The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

OUR KEY WEST KINDGOM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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THE ZENITH OF OLD KEY WEST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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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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WHEN YOU GOTTA GO, YOU GOTTA GO

With a WDW vacation in a DVC villa being the gem that it is, the task of finding a suitable family to share our vacation should be easy.  One could even imagine that families would line up with applications, hoping to be selected for this rare opportunity.  After all, everyone wants to go to Disney.  It seems obvious as well that the value of vacationing with a delightful NDM (such as myself) would be recognized and highly sought after.  All that I need to do is select a family, extend the invitation and be ready to receive the outpouring of gratitude.

I sit to actually consider possible candidates, and I am confronted by my first restriction.  Due to limited space, the family cannot have more than four members.  DH and I have put down our roots in a rural land of stay-at-home moms, and this area tends to breed large families with four or more children.  For this reason, more than half of the families that I would be interested in bringing cannot be considered as companions.

As I cross off half the names on my list, I quickly remember there is another thing to ponder.  It is the complication that has kept us from vacationing altogether for the last couple years–my children’s compromised health.  Due to our circumstances, this family must agree to some unusual inconveniences. 

The enormity of our food supply and the extent of our food preparations will limit this family’s culinary capabilities.  They will only be able to bring a small amount of groceries and have minimal use of the kitchen.  Also, what they do have in the kitchen will have to be kept and prepared separately to protect my little ones.  Careful attention will have to be paid to cleaning dishes, cups, cookware and utensils to avoid cross-contamination of health “triggers.”  And it is necessary that no drinks and snacks are left out.  I cannot risk DD2 taking a sip of a random cup of Kool-Aid or chomping on a stray Pringle.

Basically, this family has to respect the magnitude of my group’s health challenges.  They also have to grasp the severity of our consequences should an accident occur.  But most importantly, they have to be hyper-aware of the environment in our villa and be capable of managing their children accordingly.  Orlando, we have a problem!

My long list of candidates has now been whittled down to a small handful.  I summon DH to discuss our dilemma.  He shrugs and intelligently notes that all we can do is start making phone calls.

By some miracle, DH agrees to share our telemarketing task.  One by one–call by call–our hopes of company are dashed.  The Greers just recently returned from WDW.  The Sterretts are unable to take leave from work.  The Rogers cannot financially swing it, and the Moores will still be bleary-eyed from the arrival of their newborn.  We are left holding out for the Walters.

DH is speaking with Mr. Walters.  Surprisingly, DH is talking up a good case and displaying promising persuasive powers.  Mr. Walters seems enthusiastic about the idea because their family has not had a vacation in some time either.  The situation seems ideal.  DH and I enjoy spending time with the Walters, and the Walters have two well-mannered children that are playmates of our kiddos.  Plus, the Walters have a slight difficulty with food allergies, so not only are they respectful of our circumstances but their food choices resemble our own.  It is destiny!

Mr. Walters tells DH that he will discuss the matter with his wife and get back with us momentarily.  As they hang up, I am beaming.  We’ve found the family.  I just know it.  It’s such a good fit that it is obvious this is the result of pixie dust. 

I search for Bill’s number so that I am ready to make the reservation as soon as the Walter’s call back.  I find it.  Now it’s just a matter of time.

That “matter of time” seems to be a “matter of eternity” as I wait and wait.  The phone finally rings.  It’s them!  DH picks up the phone.  Not much is said by DH other than a series of cheerful “Uh-huhs” and “OK”s, but I try to remain patient and silent.  Finally DH says good-bye and hangs up.  As I reach for the phone to call Bill, DH says, “The Walters can’t do it.  They have to purchase a mini-van because their current vehicle won’t hold three carseats.  Their new baby is expected by the end of this year.  They tried to see if they could handle the expense of both the van and trip, but they just can’t.

I’m dumb-founded.  In this whole, wide world of humans, how is it possible that none meet our family’s need for companionship?  The reality is mind-boggling as it stares me in the face, but there it is nonetheless.  I’m left with no more options except one–my very last resort.

As I go to retrieve my phone book, I start on a path that I didn’t imagine I would I take.  But there are some scary places that a NDM visits in her darkest moments of Disney desperation.  This is one of those moments, and I am in one of those places.  I have developed tunnel-vision at this point.  I must get to WDW at any cost, and I am painfully aware that the cost will be much more than I had originally counted because it is time to call Grammy.

*to confess your darkest moments of Disney desperation take a turn in the Confessional Chair at http://thedisneydrivenlife.com/the-confessional

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MANIPULATIONS AND CALCULATIONS

The last few days have been spent gathering my thoughts.  I have acquired three WDW vacation packages that meet our needs, but it is yet to be decided whether they meet our budget.  DH will be the one to deliver the verdict on that.  Since his lack-lustre mentality in regard to Disney does not incline him to favor “border-line” budget breakers, I am a bit fretful.

