The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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OUR KEY WEST KINDGOM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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I rock back and forth, balancing my posture on my toes first and then heels. The fidgeting feeling travels beyond my lower limbs, though, and begins to creep into my fingers.  I try to still my digits by clasping my hands behind my back, and this does seem to help quiet my overly excited body to some degree.

 It is difficult to see much through the mass of people, but I crane my neck to get a good look at the lobby.  As I piece together the fractured scenery between the heads that tower over my slight 5’2” NDM frame, I make out a beautiful mural on the wall behind the check-in counter.  It portrays colorful beachfront homes, a lighthouse and some docked boats in a coastal setting. The colors are bright, yet they induce a sense of ease and care-free living.  In the foreground, actual lampposts catch my eye.  Then I realize that in a clever move of interior design, Disney has mounted these appliances at each hotel clerk’s post.  It is one of those special touches that make Disney stand out among its competitors in the aspect of theming.

I close my eyes and focus on the Jimmy Buffett song I faintly hear beyond the murmur of chit-chat.  As I imagine being immersed within Key West, I can almost smell the ocean.

My smile has now become a permanent fixture on my face.  My cheeks burn from being held in a contracted position, but I can’t help their discomfort.  This is a moment in my life that I will always retain, and my grin is an inevitable response.

 A cheerful Cast Member, dressed as a beach attendant, begins handing out folders with resort information tucked inside.  I am handed my very own Pluto-clad portfolio, and I beam as I read the “Welcome Home” message scripted across the cover.  My guess is that due to the length of the wait, this folder was given to provide me with reading material while I bide my time in line as well as make the check-in process move a tad more quickly.

In order to enhance this special moment, I decide that I should strike up a conversation with another happy vacationer.  “Have you been here before,” I ask the woman in front of me.  My excessive amount of perkiness would even shame the High School Musical pep squad, but it seems to come naturally to me as I stand in the middle of Key West bliss.  She looks down her perfectly constructed nose at me, gives me a “once-over” glance, and haughtily says, “No.”  Her condescending tone catches me off guard.  Suddenly, I am cognizant of the fact that she is an actual Disney Vacation Club Member, and I have now betrayed the reality that I am not with my embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. 

My smile immediately transforms into a humbled expression. My eyes dart from side to side to see if anyone else has noticed the fact that this silicon-implanted female has just verbally undressed me with one word.  I feel completely naked as a non-Disney Vacation Club Member in the middle of a Disney Vacation Club Resort.  My acute self-awareness has left me feeling like a sham . . . a poser.  Sheepishly I chuckle, “Oh. This is my first time.”  She looks at me with a knowing smirk and says, “Yes.”  I gulp and feel my pride being swallowed along with my saliva.  Is there somewhere for me to hide?

In addition to feeling bare as a result of my diminished vacationer status, I now feel naked upon the realization that I’m not holding a credit card.  Since DH is the credit card keeper, his presence becomes necessary as I find myself getting closer to our check-in opportunity.  I catch DH’s gaze and motion that he should arise from the striped sofa and join me in line.

We find ourselves poised behind the line’s last boundary.  In a brief moment we will be invited to approach the check-in counter with a cordial, “May I help you?”  As we continue to wait, I look to my immediate left. Marking this threshold of vacation initiation is a sign that states: Welcome Home Disney Vacation Club Members.  Once again, it brings to my attention that I am a fraud, assuming a position in a Disney Vacation Club Member line when I have not put my signature on a DVC deed. This is not actually “my home away from home.”  Instead, I am merely enacting some queer form of breaking and entering.  I shrink away from the sign and accidentally bump into DH’s side. As I demurely apologize for my imposing existence, DH looks at me curiously.  I am not usually a NDM that presents as meek and mild, so he is slightly alarmed by my changed demeanor.  He asks, “Are you OK?”  Averting my eyes from him, I softly speak, “I’m fine.”

