The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

Announcements have been made in the past about some changes and coming to MuppetVision 3D and this week specifics and dates have been given to the refurbishments. The 3D movie will be closed from April 24—May 14 in order to make some changes to the attraction. The queue will be changed during this time as well as a new preshow being put in and some changes to the quality of the main film, though the film itself is staying the same.

There have been other announcements regarding the area around MuppetVision 3D, including the addition of Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem to the courtyard area and the return of an all new Muppet Mobile Labs. Dates for these additions have not been announced.  There is some confusion around the supposed construction of a Muppet What-Not Workshop being built in the Muppet store, Stage 1 Co.

I have seen places that say that construction on this new part of the shop has begun already and I have also seen reports that this workshop is not coming to Hollywood Studios at all. Quite confusing. If anyone has any news as to the construction going on in Stage 1 Co., please send me an e-mail or comment below!

Contributed by: Jessica C. (NDI#21). Jessica is our resident “Gossip Girl” and creator of The True Disney Fan Blog.

Tweet This Post

As many people have heard now, it has been announced that the Studios Backlot Tour and the Studios Catering Co. will be closed for refurbishment from February 15–March 28.  This announcement has brought waves of speculation as to the purpose of this refurbishment.  Is this just a simple paint job that will have the Backlot Tour open with a fresh look or is there something more to this?

I have been wandering around the Web looking for some of the ideas that people have as to what else could be behind this refurbishment.  I have seen some people who would like to see something Marvel related in the parks, Nightmare Before Christmas-related, and I have even seen a few mentions about moving Toontown to Hollywood Studios and putting it there.  The majority of the rumors, by far, seem to be Pixar related.

A lot of people want more Pixar characters in the parks and the Backlot Tour’s placement at the end of Pixar Place makes it an ideal location for a new Pixar attraction of some kind.  Two ideas seem to be springing up around the forum world that are Pixar related.  The first is some kind of attraction relating to Radiator Springs; I think this idea springs from the new land coming to Disney’s California Adventure.  The second and more probable idea in my opinion is the Monsters Inc. roller coaster.

This has been rumored for a long time and came out even more strongly when The Hub, the cast member Web site, posted about the possibility of this coaster in summer of 2008. The post gave a description of the coaster, possible concept art and even mentioned that it would be in the area at the end of Pixar Place, where Backlot is located.  The coaster has been described as a hanging coaster that acts like the child doors and travels around the Monsters Inc. factory.  That would make for an interesting ride indeed!

So what do you think? Is this just a quick touch up and then back to the Backlot Tour we have enjoyed for years, or is more behind this? As Jimmy Buffett says at the Old Key West Resort, “Only Time Will Tell”.

Contributed by: Jessica C. (NDI#21). Jessica is our resident “Gossip Girl” and creator of The True Disney Fan Blog.

Tweet This Post

DISNEY DINING BOOT CAMP

There is a bit of advice often tossed out to parents: Pick your battles carefully.  The idea is that you can’t force your way upon your children in every situation, so choose the scenarios that are of the most importance to stand your ground.  Let the “less important” matters go by the wayside because they aren’t worth the fight and can actually cause you to lose the greater battles. 

I have always thought these words to be very wise and wished I could apply them the way I preferred.  But many years ago, when we were first hit with medical issues, I lost my ability to pick my battles.  At that point, the battles were chosen for me.  I couldn’t choose to make my children sit still in church because I had to wage war at the hospital lab to get them to sit still for blood draws.  I couldn’t choose to get serious about potty training because I had to take extraordinary measures just to get my kids to pass a bowel movement at all.  I couldn’t go toe-to-toe on the thumb-sucking issue.  My primary concern had to be getting my little people, who were not yet a half-decade old, to swallow horse pills. 

