The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

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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SURPRISE! SURPRISE!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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UNDERDOG, ALPHA-DOG OR SLY DOG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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THE QUEST FOR THE PERFECT PANCAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ON THE JOB TRAINING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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GRAMMY’S A “GO”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Back in 2004, I organized a Grand Gathering at Walt Disney World  for a family reunion on my father’s side.  Those memories are some of the last great times of my relatively care-free life before “it” happened. 

By the end of that year, our family discovered we had acquired a medical condition and that our youngest daughter was facing the possibility of brain damage.  I was devastated.  As I watched my obsessed Disney lifestyle disintegrate into a chaotic mess of doctor’s appointments, supplement schedules, special diets and medical treatments, I wondered if my dreams of raising a Disney-focused family could survive.  But mostly, I was fraught with fear that my little one would never be able to understand the joy that comes from surrendering to Disney neurosis and leading a Disney Driven Life.  The prospect of this was a crushing notion that I was not ready to consider. 

Almost all the best times of my life have taken place at WDW.  Being a native Floridian, I was practically weaned there.  Childhood milestones, school trips, youth group events, choir performances, even spontaneous trips with friends that involved secretly sneaking away for the day without my parents’ knowledge . . . it didn’t matter what the occasion.  All roads led to Disney.  This coupled with the incessant Disney media machine that provided films, soundtracks, entire Saturday mornings of cartoons, and the highly addictive New Mickey Mouse Club (with Damon Pampolina) was a spell-binding combination for me.  So from a young age I developed specific dreams that made WDW the centerpiece of my very bright future, and I wanted nothing less for my three precious mouseketeers. 

We’ve traveled a very hard road since then and come a very long way.  All of our children have seen a vast improvement in their health, and by adhering to their medical diet, most of their physical and neurological issues are kept at bay.  But while a degree of our health has returned, our finances have not.  Being consumed by medical expenses, I watched our savings disappear long ago.  This is one of the factors that have kept our family from vacationing for many years. 

But this year, DH (Dear Husband) and I will mark our 10th anniversary.  I am stunned when I acknowledge it.  Ten full years have passed since we “tied the knot” and spent our first week of marriage coming and going from a water-view room at Disney’s Dixie Landings Resort.  That was a memorable week!  It was my first time visiting all the theme parks in one trip.  It was my first time going to Disney’s Blizzard Beach.  It was my first time staying on property in a bonafide Disney hotel.  And, having entered into the sacred institution of marriage, it was my first time having . . . . Yes, WDW is a magical location for “first times.” 

Now I am approaching a decade of marriage, and I can’t bear the thought of WDW being absent from this major milestone.  In fact, I can sense my neurosis get turned up a notch in response to this horrifying idea.  It may be the very thing to put me over the edge and cause a complete mental breakdown. 

DH struggles to see my impending crisis.  He lived a quiet childhood in a small town that is tucked away in the Shenandoah Valley.  His parents had no interest in cute animated characters or their home base in Orlando, so DH spent all of his impressionable years void of much Disney exposure.  I may never understand why Child Protective Services didn’t feel this was cause for concern.  But I suppose the warm, loving and stable familial relationships that existed were barely enough to keep this agency from knocking on their door. 

Nevertheless, DH has always carried “baggage” as a result of his deprived youth.  It has handicapped him in terms of Disney devotion, and it has frequently prevented him from seeing the importance of a Disney Driven Life.  I have endeavored, over the years, to fill this void of his by taking him to WDW during our courtship, honeymoon and initial years of parenthood, filling our time at home with intellectual conversation on Disney subjects.  Admittedly, this has—indeed—assisted his recovery from his Disney-depraved condition and even inspired brief, infrequent displays of enthusiasm for Walt’s creation.  But he still has a long way to go before my therapy sessions will release him into a neurotic-about-Disney state-of-mind. 

As DH considers my plea for a Disney celebration, he shakes his head.  There are an incredible amount of circumstances to overcome.  First, the rigid supplement schedule and complicated medical diet that my children are on makes it almost impossible to leave them in the care of others.  Secondly, we would have to secure a place with a fully equipped kitchen since the children would be coming and their diet requires all of their meals to be made from scratch.  Thirdly, we would have to secure a place on Disney property because meal preparations are lengthy and the need to return to our kitchen every few hours eliminates the viability of a commute.  And lastly, our budget cannot withstand such a plan. 

I grab my own hair in frustration.  This cannot be happening!  As I squint my eyes and wrinkle my forehead, I feel a headache coming on.  I will surely become terminally ill if I cannot bring this about.  There must be a way! THERE MUST BE A WAY!  I mentally pull myself back from the brink of the despairing abyss that is about to overtake me.  “There must be a way,” I manage to calmly tell DH.  “Well, I can’t find it,” he remarks, “but if you want to figure it out, ‘be our guest.’”  DH gets a smug look on his face.  He is pleased to have used the Beauty and the Beast mantra so cleverly in his verbal challenge. 

I stand in shock at his snide remark.  Did he actually just question my ability to solve this Mickey dilemma?  How dare he even consider that insurmountable obstacles can stop a NDM from getting to WDW when she finally makes up her mind to go!  He will gravely regret the day that he underestimated the vacation realization skills of a NDM.  I am going to make him eat crow (or at least a chocolate Mickey bar) when we find ourselves in Orlando a few months from now. 

For the moment, there is nothing else to be said.  There is only work to be done.  I pull up my sleeves, pull back my hair and slightly tip my Mickey Mouse ears beanie forward in a way that signifies I mean business.  “Move out of my way,” I roughly assert as I push DH out of my path.  “I have a date with the internet tonight,” I inform.  There is a Disney task to be managed, and I fully intend to manage it.

*for recomendations concerning Disney travel information contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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