles would require a large cooler to be schlepped around the full day.  I am not about to consider this possibility when I will already feel like a pack mule under the weight of a diaper bag, a camcorder bag and a backpack that contains all the essentials for surviving a WDW theme park.  Plus, I will need all my hands available to manage and direct my Disney troop. 

In the back of my mind, I hear the voices of easy-going Disney guests advocating a retreat back to the villa during meals.  But this habit is strictly forbidden for my family.  It is deep within the NDM code to never leave a theme park before its closure forces such dreadful action.  So if I intend to train my family to be proper Neurotic Disney People (and I do intend to do this), a mid-day retreat is out of the question. 

Think, think, think.  I tap my furrowed NDM brow with the tip of my index finger as I search for an inspiring solution.  This technique in mental exercise always helps Winnie the Pooh visualize “outside the hunny pot.”  Perhaps, it will assist me as well. 

Ah!  I’ve got it!  But my plan of ingenuity will require special permission.  I retrieve the phone number of Brenda, the primary supervisor of Disney’s special dietary department, and quickly dial the digits.  Surprisingly, she answers personally rather than a voice message.  I quickly introduce myself, my circumstances and my brilliant idea.  I propose, “If DH and I made reservations at a restaurant for lunch and dinner, we could drop meals off there for the children first thing in the morning.  Then the restaurant could store the kid’s food in the refrigerator until we arrived for our reservations.”  In my mind, the notion is perfect.  The restaurant will receive our business; the children will be safe, and our family will experience eating together in a restaurant for the first time in two years.  However, Brenda finds a glaring flaw in my scheme.  It is illegal. 

Disney is responsible whenever a guest reacts negatively to a meal eaten within their restaurants.  So to ensure they are only held accountable for incidents that they have actually caused, these eating facilities are not permitted to serve food that they have not prepared.  As a loyal NDM, it is difficult for me to imagine persecuting an innocent Mouse in a court of law, but apparently there are people who do this sort of thing.  As a result, it has dashed all hopes of my family living the Hollywood life for a day. 

I do my best to hold it together, but tears fill my eyes.  Our dietary restrictions have kept us from being able to do a great many things these past years.  I have tried to stay positive in spite of it all, but this is more than I can bear.  As I attempt to thank Brenda for her time, I hear my voice quiver.  She hears it as well and begs me to consider trusting one of her chefs.  As I try to explain the complexity of my children’ s diet and my apprehension, I find myself taking big breaths and long pauses to stave off the sob fest that I am dangerously close to engaging. 

Brenda extends her sincerest sympathies and remarks that my fears are natural.  She assures me, though, that if I’m willing to give her a chance, she will go beyond the routine process of filling out the standard Dietary Needs Form.  She will put me personally in touch with chefs that not only ensure my kids’ safety but guarantee that their meals will receive exclusive attention. 

I begin to hope.  Maybe if I’m able to speak with some chefs first-hand, I will be able to ascertain whether they actually can handle the grave responsibility of safely feeding my delicate, red carpet walkers.  I tell Brenda with some trepidation that I will take this initial step with her.  She is elated to hear it and promises that I will begin receiving e-mails from DHS chefs within a day or two.  I express my gratitude, and we end our conversation. 

I sit and wonder if I have done the right thing.  I desperately wish that I did not have to make such a scary decision; however, as the family of a NDM we cannot live in a bubble that floats outside of the realm of Disney.  I’m perfectly content for my bubble to exclude almost everything else in life, but when Mickey is on the outside looking in, it is time for the bubble to pop. 

I try to relax and feel comfortable in the direction I’m taking.  After all, this is Walt Disney World we are talking about.  If anyone is on top of their game, it is this company.  Surely I can place my family in their hands and trust we will be taken care of, or can I? 

I bury my conflicted facial expression in my hands.  Will I ever fully recover from my doubtful Disney state?  This is the most distressing condition a NDM could have.  It sure would be nice to access Genie and his magic lamp right now, but I’m starting to wonder if my deliverance from this misery is even beyond the reach of the most powerful wish granters.

*Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/guest-services/special-dietary-requests/

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THE MORNING AFTER

The world is coming to an end.  That must be it.  There is no other reason to explain the strange feeling that has suddenly overcome me.  I am afraid to go to Walt Disney World.  Surely it is a sign of the apocalypse. 

Now that all my weeks of hyper-focused energy have landed us a stay at Disney’s Old Key West Resort, I am paralyzed by the thought of actually going.  This happening is absolutely bizarre, but there is some method to my madness. 

We entered the realm of “special dietary needs” years ago, and it has imprisoned us ever since.  Our children haven’t eaten a meal prepared outside of our kitchen in two years.  And since their entire diet is composed of perishable, whole food, this has meant that we have never been away from home for more than 18 hours.  It has not been easy.  It has not been pleasant.  But my children have made great strides in recovery because of it, and we have grown accustomed to it.  Now I realize that I am terrified to go outside of these boundaries that have been a means of protection for so long. 

There are only a handful of specialty meats, fruits and vegetables that my children can eat.  Most of them can’t be found in grocery stores.  It has taken me years to search out healthy, organic farms that raise meats and grow food that my children can eat without negatively reacting, and none of them are located in Orlando.  What if we run out of food while we are there?  What if the food goes bad en route?  What if we have a dietary infraction and undo all the progress we have made over the years?  What if I forget to pack a critical supplement?  What if we need our specialized doctor?  What if Mickey is ill-equipped to handle the delicate natures of my angelic spawn and the frazzled nerves of their bewildered NDM? 

These are not the only things to consider, though.  The preparations of this trip will be the likes of which I have never seen before.  As I gnaw on my fingernails, I acknowledge that I was not raised to vacation this way.  I have no experience as a traveling “special needs” mom.  The modern conveniences of drive-thrus, restaurants, and pre-packaged foods have always played a dominant role in my vacation training, and I feel quite out of my element as I look to what lies ahead.  A normal trip to WDW already necessitates a great degree of detailed planning, and this “abnormal” trip will require even more.  Since I cannot avail myself of the common luxuries that most utilize when on vacation, I will have to do a lot of thinking “outside the box” in order to avoid disaster.  The pressure is intense.  What if I am caught unprepared?  What if I fail?  What if my family is permanently damaged in some way by my inability to rise to the occasion? 

The “what ifs” won’t leave me alone.  They attack my imagination from every side and grow more horrific in nature.  The last fingernail is ravished, and my cuticles become the focus of my crazed oral fixation.  I envision a hundred dreadful Disney scenarios in my mind.  Each one features starvation, a fatal bacterial infection, a life-impairing accident, an acquired disease or a brain-eating amoeba.  I can’t do this.  We can’t go.  We will never survive. 

My fingertips have transformed into bloody stumps and no longer satisfy my need to nibble.  I look at my toenails and wonder if it is possible to somehow bring them to my gnashing teeth.  I am in between a rock and a hard place.  I must get to WDW for my 10^th anniversary, but I cannot go because it may kill my family.  As I look for a corner to curl up in the fetal position and bang my head, I realize that I have somehow lost the endearing “Disney” factor of my esteemed title.  I no longer resemble a Neurotic Disney Mom.  I have regressed to the state of just Neurotic Mom.  The revelation is enough to scare me more than my Disney paranoia.  I need professional help.  It is time to call Bill. 

Bill, being the knowledgeable Disney man that he is as well as a father of a kid with ”special needs”, is uncommonly compassionate while I expel the barrage of irrational notions in my mind.  He gently reminds me that his son’s medical condition is akin to the one my children have, and his son has survived every year that they’ve gone to Disney.  He declares that not once has his son ever contracted the West Nile Virus from a rabid mosquito roaming Lake Buena Vista, and he is doubtful that mine will either.  I find comfort in his soothing words and begin to relax. 