So, much like a lawyer preparing a case for court, I organize myself.  NDMs don’t excel in rational behavior once Disney enters the scene.  However, I do my best to develop a reasonable opening argument, various supportive points that exude logic, and a climatic closing speech that would appeal to my sensible accountant spouse.  My presentation is solid.  But not being one to leave any Disney stone unturned, I run to my mirror and practice giving irresistible glances with my big Bambi eyes.  It’s just got to work.

In the evening, DH is in a jovial mood.  I quickly collect my papers from Bill, briefly review my prepared case, freshen my lipstick and put on my best push-up bra.  The retired tune from Walt Disney’s Carousel of Progress is my fight song in this crusade.  So as I approach the room where DH is reviewing ESPN news, I softly sing, “Now is the time.  Now is the best time” to psych myself up.

In an attempt to get on DH’s good side, I inquire, “Oh!  Good!  ESPN!”  DH turns to me with a suspicious look.  He is no fool.  I am a NDM who never shows any interest in sports, so DH’s expression communicates that he thinks I’m up to something.  Catching his doubtful glance, I realize I may have betrayed my manipulative motive.  Quickly backtracking to save the amiable atmosphere I remark, “Well, you know they are affiliated with Disney.  There is even the ESPN Club on The Boardwalk.  It’s a sports bar and grill.  You’d love it.”  With this DH is able to make the connection to my supposed interest, and he relaxes once more as he resumes his review of sports.

“Speaking of Disney,” I gently breach the subject, “I think I may have found a way for us to go.”  DH looks at me curiously.  I have his full attention.  It is here that I segue into my eloquent presentation with the passion of an Orlando lovebug in June.

DH is impressed.  He takes my prized papers and pulls up our budget analysis on the computer.  As his eyes run across the numbers on the screen, his fingers begin a flurry of activity on his adding machine.  He is brilliant when it comes to manipulating accounts to accommodate certain expenses, but there is a fine line of irresponsibility that DH never crosses.  “This one won’t work,” DH matter-of-factly remarks as he hands me back the papers for the first vacation package.

I feel my spirit deflate slightly, but my hope is not lost.  There are still two more packages to consider.  The tension builds as I stand in silence.  Only the clicking of the adding machine and the loud beating of my heart can be heard.  “Nope,” DH states and hands me the second set of papers.

I am holding my breath now.  This is my last option.  Tears begin to well up in my eyes as I prepare myself for the reality of a Disney-less anniversary.  If he says “no,” I fear my heart will stop beating.  I glance at the phone base to see if the cordless is nearby in the event that DH has to call 911.

“Now wait a minute,” he says.  My eyes widen, and I bite my lip as I wait on pins and needles for DH’s next words. “This one is a possibility,” he reveals with a clever smile.  In an inquisitive tone I squeal, “It is?”  “Yes,” he replies, “but not exactly in the way you suppose.”

From there he explains that the 2-bedroom villa in Disney’s Old Key West Resort can host eight people and a child under three.  Since our youngest is two, our villa has room for four more people.  DH’s calculations are accurate, and I anticipate where he is going with this.  “So we have room for another family,” I conclude.  DH nods in agreement.  “And we can afford the 2-bedroom villa for the week if we split the cost with another family,” I state with slight uncertainty.  DH nods again, this time with a twinkle in his eye.  “Therefore if I find another family to go with us and split the cost, you are giving me approval to secure the reservation,” I ask with all the hope I can muster.  DH meets my question with a definitive, “Yep.”

Overpowering my desire to remain composed, a shrill scream escapes my throat.  I begin running around the room like the manic muppet, Animal, blubbering unintelligible nonsense and wildly flailing my arms.  DD7 (Dear Daughter, 7 years old), DS5 (Dear Son, 5 years old), and DD2 (Dear Daughter, 2 years old) come running from the playroom where they have been occupied all this time.  As they view their NDM in her moment of lunancy, they look to DH for an explanation.  But I cease my frantic behavior, run up to my concerned young ones and announce “We are going to Walt Disney World!”

Just as I am about to lead my excited troop in our own private victory parade around the room, the voice of reason interrupts.  “Hold on,” DH interjects, “We can only go there if we find another family to split the cost.”  Oh! I had forgotten that minor detail.  In the excitement of having a package pass budgetary limitations, this last hurdle had temporarily slipped from notice.

The children look to me for a response.  Now that they have been informed of a potential WDW vacation, their expressions display angst.  Suddenly, I feel my body temperature rise.  There is a new sense of pressure.  As I tweak the nose of each budding Disneyphile, I reassure them.  “Don’t you worry.  Your NDM is going to get you there.”  They breathe a collective sigh of relief and return to the toys that previously held their attention.

My thoughts begin to compile a list of vacation partners.  This situation is brimming with possibilities.  I acknowledge our invitation will have to be extended with care since we will be sharing accommodations.  The right partners give chance for an enhanced vacation like we’ve never had before.  However, the wrong partners could destroy this dream escapade that I’m in the process of realizing.  It is something that needs heavy consideration, but I reason that it is a consideration for tomorrow.  Right now I intend to pop in a good Disney movie and revel in the accomplishments of the evening.

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

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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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