Table manners were among these “less important” issues when we found ourselves at the mercy of special dietary needs.  It was no longer about how my kiddos ate their preservative-free, sugar-free, gluten-free, casein-free, soy-free, completely whole foods meal.  It was simply about them eating it.  This compromise always seemed of little consequence, though.  We didn’t eat in public, and our menu was far enough from the standard American diet that no one wanted to come over and eat with us.  Therefore, there were never any witnesses to the barn-like mentality of my children at the dinner table except DH and me (and we overlooked it since we were simply grateful that our little animals cooperatively consumed their brussel sprouts and other edibles). 

But now I realize that disregarding table etiquette may have been a misstep.  We will be eating out when we visit Disney’s Hollywood Studios . . . in a five-star restaurant no less.  My trio of miniature omnivores is ill-prepared for their entrance into the world of fine dining, and I cringe at the thought of their meal-time antics in public.  There is no alternative.  A new battle has been chosen, and to prepare for it we must now institute Disney Dining Boot Camp. 

As soon as I get my little ones seated at the table, I give a brief introduction to the concept.  “OK, guys.  When we go to Walt Disney World, we will be eating in a restaurant.  It will be a very fancy restaurant, and we may even see Chef Patrick.”  DD7 speaks up, “Yeah.  We know this, Mom.”  I instruct, “What you don’t know is how to eat properly when you are in this restaurant, but you are going to learn.  You three have certain table habits that are unacceptable when eating in public.  We don’t want Chef Patrick to regret that he invited us to his wonderful eatery, do we?”  My troops are solemn and shake their heads.  “Well,” I continue, “then we have to learn a new way of eating, and we have to learn it fast.  From this moment on I will be like Roz in Monsters, Inc., watching you . . . . always watching.  When you show bad manners, I will tell you.  You will correct your behavior, and you will learn appropriate Disney table etiquette.  Got it?”  My three dwarves answer with a resounding, “Got it!” 

In preparation for this moment, I created the meal that will be served in the restaurant.  This way my diners can begin their training and develop good habits in reference to the exact foods they will confront at the time of testing.  So as I place a plate of grilled chicken, peas and blanched strawberries in front of them, their eyes widen and their lips smack. 

A prayer of thanks is expressed and the children immediately grab their poultry to sink their teeth into it.  “STOP,” I yell.  Frozen in time, chicken pieces are held en route and mouths hang open in mid-bite.  The only things that move are little eyes as they turn toward me.  “When we are in a restaurant, you do not touch your food with your hands.  You use a fork or a spoon to get the food to your mouth,” I instruct.  All chicken pieces are placed back on the plates, and my kiddos patiently wait for me to cut their food into bite size pieces. 

Once the pieces are cut, the kids resume eating.  All looks well except for the sight of DS5’s morsels being mangled between his teeth and sloshed in his saliva.  “DS5,” I bark, “Close your mouth while you chew.  It will bother the other diners if they can see the food in your mouth.”  DS5 shrugs and tries to remember this new form of chewing.  When he momentarily forgets, DD7 quips, “Kip yo mof cwohsed!”  “DD7,” I explain, “that would be more meaningful if you didn’t have food in your mouth when you said it.  If I can see the food in your mouth when you talk, it is just as bad as seeing it when DS5 chews.  With Disney table manners, you can either eat or talk, but you can’t do both at the same time.  You choose which one you want to do most.”  DD7 nods her head to communicate that she understands. 

I glance at DD2 who has begun to make a pile of discarded chicken bones on the table next to her plate.  I gasp in horror at the sight.  Once again the children cease all movement and look to me.  “No, no, no, DD2,”  I reprimand, “That is yucky!  You never-ever put food on the table.  All the food must stay on your plate.”  “But I don’t like the bones,” she expresses.  I explain, “That doesn’t matter.  You just put the bones on the side of your plate.”  DD2 begins to cry, “But I don’t want them on my plate.”  I breathe a heavy sigh and am about to relent due to her apparent lack of reasonability.  However, I note that my other two students of etiquette are intently watching my response to this situation, and I know I cannot falter.  This battle has now been picked.  I must stand my ground.  Chef Patrick is counting on us, and I cannot let him down.  “DD2,” I declare in a firm tone, “You will not put food on the table.  It will remain on your plate until it is thrown away.  If you cannot cooperate, you will not be permitted to eat in the restaurant at all which means you will not go to Disney’s Hollywood Studios.”  This time the children are the ones that gasp in horror.  I have become the Disney Dining Nazi, but there is no going back.  My mission is of such magnitude now that we will “do or die.” 