As Bill expertly executes his therapy session, he even goes so far as to suggest that my family could possibly dine in a restaurant due to Disney’s expertise in accommodating dietary needs.  I gasp in horror at the thought.  Going to WDW is one thing, but entrusting the preparation of my children’s food to another individual is an entirely different matter!  It took me a great many months to get a handle on all the particulars of this restricted diet.  I find it incredulous that a chef who is preparing meals for an entire restaurant simultaneously can give the meals of my little digestively-challenged kiddos the specialized attention they need.  But Bill is insistent, and begs me to at least consider the notion.  With this, he passes on the contact information for Brenda who is the primary supervisor of the “special dietary needs” department in Disney.  I am doubtful that I will actually reach out to this woman because I have no intention of allowing anyone else to take on the serious responsibility of feeding my children, but I record the information “just in case.” 

I thank Bill profusely for his time and patience, and I hang up the phone.  He has gone above and beyond his call of duty as DVC reservationist.  It is certain that providing NDM counseling for panicked vacation planners is not in his job description; however, he did not shy away from the task.  In fact, he managed it quite smoothly and took it in stride.  Is it possible that he has done this before? 

I am feeling more at ease now about the monstrous planning project that I face.  In fact, I can see that taking on this new level of Disney vacation preparation is an absolute necessity.  Clearly, in the last 24 hours something tragic has occurred in my composition to cause such Disney dysfunction.  It is absolutely unacceptable for a NDM to be Disney-phobic, and this must be corrected.  So for the betterment of my own mental health, I resolve to move forward with the trip and push through this temporary malaise to find my zippity-doo-dah, Neurotic Disney self once more.

*Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/guest-services/special-dietary-requests/

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GRAMMY’S A “GO”

Grammy is my mother who lives in South Florida where I was raised.  She and I have a long, difficult history.  While I am a Neurotic Disney Mom (NDM), Grammy is just a Neurotic Mom (NM).  It is the “Disney” element that makes one’s neurosis an endearing quality rather than an unbearable one.  For this reason, NDMs and NMs are worlds apart and often clash.

This has always been the case for Grammy and me.  But when I conceived my first little mouseketeer, I decided it was time to send all the hard feelings off to Never Land.  Since that time I have done my best to endure the onslaught of guilt-inducing jabs as well as passively resist the attempts at manipulation and overlook the odd behaviors that make Grammy who she is.  I find I am mildly successful at this as long as my contact with Grammy is brief and infrequent.

Inviting her on a WDW trip in such close quarters will be a test of every NDM fiber in my body.  Due to the difficult and uncomfortable situations that arise in Grammy’s presence, I almost didn’t invite her to my wedding.  The notion that I would invite her on my 10^th  anniversary trip never entered my worst nightmare.  But here I am–about to do that very thing–and I’m actually praying she will accept the invitation.  For the first time in my life it occurs to me that maybe my obsession with Disney is over the top.  But it is what it is, and there’s no turning back.

“Hello, Grammy,” I greet my mother on the phone.  “Well, hello,” she returns, “What are you up to?”  I use this as a springboard for my persuasive proposition.  I know this will be a bit of a hard sell.  Grammy is famous for her frugality.  When Grammy does stay on Disney property, she is an All-Star Resorts kind of girl.  It is certain that she has never ponied up this much money just for accommodations, but I have a few things working in my favor.

The first thing is that my children and husband are my travel companions.  As difficult as my relationship with Grammy has been, I give her credit for the way she loves her grandchildren and son-in-law.  Over the years, I have been astounded at the way she melts around them and the hurdles she will jump for them while she throws me a back-handed compliment like, “It’s just amazing that you’ve actually managed so well for yourself in life.”

The second thing is that Grammy hasn’t seen our family in two years due to the fact that we have been unable to travel.  This has greatly bothered her.  It is obvious that the interstate goes both ways and that my family has had serious circumstances prevent its run down it.  But Grammy feels that her excuses for not making the long-distance trip are more valid than ours; therefore, a reunion has been impossible.  Now that our family will be within three hours of her home, I know that Grammy will find it difficult to resist meeting us.