A beach attendant looks up from her post and waves for us to join her.  I follow behind DH, watching my feet and not daring to look at the others whom still stand in line.  DH motions that I should begin speaking with the hostess and acquire our accommodations, but I can’t bring myself to do it.  I am far too nervous about the DVC intrusion I am about to commit.  DH looks at me with a furrowed brow, shakes his head in confusion and takes over the dialogue.

I stand in agony while the sweet beach attendant goes over each item in our Disney Vacation Club folder with DH.  Due to us booking our reservation under the name and ID number of Bill.Knows.Disney, our driver’s licenses must have given away the fact that that we are not true members . . . that we are merely renting DVC points.  I’m sure this endearing Cast Member is aware of our fraudulent activities, yet she continues to treat us with the utmost respect.  The guilt builds inside me with every kind gesture she extends.  I fear I may burst.

When she finally wraps up our check-in formalities with the friendly phrase, “Welcome Home,” I can stand it no longer.  I break my silence with the confession I feel compelled to announce. “We aren’t members. We are just wanna-bees,” I blurt.

I dare to look upon her face in that moment and am met with a strange expression in which I can’t quite read a meaning.  A nervous giggle escapes my throat.  I blush in an awkwardly shy manner.  Then quicker than any woman with plastic body parts could say “botox,” I grab DH’s hand and make a quick exit with my family.

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THE ZENITH OF OLD KEY WEST

“Disney’s Best Kept Secret” reached my ear back in 1997.  I was on my Walt Disney World honeymoon, strolling hand-in-hand with DH through the landscape of Downtown Disney, when an attractive kiosk caught my attention.  The sign attached to the kiosk promised to reveal a carefully protected Disney confidence if I would only approach the kiosk-keeper who smiled pleasantly beside the booth.

DH was very reluctant to stop.  Disney secrets were not his forte, and he was suspicious of individuals who oozed happiness in temperatures nearing a hundred degrees.  Nevertheless, because his blushing bride was so eager to learn this critical morsel of gossip, DH consented to a brief encounter with the kiosk that now held me in a spell-binding trance.

It only took a few minutes to learn that “Disney’s Best Kept Secret” was a concept called the Disney Vacation Club.  It was Disney’s version of a timeshare, but it functioned with quite a bit more flexibility.  I found it appealing on so many different levels, but the bottom line for me was that it somehow enabled a person to get to Walt Disney World every year.  The bottom line for DH, though, was “the bottom line,” so he dragged me away from the company of my kiosk-keeping friend in an attempt to protect our joint bank account. 

DH was too late though.  The dream of joining the Disney Vacation Club had taken root deep within my soul.  I knew that at some point my fate would bring me to the doorstep of a Disney Vacation Club resort.

Ten years later I find myself finally realizing my dream.  Our mini-van turns into the entrance of Disney’s Old Key West Resort.  We pass the inviting sign that proudly displays the Disney Vacation Club logo and resort name on a stark white background.  I feel excitement rise up within me, for this is hallowed ground. 

As the vacation club’s first resort, Disney’s Old Key West Resort is the birthplace for this elite organization.  For far too long I have hoped to know more about the carefully guarded secret of this DVC spot.  For far too long I have wished to see what lay behind the picturesque guardhouse.  The time has finally come for my questions to be answered . . . for my curiosities to be satisfied . . . for my DVC yearning to be fulfilled.

I sit in awe of the beautiful architecture of the porte cochere and the buildings behind it.  The very familiar feeling of Disney neurosis begins to take hold of me as I acknowledge my arrival here.  The nirvana is heightened by the fact that this previously off-limits part of Disney will now become a part of my Disney journey.

I am in my own realm at this point.  DH and the kiddos barely enter my consciousness.  It is just Disney’s Old Key West Resort and me in this surreal moment.  While my eyes bulge and my smile takes on Cheshire Cat-like characteristics, I feel unable to control myself entirely.  The car is still in motion since we have not found a parking spot as of yet, but I fantasize about jumping from our moving vehicle since I might gain an extra minute of Disney life with my hasty action.  In his best automated voice, DH recites a familiar script that instructs all persons to not exit the vehicle until it has come to a complete stop.  And like all NDMs who are trained to not question the authority of automated safety scripts, I obey.

