The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

TWIDDLING THUMBS ON THE WAY TO MEET TWEEDLE-DUM

With all the necessary preparations complete, the week before a Disney trip can be rather torturous.  A NDM finds she has already done everything that can be done beforehand to ensure vacation perfection, and there is nothing left except waiting for the remaining time to pass.  This psychotic crawling of time can make a NDM madder than a hatter.

Such is the predicament of which I currently find myself.  Most NDMs don’t naturally possess the virtue of patience since patience is generally not compatible with neurosis.  But when the issue is Disney related . . . . well, patience becomes an absolute impossibility for the NDM.  What do I do with myself for the next few days to keep the tick-tock of my biological mouse clock from sending me to the Toontown Funny Farm?

My first thought is to clean my house.  But as I ponder sanitizing my bathrooms for the fourth time in three days, I realize that there must be other things to consider in killing the time.  Snow White’s suggestion to “Whistle While You Work” served me well the first half of this week.  In fact, DH and my spawn have been overjoyed with my incessant tidying.  But I fear the cheerful pastime has run its course.  After all, the grout in between shower tiles can only be cleaned so much before the mildew remover (which removed the mildew two scrubbings ago) begins to erode the hearty, bonding material.

As an alternative I consider listening to Disney music.  It is almost always a relaxing activity for me.  Throughout the year I regularly enlist this as a way of mentally transporting me to my “Laughing Place” when I can’t be there.  For this reason, I rationalize that it is logical to seek sanctuary amongst my collection of Disney CDs.  I put my favorite box set of theme park sounds in the stereo and prepare to watch my anxiety take a trip to Tomorrowland.  Shockingly, though, I discover an unexpected difficulty.  The magical tunes that normally soothe my Neurotic Disney soul have become a source of torment.  Rather than easing the emotional pain a NDM might carry when outside the boundaries of Lake Buena Vista, it taunts me with the vivid reminder that other families are enjoying magical bliss in our country’s top vacation destination whilst I am sitting here trying to keep the March Hare at bay.

I think it is time to phone a friend as a form of distraction.  Seeing as DH is my very best friend, I dial him up at his office.  Tax season recently ended, so his work as an accountant is temporarily slow.  I am certain that a loving call from his doting wife will be just the thing he needs to brighten his boring day.

“Hello,” he answers.  “Hi sweetie.  How are you,” I inquire.  He replies, “Fine.  What is going on at home today?”  “NOTHING,” I explode.  “That is the problem!”  DH’s innocent question somehow becomes a springboard for suppressed irritation, and I find myself in a tirade about the insanity and cruelty of waiting on the passage of four more uneventful days.  DH calmly absorbs every bit of seething fury I expel through our fiber optic connection.  Finally he interjects during a rare moment when I pause for breath, “Love?”  “Yes,” I answer.  He calmly presents, “Do you realize that you’ve called me at work and kept me on the phone for at least ten minutes so that you could yell at me about your early preparation for our trip?  I didn’t want you to do all this so far ahead of time in the first place.  Remember?  It seems a little unfair that I’m the recipient of your frustration.  Also, yelling at me while I’m at work seems like a particularly poor choice of timing.  Do you think we could proceed with your venting episode after business hours?”  Embarrassed by my lack of composure, I meekly agree to his reasonable request.

As I hang up the phone, I acknowledge my accidental slip of rationale and realize the nutty Cheshire Cat must be dangerously close.  The time has come to sit and analyze the value of a NDM’s thorough and advanced planning measures.  On the one hand, I am happy because I know that everything is ready to go and our departure can now happen at the earliest possible moment.  However, the very fact that we are able to leave at any time, pushes me to the brink of insanity because that time is still days away.  It is a conundrum that could produce tears in a NDM much like the Tulgey Wood did for Alice in her Wonderland.

