The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

From the updated rooms at Caribbean Beach that are Pirate and Nemo themed to the recent announcement of the brand new Animation resort, accommodations have been getting face lift all over the Walt Disney World resort.  From now until spring of 2011, it is Old Key West’s turn! This original Disney Vacation Club resort is turning 19 this December and has not gone through much in the way of updates since it opened.

These updates, which have already begun in a building on property, will focus on updating amenities within the resort rooms, including room décor.  New flat-panel TVs, which have been seen in several resorts throughout property, will be added to the rooms as well as granite countertops and for the one and two bedroom Villas, a sleeper chair will be added.  Some other changes to the rooms include new bedding and pillows, chairs, carpeting, drapes, lamps and some other furniture.

The updates will go from building to building and will be finished by Spring 2011.

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

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Quite a few of the Disney resorts have boat service to the parks and attractions.  You can get to the Magic Kingdom by boat from the Wilderness Lodge as well as from the Contemporary, Polynesian and Grand Floridian resorts.  Downtown Disney is accessible by boat from the Port Orleans resorts, Old Key West and Saratoga Springs.  The whole EPCOT resort area is connected by boat to the Boardwalk, Disney’s Hollywood Studios and EPCOT.  This includes the Walt Disney World Swan and Dolphin resorts, the Boardwalk Inn and the Yacht and Beach clubs.  Naturally, each of these boat-accessible resorts has a dock.  I think the prettiest dock by far at Walt Disney World is the one directly in front of the Yacht Club.  In the distance, the Boardwalk and the manicured banks of Crescent Lake make for a pretty backdrop.

CLICK HERE for additional scenes from Disney’s Yacht Club

Contributed by: Erin is one of our roaming DDL photographers and creator of My Mobile Adventures.

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The kids have been tucked in. Books have been read and the nightlight is secured in your bathroom at Old Key West “just in case”. Grandma has offered to stay with the kids for a bit and tells you and your significant other to go have a night on the town.

What better town than Disney?

Last week we talked a bit about my love affair with Boardwalk Villas so this post will just continue that love. Because one of the best spots adults can enjoy while at Disney is the Boardwalk itself!

The Boardwalk has restaurants, shops and vendors that are open all day. But have you heard the old saying, “the Boardwalk comes alive at night”? Well, that is true of Disney’s Boardwalk as well.

You can consider spending dinner at the ESPN club or simply enjoying some appetizers and drinks while watching the big game. And while the prices have been Disney-fied, the menu has not. Wings, nachos and “boo-yeah” chili all grace the appetizers menu, perfect for the start of a night out.

Afterward, enjoy the atmosphere on the Boardwalk! Street vendors, games and snacks galore! Perfect for a stroll and to take in the sights and sounds of Disney World that many forget can be found outside of the parks.

Where to head for some drinks and music? Atlantic Dance Hall and Jellyrolls are both ideal for this. These Boardwalk venues are open later than any resort bar and fantastic for the night owls out there. Jellyrolls does have a cover, so be prepared, but many say this dueling piano bar can’t be beat.

This post was actually inspired by the Atlantic Dance Hall, believe it or not. Since we have been traveling to Disney we have made some wonderful friends. On a recent trip we traveled from World Showcase over to the Boardwalk area to enjoy the sights and dance some of the real world stress away!  This area might be a new must do for me after a night in World Showcase.

And now it is time to tie this back into DVC. You had wondered where I had strayed to, right? A major selling point of the Boardwalk (and Beach Club) Villas is their proximity to the Boardwalk location. I’ve touched base on this previously; however, I can’t stress enough how important it is at night. Picture this: you’ve been out all day in Epcot and after the park closed, and you tucked the kids in bed, you headed over to Jellyrolls. A night of dueling piano fun has left you broke and beat! A little after 1 a.m. you wander out onto the Boardwalk and it hits you. How do you get back to Old Key West, where you are staying? You don’t have a car so you have limited options. Including: taking a bus to a park and then transferring to Old Key West, taking a bus to Downtown Disney and taking a bus back to Old Key West or depleting your savings account on a pricey taxi!

Granted, at any other time of day, those other choices wouldn’t have been that terrible, but so late at night you just want to get back to your room and put your feet up, right? The Boardwalk and Beach Club Villas are minutes away from the Boardwalk area. You can simply walk back to your room! The kids won’t even know you had left. And that is a reason why I love this area so much. So will you be booking your next stay at the Boardwalk? Let me know!

Photo credit: Katie S.

Contributed by: Katie S. (NDI#30).  Katie is our resident Disney Vacation Club expert and creator of The DVC Life .