The final thing working in my favor is that Grammy is slightly inclined to loosen her purse strings for Disney.  Because she is not a NDM, this truth puzzles me somewhat.  Perhaps it relates to the fact that during all our dysfunctional years, everything seemed OK whenever we were at Disney.  But no matter the reason, it still remains that–on occasion–Grammy has thrown financial caution to the wind in order to find the family magic that happens at Disney.

“Well, what do you think,” I inquire.  Grammy hesitates slightly and says, “Hmmmm . . . . it has been a very difficult year as far as money is concerned.  Do you know how much the cost of homeowner’s insurance is now?  Why don’t you just come and stay at my house for a week?  You never visit me anymore.  I miss your family terribly.  I think about the children every day, and DH is long overdue in getting treated to my brownies.”  I roll my eyes as I listen to the guilt-laden remarks.  Being only a NM, she is missing the point ENTIRELY!

“There are a couple reasons we can’t do that, ” I gently explain.  “First, we need to run the kitchen.  There is no way we can do that at your house without completely displacing you.  I can’t displace you in your own home.  Doing that is awkward for everyone.  But also, this is our anniversary trip.  A visit to your home would be lovely, but it isn’t very anniversary-ish.  Being at Disney is the ‘anniversary’ part.”  Grammy petitions, “There are plenty of places that you could go to near here.  Why, a very nice b-b-q restaurant just opened the other week.  It would be very special for an anniversary dinner.”  I take a moment to envision greasy fingers and b-b-q sauce dribbling down my chin as a way of commemorating this special milestone in my life.  The thought makes me cringe.  Following that is a vision of engaging in intimate anniversary activities under my mother’s roof.  I am further thrown into the hee-bee-jee-bee zone, and I know that I cannot discuss this with Grammy anymore.

In an attempt to get our focus back in place, I toss Grammy the one bone that should seal the deal.  “You know, we will have two bedrooms at the resort, so there is room for another person.  You could bring Buddy.  Wouldn’t he just love a trip like this,” I suppose.  Buddy is my sister’s oldest son and Grammy’s favored grandchild.  He is the recipient of an unending stream of special attention and gifts from Grammy.  If giving Grammy the chance to lavish Buddy with the vacation of his dreams doesn’t clench it, then nothing will.  But just as I predict, Grammy agrees that a WDW trip of this magnitude cannot be passed up.

“Wonderful,” I exclaim.  “I’ll send you an e-mail with all the resort information.  You are going to love this place.  It’s beautiful!  And Buddy is going to have more fun than he’s ever had before.  DD7 and DS5 are going to be so happy that you both are coming.  Just think about it.  We’re all going to have a great time.”  Grammy concurs with this declaration.  I can hear the enthusiasm beginning to break through now that she has made her decision.

We hang up the phone, and I marvel at what just took place.  Somehow I had a conversation with my mom that was only mildly irritating.  More than that, it ended with me feeling grateful for her and even slightly excited about seeing her soon.  How is it that Disney can do this for families?  The reality is mind-boggling.

As I search for Bill’s number to secure our now DEFINITE reservation, I feel a mixture of warmth, giddiness and peace.  Finally, the pixie dust has fallen on me and mine.  We are headed to the place where dreams do come true.  Let the planning begin!

*for information about renting Disney Vacation Club points contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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WHEN YOU GOTTA GO, YOU GOTTA GO

With a WDW vacation in a DVC villa being the gem that it is, the task of finding a suitable family to share our vacation should be easy.  One could even imagine that families would line up with applications, hoping to be selected for this rare opportunity.  After all, everyone wants to go to Disney.  It seems obvious as well that the value of vacationing with a delightful NDM (such as myself) would be recognized and highly sought after.  All that I need to do is select a family, extend the invitation and be ready to receive the outpouring of gratitude.