The rest of the meal is filled with terse instruction.  “DD7, don’t reach across the table to get the salt.  Ask for someone to pass it.”  “DD2, I don’t care if it was the best strawberry of the bunch.  If it falls to the floor, you may not retrieve it.”  “DS5, you may not wipe your mouth on your sleeve.  That is what a napkin is for.”  “All of you, under NO circumstances are you allowed to pick up your plates to lap up the strawberry juice!” 

I confess to myself that it has been a tough time of instruction, but by the end of the meal, my small Disney diners are getting the hang of this new style of food consumption.  Rather than a trough, my Piglets seem worthy of the dining room table.  I am pleased, and I feel confident that we will be ready for the ritzy restaurant that lies in our future. 

A few hours later, some movement catches my eye as I walk past the dining room table.  Upon closer inspection, crumbs are found all over the table and floor of one seat’s position.  It has attracted a small gathering of ants that are thrilled with the treasure they’ve found. 

I summon my trio to the crime scene and ask for an explanation.  DS5 admits that the mess is his and that he made it when I gave him permission to indulge in a snack.  “Well,” I interrogate, “why didn’t you use your Disney table manners?”  Defensively DS5 responds, “I DID use Disney table manners.  I just forgot to use a plate.”  I look at his big, sincere eyes and realize that while we have accomplished so much today, we–apparently–have more ground to cover.

Tweet This Post

UNDERDOG, ALPHA-DOG OR SLY DOG

In our family I’ve been homeschooling my children for four years.  I started with DD7 when she was of preschool age, and she has thrived with this educational style.  Way back then we began learning the colors and shapes by studying Disney animation, carried on through Disney-centered phonics and math, and then we studied the countries represented in Epcot’s World Showcase.  She currently devours advanced Disney-adopted literary classics like Alice in Wonderland and Mary Poppins even though she is in the first grade, so it is obvious she has been served well with our choice to homeschool.  However, DS5 has been struggling with his studies at home lately, and it has given me cause for concern. 

DS5 started off brilliantly when he was three (much like his sister).  In some subjects he was on track to surpass her achievements, but now . . . . not so much.  Of course in any style of education, there will be good days and there will be bad days.  In recent weeks, though, I loathe to admit that the bad ones have been coming in greater numbers.  It has made me pause at times to re-evaluate whether we will continue on our homeschool path or transition to institutionalized education. 

While our family is a homeschooling family, I am not a hard-core homeschool-mom.  Unlike that brand of mom, I am not one to extol the “superior virtues” of this educational form over others.  The reason is I firmly believe the best style of education is different for various families, children, locations, circumstances and times.  So far these variables have always pointed us to homeschooling, but discerning what is best for our family now seems more challenging since this recent change in DS5. 

“Come on, DS5,” I instruct.  “Let’s see if we can get a little further today.”  DS5 drags his unwilling body to his school desk, and I take my place at the front of the room near the board.  After the routine declaration of our country’s pledge and one round of that world-peace promoting song, “it’s a small world,” we sit to discuss our daily work. 