Once the car is parked, I leap from my seat, grab the children and rush to the shelter of the porte cochere.  DH is left to take care of gathering pertinent items like identification and reservation confirmation numbers.  I cannot be bothered by such trivial details.  All that matters is entering the magical aura of Disney’s Old Key West Resort. 

As soon as my mouseketeers and I step underneath the shade of the porte cochere, we hear the mesmerizing sound of Harry Belafonte.  His call to tally bananas slows our run to a leisurely pace while we all join in singing, “Day-O! Da-a-ay-O! Daylight come and me want to go home.”  I feel myself being transported to a life of beaches, boardwalks and flip-flops.

We pass by a kind beach attendant who is behind a guest relations stand placed on the pathway.  He has a gentle smile and beckons my soon-to-be beach bums to approach his stand.  They are only too pleased to follow the call of this pied piper when he dangles Mickey Mouse stickers before their eyes.  After each little one has been branded as Disney property with their prominently placed sticker, this helpful attendant offers to escort us to the Hospitality House.  I am happy to accept since I have never been here before and am uncertain which building houses the check-in counter.

I am shown the appropriate door to the lobby and take a deep breath before gripping the door handle.  This is a moment that I have anticipated for a decade.  My moment is abruptly spoiled, though, when I open the door to find that there is a long line that ends right at the door.  The enormous amount of people gathered in the room makes it difficult to even enter this place.  Apparently this is a peak time for arrivals and the check-in line nearly extends out of the lobby.  I realize that the children will not be able to remain happy in such a long line, so I burrow a path through the crowded lobby to find an alternative for my exhausted mouseketeers.

Happily, I find a den of sorts adjacent to the lobby.  It has a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere, showcasing floor-to-ceiling bookcases, inviting stuffed armchairs and sofas, cozy table lamps for reading, a fireplace and lush potted plants.  I entertain the idea of avoiding the check-in line and simply living in this den for the week.

Then I lay eyes on the solution to my problem of impatient children.  There is a TV tucked away in a corner, playing classic Disney cartoons.  Set up directly in front of the electronic babysitter are two rows of miniature wicker chairs.  They are perfect for my pint-sized brood, so I usher my little people to the few remaining seats available.  My avid Disney channel watchers are pulled in by the novelty of this charming nook, and I can see that the ambiance of Old Key West Resort has captured them in a powerful way.

DH finds our cheerful group in the cartoon-viewing area.  He looks happy but exhausted from the long drive.  Due to my adrenaline rush, I am unable to sit.  I offer to take the pertinent materials from DH and wait in line while he rests on a striped sofa.  He accepts my offer and quickly assumes a comfortable position on the furniture.

I glance towards the lobby area.  It is crowded, but it is time to take my place among this privileged group of vacationers.

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CRUEL AND UNUSUAL

It has been the longest morning of my life.  I have endured five hours of driving in a cramped van with argumentative and whiny children through a thunderstorm that was apocalyptic.  DD7 has refused to sleep since I woke her this morning at 2:30am, and it shows.  Her frazzled nerves have brought her to the brink of a meltdown.  Tears roll down her cheeks as she pleads for a rational explanation of the cruel and unusual punishment our mysterious “adventure” has inflicted upon her.

It occurs to me that stopping at Pop-Pop and B-moms home for a couple hours of rest was not worth the trouble.  Instead of being refreshed by that time off the highway, my World travelers have become resentful of our return to the road.  As a result, our current state of misery is intense.