The alternative would be to postpone shopping, packing and list-checking until a day or two before departure.  This way I would certainly be kept busy and avoid the hum-drum that normally tortures me the last days before vacation.  I try to imagine this scenario and shudder at the thought.  Putting a NDM in those shoes creates stress and anxiety of an entirely different nature.  I easily envision my quest for Disney vacation perfection being put under the gun and throwing me into the circle of Disney villains.  Malificent could not hold a candle to what I would become.  My children would hate me, and my Prince Charming would try to escape me.  This option is certainly not the preferable way for a NDM to lead her family to the “Happiest Place on Earth.”

Since I seem condemned to some extreme condition as the day of departure draws near, I reason that surely “Goofy” madness is more desirable than cranky evilness.  So with the inevitable outcome of neurosis-induced insanity, I resign myself to the state of a raving lunatic with a silly nature. 

I go to my kitchen to see if I have the ingredients of a digestively safe cake and inform the children that we must prepare.  There is an unbirthday party to throw, and I comment that we should expect some very lively company.  As I gather my favorite spinning teacup and practice my best English accent, I reckon I’m as ready as ever for a Mad Tea Party.  “Now what was that riddle about a raven and a writing desk,” I say to myself as I imagine a white rabbit with a waistcoat rushing across my backyard.  Unlike Alice who didn’t want to “go among mad people,” I finally embrace the idea.  After all, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

*for creative ideas on how to pass the time while waiting for your Disney vacation, contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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MOUSE TRIPPING

There has been some speculation about the origins of the title, Neurotic Disney Mom.  While not certain, it could be argued that the term was born out of a noticeable change in the behavior of maternal Disneyphiles the week before a Disney vacation.  The members of a NDM’s family often consider her heightened sense of neurosis during this time to be irrational.  Thrown into the mysterious category of conditions caused by lunar pulls and pre-menstrual cycles, vacation partners believe that the sudden onset of strange patterns emerging from a NDM are an inexplicable biochemical reaction that results from the anticipated return to her homeland. 

As I put the last box in the mini-van, I think of my homecoming in one short week and am relieved.  The van is completely packed.  It only awaits the passage of seven days and the occupation of my loved ones. 

DH comes home from work and goes to our bedroom.  It is his custom to exchange his suit and tie for more comfortable clothes first thing after arriving.  “HONEY,” I hear him yell from the confines of our intimate quarters.  I walk to our room to answer the call.  Upon entering, I find a half-dressed DH that looks perplexed.  He questions, “Where is all of my underwear?”  “Oh,” I reply, “you know that for a couple weeks I have been packing everyone’s suitcases for our trip.  Today I packed yours.”  “Well, where is it,” DH inquires, “I need to unpack it so that I can have some clean underwear tomorrow.”  “You can’t have it,” I answer matter-of-factly, “It’s already packed in the van and underneath everything else.”  DH looks stunned.  “Why did you pack the van?  We aren’t leaving for another week!” 

While the answer seems obvious to me, DH is dumb-founded.  Packing at least a week before departure is a basic principle of The Disney Driven Life.  The reason is not complex.  NDMs are under an immense amount of pressure to ensure that the Disney family vacation is a perfect one; therefore, they must be certain that every detail of the upcoming trip has been covered.  The vast importance of this cannot be overemphasized, and diligent preparation is required.  When done properly, the NDM completes all her packing tasks early and allows herself time to double-check, triple-check and quadruple-check all that has been done.  In the event something has been overlooked, it is certain to be exposed during this time of waiting and checking, and disaster will be averted. 

Were the vacation of less importance such as a stay in Hawaii, a cross-country road trip to the Grand Canyon or even a tour of the European continent, there would not be such a need for the NDMs excessive attention.  The details are just not as critical for these inferior destinations.  In the case of Walt Disney World, though, it is paramount to have every “heigh-ho” sung before making the trek to the diamond mine. 

