The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

You will recall in Disney’s Caribbean Beach Resort: Review Part 1 and 2 that my family decided to stay at this resort for our third time.  We had checked in at the resort and were staying in the “Nemo” themed room in the Barbados section.  We had noticed that the room had some condensation issues, but were more worried about our son who had become quite ill during our visit.  We had carefully watched him for 2 days in the hotel room with him only getting more sick.  In the end, we had called 911 to assist.  Now, off to the ER…

My son was admitted and took many tests.  After 4 hours of my son asking to return to our Resort, we heard that he had severe Bronchitis.  The doctor asked if he has been around smoke or damp spaces.  I told him about our room and the condensation found on the walls and windows.  He insisted that we move from this room to a dry room at the Resort.  We used the cab service and got back to our room at 2 AM after getting my son’s medication.  Overly tired, we called the front desk and requested a room change.  We were on the phone with at least 3 cast members over various phone calls, and then finally spoke with the manager on duty.  The phone conversations took nearly 45 minutes, but we were eventually accommodated and even reimbursed for the cab fee.

After getting our approval for the room change, we were told we would be picked up in 10 minutes by a cast member who would take us to our new room.  We packed quicker than I could have ever imagined possible, then headed for our new room.  We were delighted after the evening we had had to see that we had been placed in the newly themed pirate room!  But to be honest, at nearly 4 AM, my husband and I said “cool”, then hit the sack!

When I woke, I was a bit nervous that my “Nemo” loving son would not like the new pirate theme.  My son woke up and looked around the room with confusion then with complete delight!  He started walking around the room looking at the pirate cross-bone curtain, boat-shaped beds, crate drawers, and hidden barrel refrigerator.  Nemo, what Nemo?  These rooms are so nice and new!  No condensation here, I checked!  The carpet, curtains and bedspreads are crispy new.  All three of us were completely enthralled with the room and were in love!

We were able to stay here in the pirate themed room at no additional cost for the remaining two nights of our stay there.  These rooms typically run $30 more per night than the standard “Nemo” themed rooms.  You will find that these rooms are located in the Trinidad section of the Resort.  My understanding is that Disney had many customers that did not want to stay in the remote Trinidad South areas.  In response, they created the exciting pirate themed rooms only available in that area.

In the end, we were pleased with our stay in the pirate themed rooms at the Caribbean Beach.  We are still very skeptical of staying in the “Nemo” themed rooms, but only because of personal issues from this trip.  While I have not had the opportunity to stay at this Resort since this trip, my son says we will definitely be getting the pirate themed rooms on our next visit to the Resort!

Contributed by: Natalie H. Natalie is the Disney Driven Life’s resident resort expert.

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You will recall in Disney’s Caribbean Beach Resort: Review Part 1, I gave a brief description of the Resort’s Custom House Lobby, “Nemo” theme, and room’s amenities. We had stayed at this resort in the past and had loved it for its themed rooms, exciting pool area and food selections. On this third stay at the Caribbean Beach, we checked in at the Lobby and were assigned to the Barbados area.

We used bell services for our luggage, then quickly found our room to be in order as we remembered it from year’s past. My son was delighted again to see that Nemo was still there in the room in various spots. It had been a year since our last stay at this Resort, and being older and wiser, he was able to spot the Hidden Mickey in the bedspread pattern. We unpacked all of our stuff and got comfortable for our five night stay.

I had noticed in previous trips that other Disney “nuts” had taken supplies to decorate their window for added entertainment value for themselves and the passing guests. This being the week of my son’s 4th birthday, I thought it would be exciting to also decorate the window. I had packed a strand of lights and some pictures, i.e. one photo was of my son on his favorite “Pirates of the Caribbean” ride. I sent my husband and son away so I could decorate. I quickly found a spot to plug in the lights, and then noticed that the windows were completely saturated with streaks of water. I didn’t think much of this condensation at the time, but instead used a towel to quickly dry the windows and began getting my decorations hung on the windows. When my son returned, he was so excited to see the lights and decorations there for his upcoming birthday!

We spend the next morning at the park, and then returned to the hotel for my son’s nap (ok, my nap… blame it on the kid!). When we returned to the room, several of our photos had fallen to the ground. I found that they had fallen because of the condensation. Later that night after returning from the parks, we found that our WALLS were also wet. My husband and I discussed the matter and thought it must be because the room is air conditioned and the doors and windows were not tightly sealed.

The next day was another park visit and again we returned to our room for naptime. This time my son was acting a bit more worn out than usual. Upon arriving at the room, my son began getting sick. Over and over my child got sick. He slept for hours while my husband and I tried to decide what to do. Since we had no rental car on this particular trip, we felt stuck. We decided to spend the rest of that day watching him there in the room to see if the symptoms subsided.

During our stay in the room, my husband and I would trade out shifts and took walks to Old Port Royale Centertown. We both found the walk to Old Port refreshing for the great views of the Barefoot Lake and pools. Old Port offers shopping at the gift shop, Calypso Trading Post & Calypso Straw Market, food at the food court or the table service restaurant, Shutters, and fun at the arcade. In addition, there are other amenities at Old Port such as an ATM, Poolside bar and rentals of water sprites, paddle boats and pontoon boats.