We might have been better off had I activated my NDM superpower that enables me to drive without tiring when en route to Disney.  It is a type of mojo that most NDMs possess and provides more energy than a six-pack of Mountain Dew.  I am willing to bet my whiskers that simply staying the Disney course would have allowed for smoother travels.  The kids would have eventually slept due to exhaustion; they would not have been upset by grandparent withdrawal, and we would be at Disney already.  If we could just pull off this Disney surprise, though, it would be worth the trouble.

“We’re not going to make it,” I state to DH who is still diligently navigating our southbound trek.  “Maybe we will,” DH expresses positively, “”We passed the state line a little bit ago.  The weather has cleared.  The kids have been fed.  Perhaps they’ll settle.”  I look over my shoulder to observe DD7.  Rolling tears are quickly headed towards a “sobbing” classification.  I read frustration, anger and sorrow in her eyes.  The whole thrill of a surprise arrival at Walt Disney World is in grave danger.

“Nope,” I inform DH, “We are losing them.  We have to tell them.  Let’s pull over at the Welcome Center.  I’ll get out the camcorder, and we can film their reaction to our announcement.  It won’t be as good as letting them discover it when we get there.  However, they are too miserable to enjoy it at this stage anyway.”  DH agrees, and he pulls over when he sets eyes on the ramp.

I herd my cranky brood to the concrete curbside after releasing them from their backseat bondage.  Their irritated manners keep them blind to the fact that they are in front of the Florida Welcome Center.  This loathsome bunch squints in the bright sun, and DH and I state that we need to tell them something.  DD7 plops her bottom on the sidewalk, sighs, and rests her troubled head in her hands.  She is not even remotely interested in hearing anything we have to say.  The others follow her example.

I announce in the peppiest voice I possess, “We have figured out where we are going on our adventure.” DD2 (who is observing her new surroundings) screams, “Look! It’s a bird!” I try not to be discouraged by her short attention span even though I am about to make the announcement of her life.

DS5 decides to take a stab at guessing our destination.  “Pop-pop’s house,” he yells with enthusiasm.  DD2 tunes in at the mention of my dad and sweetly expresses, “I want to go to Pop-Pop’s.”  DD7 continues to scowl, for she knows that Pop-Pop’s home is not where we are headed. “No,” I explain, “We are on an adventure, remember?  We are not going to Pop-Pop’s house.”  DD2 tunes out once again and continues to observe the buzzards overhead.

I resume my attempt at unveiling our breaking news and give DH a chance to be involved in this special family moment by asking, “DH, where are we going on our adventure?” DH perks up at the opportunity to be the one to actually enlighten our mouseketeers. “Disney World,” he yells with enthusiasm.  The big announcement flops.  DD7 looks confused.  DS5 is distracted and looking off in the distance.  DD2’s blank expression betrays the fact that she has not understood anything we just said.

In order to teach our children the appropriate response to this fantastic revelation, DH and I jump around and holler in happiness.  Our children pay no mind to the spectacle we create in spite of the bewildered looks of others who observe us.  “Look at the trees,” DS5 exclaims and points at something he discovers to be of great interest. He is ignored, however, because DD7 skeptically interjects, “Is this a trick?”  In her eyes, our motivations are questionable because of her rough morning.  DS5 continues to look far off and insists, “Look at the trees!”  DD2’s blank stare remains.

I answer DD7’s inquiry, “No, do you know what state we are in?”  She shakes her head with a furrowed brow.  “Look at the trees,” DS5 demands and points again.  I continue to ignore DS5 and answer my own question, “FLORIDA!”  DD7 falls back into a horizontal position in the middle of the Welcome Center’s sidewalk.  The revelation of her arrival in Walt Disney World on this very day has overwhelmed her.

DS5 continues, “Look at the trees!” DD2 interrupts with a random comment.  As she presents hands that have been in contact with the walkway, she reports, “Mommy, my hands are dirty.”  I look over her messy limbs and begin to brush them off, but DS5 will not be put off any longer.  He emphatically hollers, “I WANT TO TALK NOW!  LOOK AT THE TREES!” 