People that do not passionately love Disney do not understand that serious childhood trauma can occur from a Disney trip gone awry.  I, myself, have lived through the repercussions of such a tragedy.  It was a very difficult event in my life, and–to this day–I am not sure that I have completely forgiven the portion of my family that scarred me with their haphazard approach on that particular Disney visit.  Being a NDM, I will not permit such an experience to happen to my own little dwarves.  All Disney trips with my clan will be absolute Disney bliss; therefore, plan, prepare and pre-pack I must. 

I try to relay this logic to DH, but he looks at me as if Mickey Mouse ears have sprouted from the top of my head.  He asks with frustration, “What am I supposed to do if I have no clean underwear for the week?”  “Can’t you just go without for a little bit,” I propose, “DS5 has been going ‘commando’ for a couple days now.  He seems to be quite enjoying it.”  By the look on DH’s face, you would think that I had now grown a tail in addition to ears.  “Ummm . . . . the answer to that would be no,” he states unamused.  “Well, even if I do the laundry right this minute, you still won’t have enough underwear to get you through the week.  You are just going to have to hang loose for a while.” 

DH narrows his eyes, puts on his pants and begins to walk towards the exit of our room.  Since NDMs have a sixth sense that warns them of a potential Disney sabotage, I intuitively know he means to unload the mini-van and get the desired unmentionables.  “NOOOOO,” I scream and throw my mousy 5′2″ frame in front of the door.  “You can’t do it,” I cry, “I’ve worked so hard!  It’s all done!  All my labor . . . . it’s for the best!  Our vacation depends on it!  Don’t do it!  You can’t do this to the children and me!” 

DH stands still and stares at me.  Apparently I have begun to speak “Mouse”, and he does not understand a word.  “You are being ridiculous,” he declares.  His stubbornness reduces me to tears.  In spite of my emphatic display of drama, DH refuses to see the importance of my message.  He makes me move aside, but when he walks past I’m overcome with desperation.  Such dire circumstances call for dire action.  I throw myself around one of DH’s ankles, impeding his progress.  “Wait!  Wait,” I plead in between sobs.  “What are you doing,” DH implores in a bewildered tone.  “I have an idea,” I gasp.  As if my life depends on it, I suggest, “We can make a trip to Walmart tonight and buy you some more underwear.  We can even buy some more for DS5.  Please, please don’t unpack the van!”  Completely exasperated, DH sighs, “Fine.  I don’t know what has gotten into you, but . . . . whatever!” 

I immediately perk up.  My quick thinking has saved the integrity of our trip.  I rush to the bathroom, wipe away my running mascara and take deep breaths in the hope that my blotchy face will resume its normal complexion.  Quickly I gather DD7, DS5 and DD2 and hurry them to our vehicle.  It is tricky lifting them over the stacks of boxes piled in between the seats, but I manage it without complaint.  The important thing is to have the kids buckled and ready to go before DH approaches.  This way he will not be further exasperated and insist on unpacking the van. 

Once we pull out of the driveway, there is silence in our group.  The only noise is the gentle jostling of luggage that is piled high enough to cover the rear window.  It is uncomfortable and awkward, but I reason that DH has to adjust to this important step in leading The Disney Driven Life.  Ultimately, this is for his good. 

The errand is accomplished.  Both DS5 and DH seem pleased with the fresh packages of boxer briefs they have acquired.  We are half way home.  The sound of jostling luggage still provides background noise for our vehicle.  DH says, “Honey, did you pack our toothbrushes as well?”  I purse my lips, avert my eyes and hesitate to answer.  “Nevermind,” he sighs and gets in the left-hand lane to make a U-turn.  In a statement of final resignation he says, “It’s a good thing that Walmart is open 24 hours.”

*NDM#1′s favorite Disney World check-list for packing can be found at MouseSavers.com: http://www.mousesavers.com/UltimatePackingList.doc

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SURPRISE! SURPRISE!

Growing up in South Florida, trips to WDW were just a fact of life for my peers and me.  Because of this, discussing details of Disney family vacations was commonplace as we transitioned into our tween years.  There was a very grown-up feeling to showcasing, comparing and trying to “keep up with the Joneses” in terms of Disney trip exploits, and I often found myself engaged in this activity.