I sit to actually consider possible candidates, and I am confronted by my first restriction.  Due to limited space, the family cannot have more than four members.  DH and I have put down our roots in a rural land of stay-at-home moms, and this area tends to breed large families with four or more children.  For this reason, more than half of the families that I would be interested in bringing cannot be considered as companions.

As I cross off half the names on my list, I quickly remember there is another thing to ponder.  It is the complication that has kept us from vacationing altogether for the last couple years–my children’s compromised health.  Due to our circumstances, this family must agree to some unusual inconveniences. 

The enormity of our food supply and the extent of our food preparations will limit this family’s culinary capabilities.  They will only be able to bring a small amount of groceries and have minimal use of the kitchen.  Also, what they do have in the kitchen will have to be kept and prepared separately to protect my little ones.  Careful attention will have to be paid to cleaning dishes, cups, cookware and utensils to avoid cross-contamination of health “triggers.”  And it is necessary that no drinks and snacks are left out.  I cannot risk DD2 taking a sip of a random cup of Kool-Aid or chomping on a stray Pringle.

Basically, this family has to respect the magnitude of my group’s health challenges.  They also have to grasp the severity of our consequences should an accident occur.  But most importantly, they have to be hyper-aware of the environment in our villa and be capable of managing their children accordingly.  Orlando, we have a problem!

My long list of candidates has now been whittled down to a small handful.  I summon DH to discuss our dilemma.  He shrugs and intelligently notes that all we can do is start making phone calls.

By some miracle, DH agrees to share our telemarketing task.  One by one–call by call–our hopes of company are dashed.  The Greers just recently returned from WDW.  The Sterretts are unable to take leave from work.  The Rogers cannot financially swing it, and the Moores will still be bleary-eyed from the arrival of their newborn.  We are left holding out for the Walters.

DH is speaking with Mr. Walters.  Surprisingly, DH is talking up a good case and displaying promising persuasive powers.  Mr. Walters seems enthusiastic about the idea because their family has not had a vacation in some time either.  The situation seems ideal.  DH and I enjoy spending time with the Walters, and the Walters have two well-mannered children that are playmates of our kiddos.  Plus, the Walters have a slight difficulty with food allergies, so not only are they respectful of our circumstances but their food choices resemble our own.  It is destiny!

Mr. Walters tells DH that he will discuss the matter with his wife and get back with us momentarily.  As they hang up, I am beaming.  We’ve found the family.  I just know it.  It’s such a good fit that it is obvious this is the result of pixie dust. 

I search for Bill’s number so that I am ready to make the reservation as soon as the Walter’s call back.  I find it.  Now it’s just a matter of time.

That “matter of time” seems to be a “matter of eternity” as I wait and wait.  The phone finally rings.  It’s them!  DH picks up the phone.  Not much is said by DH other than a series of cheerful “Uh-huhs” and “OK”s, but I try to remain patient and silent.  Finally DH says good-bye and hangs up.  As I reach for the phone to call Bill, DH says, “The Walters can’t do it.  They have to purchase a mini-van because their current vehicle won’t hold three carseats.  Their new baby is expected by the end of this year.  They tried to see if they could handle the expense of both the van and trip, but they just can’t.

I’m dumb-founded.  In this whole, wide world of humans, how is it possible that none meet our family’s need for companionship?  The reality is mind-boggling as it stares me in the face, but there it is nonetheless.  I’m left with no more options except one–my very last resort.

As I go to retrieve my phone book, I start on a path that I didn’t imagine I would I take.  But there are some scary places that a NDM visits in her darkest moments of Disney desperation.  This is one of those moments, and I am in one of those places.  I have developed tunnel-vision at this point.  I must get to WDW at any cost, and I am painfully aware that the cost will be much more than I had originally counted because it is time to call Grammy.

*to confess your darkest moments of Disney desperation take a turn in the Confessional Chair at http://thedisneydrivenlife.com/the-confessional

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