The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

BOARDWALK BLUNDERS

Tweet This Post

UNDERDOG, ALPHA-DOG OR SLY DOG

In our family I’ve been homeschooling my children for four years.  I started with DD7 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, DS5 has been struggling with his studies at home lately, and it has given me cause for concern. 

DS5 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 DS5. 

“Come on, DS5,” I instruct.  “Let’s see if we can get a little further today.”  DS5 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 DS5’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 DS5 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, DS5 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,” DS5 stutters.  “Oops!  There are two vowels in that word,” I remind.  DS5 corrects himself, “Ride.  The ride is f-fu.”  DS5 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 DS5 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?”  DS5 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 DS5 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, DS5 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 DS5.  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 DS5.  “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. 

DS5 is impatiently kicking his foot against his desk, waiting for an answer when DD7 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.”  DS5 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 DS5 a time or two before in DD7’s presence. 

Being the oldest and a high achiever, DD7 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 DS5 move into a competitive mode in response to her, and he has even made DD7 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 DD7 opens her mouth to read the first sentence, DS5 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, “DD7, why don’t you read the next one?”  DS5 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 DS5, but now I’m going to write a sentence for DD7.  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.  DD7 sneers in DS5’s direction.  DS5 growls back.  When I finalize my sentence clearly with a period, DS5 yells, “THE MOUSE HAS RED PANTS!” 

Both DD7 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 DS5,” 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 DD7 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,” DS5 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.”  DS5 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,” DS5 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

Tweet This Post

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/

Tweet This Post

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/

Tweet This Post

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/

Tweet This Post