On one occasion, a friend shared that her parents had simply woken her up early on a spring morning and told her they were traveling to WDW that day.  I marveled at the genius of these parents.  What kid wouldn’t love to be awakened and surprised with such a gift?  Surely it created a memory that would last a lifetime, and I envied my friend’s right to claim that experience as her own.

I carried the hope of a surprise visit to WDW throughout my youth since the moment I heard of it; however, the reality never surfaced.  Most likely because of custody restrictions that exist in broken homes, my parents always made known any plans of WDW trips.  So while I enjoyed the anticipation of upcoming vacations to my favorite place on earth, I was denied the treat of immediate WDW gratification that my friend knew.

Presently, it occurs to me that my own children should be blessed with the dream of WDW spontaneity that I never had.  The problem is that in my excitement of securing a trip, I have already informed of my intention to bring them to the origin of Disney nirvana.  But being the brilliant NDM that I am, I now determine to find a loophole that would allow my misstep to be corrected.

In bringing the matter to DH for discussion, I have an epiphany.  While my children know that a pilgrimage to our holy land is in the future, they do not know when it is in our future.  This gives me the opportunity to plan and discuss our trip with the children yet keep them in the dark concerning the date of departure.  “But they will see you shopping and packing for the trip.  There is no way that you can hide the preparations for a trip across four states,” DH asserts.  “I won’t have to,” I retort, “I will simply tell them that we are taking a trip to visit my dad and step-mom.  If I do that, I won’t even be lying since we are stopping overnight at their home.” DH tosses the idea over in his mind for a bit and agrees that it should work.  The only catch is that it will be extremely difficult for Grammy to remain quiet on the matter.  Keeping confidences is not her strong point.  Unless I petition her immediately, it is highly probable that she will begin a countdown of some sort with my little ones through mail or by phone in an attempt to elicit excitement from them. 

I hastily e-mail Grammy to notify her of our secret plans.  My note clearly expresses the wish to keep the timing of our trip secret so that we can surprise the children.  It also explains that she can feel free to discuss all the other particulars of the trip as long as talks about arrival are avoided.  I then ask her not to reply to my e-mail in any form because DD7 has developed a habit of opening my mail and eavesdropping on all forms of communication.  For this reason, she would most likely discover our conspiracy should we attempt to converse.  I hit the “send” button, shipping my note to Grammy’s inbox, and diligently destroy all evidence of our correspondence.

Not long after the message is sent, the phone rings.  It is Grammy.  Apparently, the idea of surprising the kids enthuses her.  She wants to discuss it with me.  “I can’t really talk about it at the moment.  There are little dwarves in my vicinity with perfect hearing capabilities,” I explain.  “Oh, I know,” she continues, “but I am excited because the trip is closing in on us.  What time of day will you be arriving?”  I hear an extension get picked up.  “Hello,” DD7 greets as she regularly does when she knows someone is on the phone.  “Please hang up.  Mommy is on the phone,” I instruct.  A definitive click is heard through the receiver, and I persist in trying to make Grammy understand why I asked her not to contact me.  “We can’t talk about any of this because we will be found out.  Do you see how easily DD7 can catch a smidgen of our conversation?  Everything will be ruined if she catches the wrong smidgen,” I present.  “I just wanted to ask you that one little question,” she insists.  I respond, “I don’t really know when we will arrive.  That all depends on what time I can get DH to leave, whether we hit traffic on the way and how many potty stops we need to make.”  Grammy requests, “Then call me on the way down when you know what time you will be there.”  I clarify, “I don’t think that is a good idea.  The kids will be in the van with me, and a phone call to you will tip them off.  Let’s just both arrive when we can.  I don’t see a need to synchronize our watches over this.”