I turn around to discover that DS5 has been intrigued by the unfamiliar appearance of palm trees.  I am thrilled that he has found something to help him grasp the concept of being in a new place.  “Yes, son,” I affirm, “Those are palm trees!  Palm trees grow in Florida!  We are in Florida!  Do you want to go to Disney World?”  DD2 has tuned in once again and declares with excitement, “I want to go to Disney World!” DS5—who has finally grasped the concept of our impending adventure–agrees with a definitive, “YES!”

The mouseketeers leap to their feet.  Cheers erupt from our group that has finally been united in the bliss of Walt Disney World anticipation.  Joining DH and me in our Disney hullabaloo, our little ones dance about.  We draw the stares of passers-by.  But as the children chant, “We are going to Disney World!  We are going to Disney World,” the observers nod their heads in understanding.

“Back to the van,” I instruct with glee.  Our entire family breaks out in a dead run except for DH who is happy but not happy enough to run.  All three children gladly submit to their backseat bondage this time, and the remaining four hours of driving are remarkably pleasant.

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LIVING THE NIGHTMARE

For a week and a half I have succeeded in keeping our check-in day a secret from my little Disney investigators.  It was not easy, but I cleverly avoided pointed questions from them by appearing momentarily preoccupied and unable to answer.  Surprisingly, Grammy did not become an obstacle either.  She did not make any attempts to foil my plans by revealing our arrival date to my mouseketeers, and—as far as I know—she did not discuss the trip at all with them.  This made it quite easy to pack and prepare for our vacation under the guise of “visiting Pop-Pop and B-Mom”. 

Since we did actually arrive at my dad and step-mother’s home late last night, the deception was readily accepted.  My children were enthralled to jump all over Pop-Pop and wrap B-Mom in hugs.  And even though we got there around 11 pm, energy was abundant.  It took me another couple hours to get the kids in bed, wrap up conversations with Pop-Pop and B-Mom, and settle myself down for a couple hours of rest.

It is now 2 am.  I stretch, yawn and shut off the alarm clock.  Check-in day is here, and there is not a moment to lose because we are still many states away from paradise.  I dress myself and begin repacking the few items that we schlepped into my parents’ home.  The responsibility of all this falls primarily to me because otherwise DH would be unwilling to leave at this hour.

After I have done all that I can possibly do on my own, I sigh and acknowledge it is time to awaken the family.  DH is irritable and difficult to arouse, but a wife knows a few tricks that will—without fail–bring her husband out of a dead sleep.  I am not beyond enlisting such manipulative trickery in times of Disney urgency, and DH pleasantly greets the day as a result.  Once I get DH up and resist further advances from him, I head downstairs to the sleeping quarters of my unsuspecting dreamers.  I am tickled as I anticipate driving into Walt Disney World’s gate, totally catching my kiddos off guard.  They are in for the best surprise that childhood can offer.

“Wake up.  It’s time to go,” I softly speak as I rub the arms of these precious ones.  “Where are we going,” DS5 questions.  “We are going on an adventure,” I answer.  “But, Mom, it is still the night,” DD7 assesses.  DD2 asks, “Where is the sun, Mommy.” I gently explain, “Yes, it is the night.  The sun is still sleeping, but we are going to get up and go exploring.” 

DD7 is not impressed.  “I don’t want to go exploring now,” she says, “I’m tired.  Besides, why aren’t we going to spend time with Pop-Pop and B-Mom?”  I honestly explain, “Pop-Pop and B-Mom have plans for the day.  So while they are out, we are going to have a family adventure.”  “But where are we going on our adventure,” DS5 persists. “Daddy and I thought we should just get in the van and drive until we find someplace that we would like to stop,” I propose.  DD7 is still not impressed.  “That is a terrible idea,” she declares.  “Yeah,” DS5 agrees.  I sit back and realize that this is going to be harder than I had anticipated.