We did find that the Market had some supplies for illnesses, however, by that evening, when our little guy was extremely weak, had a fever and was not eating. At 8 PM we decided to call the front desk to ask for advice on getting medical attention. They said we had two options; either call a cab company to take us to the emergency room or call 911. When asked if they had a vehicle to transport us to the emergency room, we were told no. They did offer that most guests use 911 and said that if using 911, we would need to take a cab back to the Resort. The cast member said that they would reimburse us for any charges for this cab ride.

After deliberation, we called 911 and explained that we were not really having an emergency but had no car for transport. The operator explained that they were in the business of assisting people in our situation and could help. Within 10 minutes, my son was being loaded on a stretcher and we were getting in the back of an ambulance.

Next week I will continue my review of my family’s stay at the Resort.

Contributed by: Natalie H. Natalie is the Disney Driven Life’s resident resort expert.

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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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SAINT PATRICK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

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A MORSEL THAT’S HARD TO SWALLOW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

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THE MORNING AFTER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

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BILL KNOWS DISNEY

I have spent the last few weeks doing two things.  The first thing I’ve done is consistently run into dead ends.  No matter how I turn it, DH informs me that the small amount of money we’ve put aside will not cover the accommodations we need.  The second thing I have done is compulsively view every last item in our extensive, free Disney Vacation Planning DVD library.  I know that I must keep fighting the good fight, and the DVDs—which do an incredible job of creating WDW lust—provide me with the motivation I need to press on.

The DVDs make it clear that there really is only one type of accommodation for us—a Disney Vacation Club (DVC) villa.  They have room for our family of five.  They have fully equipped kitchens.  They are on property.  But we are not DVC members, and for a cash-paying occupant, the price reflects the quality of these great accommodations.  What is a mouse-loving, financially-challenged NDM to do?

I am into my 87^th hour of watching Disney image bombardment.  At this juncture my depression is growing as my lust is building and my hope is fading.  And then, just like Pinocchio in the depth of Monstro the Whale’s abdominal cavity, the solution comes to me.  Salvation is in sight, and it takes the form of ebay.

I run to the computer and eagerly search for DVC accommodations in the world’s largest virtual auction house.  A variety of individuals have DVC arrangements up for auction, but I find I am consistently impressed with the organization and presentation of one seller in particular, “bill.knows.disney”.  So I contact Bill by asking him a question through our ebay accounts.  His answer leads to another question, which—in turn—leads to another question.  He suggests we exchange e-mail addresses and phone numbers.

During our lengthy conversation, Bill and I hit it off.  His profession is to help DVC members rent out DVC points that they are unable to use before expiration.  He loves Disney.  He loves his job.  He loves the people that he helps get to Disney through his job, and his DVC knowledge is vast because he, himself, has been a member since its inception.

I ask Bill a plethora of detailed kitchen questions and explain that I must have the answers due to my children’s medical diet.  In a kind-hearted tone, Bill asks if I wouldn’t mind sharing more specific details of my kids’ condition.  Since my NDM sensibilities make me partial to other Disneyphiles, I am agreeable to divulging this information.  And so, I give Bill a “Minnie” account of the path my family trods.

Blue fairy wands and little pixie wings!  It turns out that Bill has a son with a health condition on the same spectrum as my own precious offspring.  He relays that his wife has been doing research on the diet and treatments that have helped my children.  He sympathizes with our monetary situation.  His family has struggled to finance the medical road for their son.  The fact that DH and I are doing it for three munchkins weighs heavily on his heart.  “We have to get you there,” Bill says with determination.  “We are going to figure this out.  It’s going to happen for you.”  My heart soars because I feel that I have gained an ally in my “Disney Quest.”

We spend the next half hour discussing different scenarios in search of the one that is meant for my family.  Disney’s Old Key West Resort is determined to be the most appropriate accommodation.  Those units are the largest DVC units as well as the least expensive.  Bill also guides me in selecting days of the week and a month with a relatively low rate.  He crafts three different packages to be considered.  And then, in his great generousity, Bill offers each package at a price that I know leaves him with very little profit.

I am stunned by this act of compassion.  It is evident that the Mouse has heard the wishes I have made upon the entire universe of stars.  What else could explain having found this amazing person who is willing to make sacrifices along with me to make this dream come true?

Bill and I end our uplifting conversation.  Within minutes I receive three e-mails, each one detailing the specifics of a package that has been designed over the phone.  There are pages of resort features, amenities, extracurricular activities, room layouts and other particulars.  I swoon as I pour over each and every descriptive detail.  Is this it?  Could it be that the way to Disney has finally opened for me?

In my little Mickey-shaped heart, I hope that one of these packages will fall within the constraints of our budget.  The final litmus test is yet to be passed, though, since DH is the one who knows the boundaries of our minimal funds.  It is entirely possible that my NDM compulsions have finally led us to the solution of our Disney dilemma.  But, ultimately, our fate lies with DH who will determine the final outcome.

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

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