Grammy gets a little frustrated because of my non-compliance with her request, but I have also become slightly frustrated with her non-compliance to mine.  I sense that Grammy has put on her battle gear as she often does when she is not pleased.  In turn, my guard goes up because this means Grammy may pull slick maneuvers, intending to subtly irritate me.  It is a mild form of vengeance that Grammy has perfected, and it enables her to fly below the radar of “blatant manipulation” which would instigate a feud but still receive the pleasure of watching me squirm.

We end our conversation in a manner that is a little tense, and I find I am uneasy.  It seems likely that a surprise attack from Grammy will now be in the works.  It has become my responsibility to thwart that type of surprise, to be diligent in carrying out the one I had originally planned and to preserve the integrity of my 10^th anniversary trip to WDW.

*for advice on managing relationships with friends and family who feel the need to rain on your Disney parade, contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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DISNEY DINING BOOT CAMP

There is a bit of advice often tossed out to parents: Pick your battles carefully.  The idea is that you can’t force your way upon your children in every situation, so choose the scenarios that are of the most importance to stand your ground.  Let the “less important” matters go by the wayside because they aren’t worth the fight and can actually cause you to lose the greater battles. 

I have always thought these words to be very wise and wished I could apply them the way I preferred.  But many years ago, when we were first hit with medical issues, I lost my ability to pick my battles.  At that point, the battles were chosen for me.  I couldn’t choose to make my children sit still in church because I had to wage war at the hospital lab to get them to sit still for blood draws.  I couldn’t choose to get serious about potty training because I had to take extraordinary measures just to get my kids to pass a bowel movement at all.  I couldn’t go toe-to-toe on the thumb-sucking issue.  My primary concern had to be getting my little people, who were not yet a half-decade old, to swallow horse pills. 

Table manners were among these “less important” issues when we found ourselves at the mercy of special dietary needs.  It was no longer about how my kiddos ate their preservative-free, sugar-free, gluten-free, casein-free, soy-free, completely whole foods meal.  It was simply about them eating it.  This compromise always seemed of little consequence, though.  We didn’t eat in public, and our menu was far enough from the standard American diet that no one wanted to come over and eat with us.  Therefore, there were never any witnesses to the barn-like mentality of my children at the dinner table except DH and me (and we overlooked it since we were simply grateful that our little animals cooperatively consumed their brussel sprouts and other edibles). 

But now I realize that disregarding table etiquette may have been a misstep.  We will be eating out when we visit Disney’s Hollywood Studios . . . in a five-star restaurant no less.  My trio of miniature omnivores is ill-prepared for their entrance into the world of fine dining, and I cringe at the thought of their meal-time antics in public.  There is no alternative.  A new battle has been chosen, and to prepare for it we must now institute Disney Dining Boot Camp. 

As soon as I get my little ones seated at the table, I give a brief introduction to the concept.  “OK, guys.  When we go to Walt Disney World, we will be eating in a restaurant.  It will be a very fancy restaurant, and we may even see Chef Patrick.”  DD7 speaks up, “Yeah.  We know this, Mom.”  I instruct, “What you don’t know is how to eat properly when you are in this restaurant, but you are going to learn.  You three have certain table habits that are unacceptable when eating in public.  We don’t want Chef Patrick to regret that he invited us to his wonderful eatery, do we?”  My troops are solemn and shake their heads.  “Well,” I continue, “then we have to learn a new way of eating, and we have to learn it fast.  From this moment on I will be like Roz in Monsters, Inc., watching you . . . . always watching.  When you show bad manners, I will tell you.  You will correct your behavior, and you will learn appropriate Disney table etiquette.  Got it?”  My three dwarves answer with a resounding, “Got it!” 

In preparation for this moment, I created the meal that will be served in the restaurant.  This way my diners can begin their training and develop good habits in reference to the exact foods they will confront at the time of testing.  So as I place a plate of grilled chicken, peas and blanched strawberries in front of them, their eyes widen and their lips smack. 