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BIRDS, BEES, AND HONEYTREES 

The second time I was cornered, it was by Pop-Pop (my father).  While Pop-Pop and I got along famously, he was still a male.  This fact made conversation about a decidedly female topic a mortifying thought.  Anticipating my reluctance to engage him in this subject, Pop-Pop was clever enough to pick a time and location for his attack that would render me incapable of escape—a car ride while in transit to my friend’s sleepover party.  I was completely embarrassed by the escapade, and it ended with me screaming, “LEAVE ME ALONE” as I slammed the car door and ran to the safety of my friend’s home.

These horrible memories still replay in my mind and send shivers down my spine.  I do not want to relive such tragedies with my own precious blossom, so I am determined to approach this necessary event from a different angle.  I do not really know what that angle is due to my lack of a good example; however, I do know that in the family of a NDM every momentous occasion should take place at Walt Disney World.  Certainly the explanation of puberty and its purposes qualify as a momentous occasion, so DD9 and I are planning a trip for just the two of us at the end of the year. 

DD9 doesn’t know why she has been singled out from her brother and sister for this momentous event.  All that she knows is that we will have lots of “girl time” and that she gets to pick our resort, our restaurants and one park to visit during our stay.  So while I am very unclear about pulling off a successful “talk,” I am dead certain that attaining a reservation at the selected resort is the first and most important step.  I’ll figure everything else out later.

A confident and friendly voice answers my call, “Disney Vacation Club Member Services.  This is Tim.  How may I help you?”  “Hi, Tim.  I need to make a reservation for a one-bedroom unit with a boardwalk view at Disney’s Boardwalk Villas during the second week of December.”  After confirming my identification Tim reports, “I’m so sorry.  There are no units available during that time at that resort.”  Panic hits me.  “What,” I question, “Are you sure?  It’s very important that I get a room at this resort.  I’m taking my daughter to Walt Disney World to tell her about ‘The Birds and The Bees’ in the homeland of Pooh’s Playful Spot.  This trip is going to be one that is cemented in her mind for her entire life, and she wanted to stay at that resort.  What if we were to just have a standard view?  Are any of those available?”

Tim is uncomfortably quiet for a brief moment, and I sense that he does not know how to respond to my descriptive monologue.  “Ummm,” he stumbles in a Bashful manner, “Err, let me check.  No, I don’t see any standard views available either.  Can I check on another week for you?”  I fuss, “No, it has to be that week due to the lower DVC point usage and my husband’s work schedule.” I continue to ramble, “This is dreadful!  It can be quite a shock for a little girl to learn that Mr. Stork didn’t actually deliver Dumbo but that Mrs. Jumbo did all the hard work herself.  I was hoping to avoid traumatizing my daughter during this impartation of knowledge, and the only way I know how to do that is by giving her the vacation of her dreams while I ‘impart.’  She says her dream vacation involves staying at Disney’s Boardwalk Villas.  Can nothing be done to save this situation?”

Once again there is an awkward silence, and I fear that I have given poor Tim too much information.  He fumbles for a response. “Uh . . . well . . . do you mind holding for a minute,” he asks in a squeamish voice.

While I wait, I wring my hands.  If I’m not capable of nailing down the desired resort, how will I be able to nail down a successful “talk”?    The dilemma has me on edge.

Tim timidly joins me once again, “I checked the availability of all the resorts for your . . . umm . . . your . . . uh . . . event.  The only one-bedroom units available are in Disney’s Old Key West Resort and Disney’s Saratoga Springs Resort.  Could I book your stay in one of those?  I can also put you on the waitlist for Disney’s Boardwalk Villas.  There is a slight possibility that something will open up there at the last minute.  In the case that nothing opens up, though, at least you know you will have a room somewhere.”  I consider this option and respond, “It looks like there is no alternative.  We’ll have to go with your suggestion.  Please waitlist us for Disney’s Boardwalk Villas and secure us a unit in Disney’s Saratoga Springs.”

Tim speedily carries out my request and expedites the routine review of my current standing as a Disney Vacation Club Member.  Whereas he stuttered and stammered earlier in our conversation, now he rushes through the little bits of required material that is always given after making a reservation.  His pace is unusually fast, and I wonder if he is trying to exit our connection as quickly as possible.

Once we hang up, I cannot deny the trepidation that I now feel.  Can a trip of such magnitude go to “Plan Bee” and still be successful?  Is Disney’s Saratoga Springs able to live up to the expectations for this trip?  Can a girl remain unaffected while transitioning from the naivety of childhood into the knowledge of womanhood if she is not in her ideal surroundings?  I fear that I will learn the answers within a few short months.

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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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