I look at the clock.  There is no more time to be wasted.  I must get this wagon on the trail.  These “Grumpies” are going to get the best surprise of their childhood whether they like it or not.  “OK,” I firmly address, “I’m done being nice.  Get up out of bed.  Get dressed, and get in the van.”  “We haven’t eaten breakfast yet,” DS5 notes in a whiny voice. I sternly retort, “We will eat breakfast after we have driven for a little while.  Now move it.”

Reluctantly, my cranky sleepwalkers comply.  They are moving slower than a sloth submerged in a tank full of peanut butter and are full of complaints.  However, they are moving.  I am hopeful that they will fall asleep in the van and lose this unpleasant and argumentative demeanor.

My hopes are in vain.  As I securely buckle three scowling children into the backseat of our van, I suggest, “I think that everyone should just go back to sleep.  Daddy and I will wake you up when we have decided what we are going to do on our adventure.” “I am not going to sleep,” DD7 protests.  She is in a particularly difficult mind-set.  Being yanked away from loving grandparents at 3 am to pursue an undisclosed adventure after only a couple hours of sleep has rubbed her the wrong way.  It seems that at this point, she would oppose me no matter what I said; therefore, I am certain to not mention Disney.  “Suit yourself,” I resign, “The only one you will make miserable is yourself.”

I couldn’t be more wrong.  Hours pass, and DD7 has been sure to frustrate DH and me by regularly expelling her disapproving thoughts to us from the back of the van.  It has caused DD2 to suddenly awaken from her awkward position in the carseat a few times and realize she is incredibly uncomfortable.  Needless to say, we have endured a number of loud crying spells in addition to DD7’s scolding.  The magic that I hoped to build as we got closer to FL has dissolved instead.  Where did I go wrong?

As the sun rises, it is apparent that the weather has sided with DD7.  We are overcome by dark and heavy thunderstorms that make driving extremely difficult.  The rain pelts our van at a volume that makes sleep unattainable, so now there are three very irritable, uncomfortable and sleep-deprived kiddos at the opposite end of our vehicle.  The whining and crying escalate with every mile.  DH is tense.  I am certain that his nerves are raw from our children, but driving with such poor visibility makes him take on a crazed look.  I become concerned.

“Mom,” DD7 shouts above the deafening rain, “I think that we should turn around and go back.  This is getting ridiculous.  We cannot have an adventure in this rain.  Plus, we are very hungry.”  That’s right!  I realize that it is time to eat.  DH and I had planned to stop at a welcome center, set out the food we prepared the night before and enjoy a breakfast picnic.  This is not an option now. 

Due to the digestive condition that plagues my family, we cannot eat food from a restaurant.  We must eat the food we prepared, but how do I serve items like baked butternut squash, green beans and lamb while perched on top of the stacked coolers and luggage that cover every square inch of our mobile unit?  It is a question I don’t care to answer; nevertheless, I unbuckle myself and ungracefully climb over these piles to reach the back area of the van.

I provide some amusement for the three black rain clouds who watch me intently as I tip over a time or two, losing all manner of dignity.  I feel like I am performing a balancing act in Cirque du Soleil (albeit an unsuccessful one). I try to rearrange items from my unsafe position atop a shifting stack of boxes.  The task is laborious, but I finally access the needed cooler. 

I somehow manage to dish out the various items of our picnic menu.  Our family is a sight.  The children try to eat their “table service” meal in a “counter service” fashion.  I monitor the situation while continuing to perfect my balancing skills, and DH drives through the nearly hail-like storm as we slowly progress down the highway.

This was not what I had envisioned when I planned to present my kids with a semi-surprise trip to Disney.  The dream has taken a nasty turn and devolved into a nightmare.  As I teeter on my unstable tower of boxes, I can’t help but wonder if we will make it.  Will we arrive in Orlando as the united and enthusiastic family that I have worked so hard to attain?  I consider the question and hope for the best, but—in the back of my mind—I cannot shake the thought that this is a foreshadowing of things to come.

*for Disney road-trip tips, contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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