A prayer of thanks is expressed and the children immediately grab their poultry to sink their teeth into it.  “STOP,” I yell.  Frozen in time, chicken pieces are held en route and mouths hang open in mid-bite.  The only things that move are little eyes as they turn toward me.  “When we are in a restaurant, you do not touch your food with your hands.  You use a fork or a spoon to get the food to your mouth,” I instruct.  All chicken pieces are placed back on the plates, and my kiddos patiently wait for me to cut their food into bite size pieces. 

Once the pieces are cut, the kids resume eating.  All looks well except for the sight of DS5’s morsels being mangled between his teeth and sloshed in his saliva.  “DS5,” I bark, “Close your mouth while you chew.  It will bother the other diners if they can see the food in your mouth.”  DS5 shrugs and tries to remember this new form of chewing.  When he momentarily forgets, DD7 quips, “Kip yo mof cwohsed!”  “DD7,” I explain, “that would be more meaningful if you didn’t have food in your mouth when you said it.  If I can see the food in your mouth when you talk, it is just as bad as seeing it when DS5 chews.  With Disney table manners, you can either eat or talk, but you can’t do both at the same time.  You choose which one you want to do most.”  DD7 nods her head to communicate that she understands. 

I glance at DD2 who has begun to make a pile of discarded chicken bones on the table next to her plate.  I gasp in horror at the sight.  Once again the children cease all movement and look to me.  “No, no, no, DD2,”  I reprimand, “That is yucky!  You never-ever put food on the table.  All the food must stay on your plate.”  “But I don’t like the bones,” she expresses.  I explain, “That doesn’t matter.  You just put the bones on the side of your plate.”  DD2 begins to cry, “But I don’t want them on my plate.”  I breathe a heavy sigh and am about to relent due to her apparent lack of reasonability.  However, I note that my other two students of etiquette are intently watching my response to this situation, and I know I cannot falter.  This battle has now been picked.  I must stand my ground.  Chef Patrick is counting on us, and I cannot let him down.  “DD2,” I declare in a firm tone, “You will not put food on the table.  It will remain on your plate until it is thrown away.  If you cannot cooperate, you will not be permitted to eat in the restaurant at all which means you will not go to Disney’s Hollywood Studios.”  This time the children are the ones that gasp in horror.  I have become the Disney Dining Nazi, but there is no going back.  My mission is of such magnitude now that we will “do or die.” 

The rest of the meal is filled with terse instruction.  “DD7, don’t reach across the table to get the salt.  Ask for someone to pass it.”  “DD2, I don’t care if it was the best strawberry of the bunch.  If it falls to the floor, you may not retrieve it.”  “DS5, you may not wipe your mouth on your sleeve.  That is what a napkin is for.”  “All of you, under NO circumstances are you allowed to pick up your plates to lap up the strawberry juice!” 

I confess to myself that it has been a tough time of instruction, but by the end of the meal, my small Disney diners are getting the hang of this new style of food consumption.  Rather than a trough, my Piglets seem worthy of the dining room table.  I am pleased, and I feel confident that we will be ready for the ritzy restaurant that lies in our future. 

A few hours later, some movement catches my eye as I walk past the dining room table.  Upon closer inspection, crumbs are found all over the table and floor of one seat’s position.  It has attracted a small gathering of ants that are thrilled with the treasure they’ve found. 

I summon my trio to the crime scene and ask for an explanation.  DS5 admits that the mess is his and that he made it when I gave him permission to indulge in a snack.  “Well,” I interrogate, “why didn’t you use your Disney table manners?”  Defensively DS5 responds, “I DID use Disney table manners.  I just forgot to use a plate.”  I look at his big, sincere eyes and realize that while we have accomplished so much today, we–apparently–have more ground to cover.

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UNDERDOG, ALPHA-DOG OR SLY DOG

In our family I’ve been homeschooling my children for four years.  I started with Margeaux when she was of preschool age, and she has thrived with this educational style.  Way back then we began learning the colors and shapes by studying Disney animation, carried on through Disney-centered phonics and math, and then we studied the countries represented in Epcot’s World Showcase.  She currently devours advanced Disney-adopted literary classics like Alice in Wonderland and Mary Poppins even though she is in the first grade, so it is obvious she has been served well with our choice to homeschool.  However, Miller has been struggling with his studies at home lately, and it has given me cause for concern.