“Today we are going to continue with reading skills, arithmetic combinations, writing, science and geography,” I explain in a cheerful tone that is of Cast Member quality in Mickey’s land.  The look on DS5’s face is one of pure torture, and I overcompensate for his lack of enthusiasm with my best toothy smile and animated behavior.  “Let’s look up on the board here at some sentences I’ve written.  Can you read them out loud for me,” I inquire.  With a heavy sigh DS5 stammers, “The d-du-duck is m-ma-duh-mad.”  It is painful to listen, and I have difficulty understanding his regression.  Just a month ago, DS5 could have read this sentence without hesitation.  “Yes, the duck is mad.  Good job,” I encourage, “Let’s try the next one.”  “The ri-ri-rid,” DS5 stutters.  “Oops!  There are two vowels in that word,” I remind.  DS5 corrects himself, “Ride.  The ride is f-fu.”  DS5 wrinkles his face in disgust.  “Mom, I don’t want to do this,” he whines. 

My heart is broken for him.  He is clearly struggling.  I suggest, “Maybe we should review.  Let’s go through the alphabet and recite our phonics.”  In a deadpan voice DS5 says, “A says ah for Abu , B says buh for Beast, C say cuh for Clarabelle, D says duh for Donald . . . .”  As he goes through the whole Disney alphabet, I am relieved that he has at least retained his preschool material. 

“OK,” I say as I regroup, “Are you ready to try the sentence again?”  DS5 shakes his head, looks out the window at the beautiful spring day and asks, “Can we do something else?”  I consider his request, I am not normally one to bend to whim, but I acknowledge that one advantage of homeschooling is flexibility.  Perhaps on this occasion I should give a little and accommodate my frustrated underdog. 

“Alright,” I relent, “Let’s work on geography.”  As I pull out my teaching aides, I cheerfully instruct, “As you know we’ve been studying Canada which is our country’s northern neighbor.  It is represented on the extreme right side of Epcot’s World Showcase and is the home of  . . . .”  I pause for DS5 to finish my sentence, but he just gives me a blank stare.  “Kenai and Koda of Brother Bear,” I declare.  Why does he not remember?  We’ve been discussing this basic knowledge for at least a week.  As I go over once again the particulars about Canada’s terrain, cultural diet, official languages and government, DS5 doesn’t seem to retain any of it. 

My concern is growing into bewilderment.  What if he is learning disabled?  I am an intelligent girl who’s completely capable of teaching a kindergartner, but I have no training in special education.  Perhaps I am unfit to meet the needs of DS5.  It’s been a month since I’ve noticed his academic decline.  Have I missed the key window of opportunity in recovering him from his mental deficit? 

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

I am pulled out of my thoughts by DS5.  “Can I go outside and play,” he asks as he notes my change in demeanor.  I feel inclined to give my consent.  I don’t think I can teach right now anyway, for I’m suddenly nauseous and may need to vomit.  I hold up my finger to gesture that he should wait on my response, and I sit in silence momentarily as I attempt to sort my thoughts. 

DS5 is impatiently kicking his foot against his desk, waiting for an answer when DD7 appears.  She has school worksheet in hand and, obviously, is here to ask for some assistance.  However, she sets eyes on the board and says, “Oh!  Those sentences are easy.”  DS5 sits straight up.  His eyes widen, and he stiffens as if the hair on the back of his neck is bristling.  I have seen this behavior from DS5 a time or two before in DD7’s presence. 

Being the oldest and a high achiever, DD7 has always taken a leadership role amongst my brood.  As a result, she is admired and respected by her younger siblings.  However a few times now I have seen DS5 move into a competitive mode in response to her, and he has even made DD7 follow his lead on occasion.  I’ve rationalized that though he is a middle child, he is also the male of my offspring.  This has made me suppose these small measures of competitiveness are actually small steps toward the alpha-dog position. 

As DD7 opens her mouth to read the first sentence, DS5 blurts with the speed of Disney’s 1935 Max Hare, “The duck is mad!”  I raise one eyebrow as I look at my eager guy.  Curiously I petition, “DD7, why don’t you read the next one?”  DS5 beats her to it and verbally gushes, “The ride is fun!”  “Hmmmm,” I wonder.  With a bit of a condescending tone I say, “That was good DS5, but now I’m going to write a sentence for DD7.  It will be too hard for you.”  I quickly scroll across the board a statement with a word that is not phonetically pronounced nor one that I have attempted to teach before.  DD7 sneers in DS5’s direction.  DS5 growls back.  When I finalize my sentence clearly with a period, DS5 yells, “THE MOUSE HAS RED PANTS!” 