Miller started off brilliantly when he was three (much like his sister).  In some subjects he was on track to surpass her achievements, but now . . . . not so much.  Of course in any style of education, there will be good days and there will be bad days.  In recent weeks, though, I loathe to admit that the bad ones have been coming in greater numbers.  It has made me pause at times to re-evaluate whether we will continue on our homeschool path or transition to institutionalized education.

While our family is a homeschooling family, I am not a hard-core homeschool-mom.  Unlike that brand of mom, I am not one to extol the “superior virtues” of this educational form over others.  The reason is I firmly believe the best style of education is different for various families, children, locations, circumstances and times.  So far these variables have always pointed us to homeschooling, but discerning what is best for our family now seems more challenging since this recent change in Miller.

“Come on, Miller,” I instruct.  “Let’s see if we can get a little further today.”  Miller drags his unwilling body to his school desk, and I take my place at the front of the room near the board.  After the routine declaration of our country’s pledge and one round of that world-peace promoting song, “it’s a small world,” we sit to discuss our daily work.

“Today we are going to continue with reading skills, arithmetic combinations, writing, science and geography,” I explain in a cheerful tone that is of Cast Member quality in Mickey’s land.  The look on Miller’s face is one of pure torture, and I overcompensate for his lack of enthusiasm with my best toothy smile and animated behavior.  “Let’s look up on the board here at some sentences I’ve written.  Can you read them out loud for me?” I inquire.  With a heavy sigh Miller stammers, “The d-du-duck is m-ma-duh-mad.”  It is painful to listen, and I have difficulty understanding his regression.  Just a month ago, Miller could have read this sentence without hesitation.  “Yes, the duck is mad.  Good job,” I encourage, “Let’s try the next one.”  “The ri-ri-rid,” Miller stutters.  “Oops!  There are two vowels in that word,” I remind.  Miller corrects himself, “Ride.  The ride is f-fu.”  Miller wrinkles his face in disgust.  “Mom, I don’t want to do this,” he whines.

My heart is broken for him.  He is clearly struggling.  I suggest, “Maybe we should review.  Let’s go through the alphabet and recite our phonics.”  In a deadpan voice Miller says, “A says ah for Abu , B says buh for Beast, C say cuh for Clarabelle, D says duh for Donald . . . .”  As he goes through the whole Disney alphabet, I am relieved that he has at least retained his preschool material.

“OK,” I say as I regroup, “Are you ready to try the sentence again?”  Miller shakes his head, looks out the window at the beautiful spring day and asks, “Can we do something else?”  I consider his request, I am not normally one to bend to whim, but I acknowledge that one advantage of homeschooling is flexibility.  Perhaps on this occasion I should give a little and accommodate my frustrated underdog.

“Alright,” I relent, “Let’s work on geography.”  As I pull out my teaching aides, I cheerfully instruct, “As you know we’ve been studying Canada which is our country’s northern neighbor.  It is represented on the extreme right side of Epcot’s World Showcase and is the home of  . . . .”  I pause for Miller to finish my sentence, but he just gives me a blank stare.  “Kenai and Koda of Brother Bear,” I declare.  Why does he not remember?  We’ve been discussing this basic knowledge for at least a week.  As I go over once again the particulars about Canada’s terrain, cultural diet, official languages and government, Miller doesn’t seem to retain any of it.

My concern is growing into bewilderment.  What if he is learning disabled?  I am an intelligent girl who’s completely capable of teaching a kindergartner, but I have no training in special education.  Perhaps I am unfit to meet the needs of Miller.  It’s been a month since I’ve noticed his academic decline.  Have I missed the key window of opportunity in recovering him from his mental deficit?