Both DD7 and I stand with mouths agape and in shock.  My hopeful alpha-dog is actually a sly dog.  All this time he has cleverly disguised his laziness as ignorance.  By design, he has purposefully been frustrating me in hopes of negotiating an early recess.  Spring fever has overtaken him, and he will do anything to get outside. 

I note that two can play at this game.  “Well DS5,” I proclaim, “You seem quite good at reading, but most people don’t excel in reading AND math.  Let’s see how you do.”  His little nose wrinkles with determination.  He is going to show DD7 that he’s got what it takes.  “I have one Mickey balloon, and Daddy buys me one more Mickey balloon.  How many Mickey balloons do I have?”  “Two,” DS5 responds.  “Well, that was easy,” I explain, “I’ll give you a tougher one.  In Walt Disney World there is one Magic Kingdom, one EPCOT Center, one Disney’s Hollywood Studios, and one Disney’s Animal Kingdom.  How many theme parks are there?”  Without hesitation he declares, “Four.”  I find myself impressed and decide to test the boundaries once again.  “I have one more question.  If you get this right, then I will let you take a break.”  DS5 agrees and looks poised to pounce on the word problem. “I have a 3-day park ticket, but I only use one day.  How many days do I have left?”  “Two,” DS5 exclaims and jumps out of his desk. 

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

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

Tweet This Post

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 DD7.  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.  DD7 is one to watch. 

Next in line is DS5.  I suspect that this little guy will be my toughest case to crack.  As most little boys do, DS5 holds his daddy in high regard and tries to imitate every move.  Since DH only shows an amused tolerance for Disney, this puts me at a slight disadvantage where DS5 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 DS5 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 DS5 up and down.  He is not a lost cause, but there is work to be done. 

DD2 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 DH 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 ya’ll 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?” 

DD7 looks slightly stressed by my battle cry, but she obediently salutes me and shouts, “Yes, m’am!”  DS5 raises his eyebrows and looks at DD7 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 DD2.  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?”  DD7 nods her head, but DS5 and DD2 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.” 

“DD2, 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 DD2 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.  “DD2,” 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 DS5 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. 

“DS5, what do . . . . DS5?”  I look to the spot where DS5 was seated, but he is no longer there.  “Where is DS5,” I ask my daughters.  DD7 points her finger in the direction of the playroom.  “DS5,” I holler, “Get in here right now, young man!”  DS5 comes stomping into the room.  I reprimand, “What do you think you’re doing?”  “I’m bored,” DS5 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.  DS5 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 DS5′ 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.  DS5 is staring out the window.  “DS5,” 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 DD2.  “Have you thought of what you want to do most,” I ask her.  She nods her head in affirmation.  “Mom,” DD7 interupts.  “Yes,” I reply.  “Do I have to ride on the elevator ride,” DD7 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.”  DD7 sits in silence and considers the words I’ve spoken, so I focus once again on DD2.  “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.” 

DD2 toddles off to the playroom to play while I try to make some progress with my remaining planning partners.  “DS5, please stop pulling the threads out of the throw rug,” I fuss.  “Mom,” DD7 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.”  DD7’s lower lip begins to quiver. 

Oh dear!  This situation is deteriorating at an accelerated pace.  I look over at DS5.  He is picking at a scab.  “Oh!  Stop that, DS5,” I say in disgust.  “Stop that now!  Gross!  Yuck!  Eeew!  You may be excused!  Go play,” I exclaim.  DS5 gets up and walks off to the playroom. 

I am left with DD7 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 DD7 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

Tweet This Post

SAINT PATRICK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

Tweet This Post

A MORSEL THAT’S HARD TO SWALLOW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

Tweet This Post