A new logical thought comes to me and strikes terror in my heart.  There was obvious progress made behaviorally and academically when my children’s health improved.  What if this is a sign that a new health problem has cropped up?  I begin to feel slightly ill as my imagination lists various potential ailments for my consideration.  Will my son be alright?  Will our lives be further disrupted by therapies and interventions?  What does this mean for our Disney vacation?  I feel myself go pale with fright.

I am pulled out of my thoughts by Miller.  “Can I go outside and play,” he asks as he notes my change in demeanor.  I feel inclined to give my consent.  I don’t think I can teach right now anyway, for I’m suddenly nauseous and may need to vomit.  I hold up my finger to gesture that he should wait on my response, and I sit in silence momentarily as I attempt to sort my thoughts.

Miller is impatiently kicking his foot against his desk, waiting for an answer when Margeaux appears.  She has school worksheet in hand and, obviously, is here to ask for some assistance.  However, she sets eyes on the board and says, “Oh!  Those sentences are easy.”  Miller sits straight up.  His eyes widen, and he stiffens as if the hair on the back of his neck is bristling.  I have seen this behavior from Miller a time or two before in Margeaux’s presence.

Being the oldest and a high achiever, Margeaux has always taken a leadership role amongst my brood.  As a result, she is admired and respected by her younger siblings.  However a few times now I have seen Miller move into a competitive mode in response to her, and he has even made Margeaux follow his lead on occasion.  I’ve rationalized that though he is a middle child, he is also the male of my offspring.  This has made me suppose these small measures of competitiveness are actually small steps toward the alpha-dog position.

As Margeaux opens her mouth to read the first sentence, Miller blurts with the speed of Disney’s 1935 Max Hare, “The duck is mad!”  I raise one eyebrow as I look at my eager guy.  Curiously I petition, “Margeaux, why don’t you read the next one?”  Miller beats her to it and verbally gushes, “The ride is fun!”  “Hmmmm,” I wonder.  With a bit of a condescending tone I say, “That was good Miller, but now I’m going to write a sentence for Margeaux.  It will be too hard for you.”  I quickly scroll across the board a statement with a word that is not phonetically pronounced nor one that I have attempted to teach before.  Margeaux sneers in Miller’s direction.  Miller growls back.  When I finalize my sentence clearly with a period, Miller yells, “THE MOUSE HAS RED PANTS!”

Both Margeaux and I stand with mouths agape and in shock.  My hopeful alpha-dog is actually a sly dog.  All this time he has cleverly disguised his laziness as ignorance.  By design, he has purposefully been frustrating me in hopes of negotiating an early recess.  Spring fever has overtaken him, and he will do anything to get outside.

I note that two can play at this game.  “Well, Miller,” I proclaim, “You seem quite good at reading, but most people don’t excel in reading AND math.  Let’s see how you do.”  His little nose wrinkles with determination.  He is going to show Margeaux that he’s got what it takes.  “I have one Mickey balloon, and Daddy buys me one more Mickey balloon.  How many Mickey balloons do I have?”  “Two,” Miller responds.  “Well, that was easy,” I explain, “I’ll give you a tougher one.  In Walt Disney World there is one Magic Kingdom, one EPCOT Center, one Disney’s Hollywood Studios, and one Disney’s Animal Kingdom.  How many theme parks are there?”  Without hesitation he declares, “Four.”  I find myself impressed and decide to test the boundaries once again.  “I have one more question.  If you get this right, then I will let you take a break.”  Miller agrees and looks poised to pounce on the word problem. “I have a 3-day park ticket, but I only use one day.  How many days do I have left?”  “Two,” Miller exclaims and jumps out of his desk.

We gather everyone and head to the yard.  As I supervise my little scholars outside and watch them work The Wiggles out of their systems, I marvel over the way I was duped by my little guy.  He had momentarily tricked me into thinking he needed a lower standard, but in reality he needed more of a challenge.  I’ll have to keep my eye on him in the future.  That kid is no saintly Ol’ Yeller.  He is a mischievous little Scamp.

*for ideas on incorporating Disney into your homeschool curriculum contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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