The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

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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CLOTHES THAT DON’T MAKE THE MAN

 The introduction to the twins has been a little rough.  Angel, my precocious niece, has developed a way to look down her nose at people who aren’t “acceptable” even if they stand three and a half feet above her.  Unfortunately, I have discovered that I am amongst the “unacceptable.”  This would not normally be so disheartening considering that we only just met, but DH—who is drastically less interested in procuring the affections of munchkin snobs—has immediately secured a place in her clique.

Meanwhile Pooter, my sturdy nephew, has yet to give me any indication of his regard.  When placed in my vicinity, he stared at me with no response.  His steady and stern gaze was a bit unnerving, for I couldn’t discern whether he was going to run from me or charge at me.  I was told that he doesn’t talk much because his sister “runs the show.”  I was told that it takes him a while “to warm up.”  I was told not to ever take the swimming goggles off of his head because “he would have a nervous breakdown.”

In the hours since those initial meetings, I have also learned that the twins love to play a game called “Terrorize The People.”  This game is fairly simple.  The two primary players are the twins.  The rest of us are the pawns.  The players control the pawns to the best of their ability through a clever tag-team technique of tantrum behavior.  One twin screams and wails for a spell while the pawns try to problem-solve the crisis.  Once the wailing twin has been pacified, the pawns are given a five-minute rest.  Then the other twin—who was previously playing in a cherubic manner—erupts into irrational fits, throwing the pawns into a tizzy once again.  The game is played non-stop, and it proves effective in driving the pawns to the brink of insanity.

Hoping to regain a mental marble or two, I know I must get out of the villa soon.  I announce, “DH, our kids and myself are going out tonight. We’ve never been to Disney’s Boardwalk Area, so we are heading out there after dinner.”  Grammy adds, “Why don’t we all go?”  “That’s not necessary,” I reply.  “I know we are here together, but you shouldn’t feel obligated to do everything we do.  The twins might be too tired to do all the running around we intend to do.”  It is my hope that Auntie—who looks quite exhausted—will take this easy-out for her family.  Grammy exclaims, “Nonsense!  The twins will love it and fall asleep in their strollers when they get tired.”

I smile and concede defeat in my mind.  There is no way to escape our boardwalk companions without blatant and aggressive exclusion.  Contrarily, Grammy has a plan to enhance the concept of our solidarity.  “I have the perfect thing for everyone to wear tonight,” she announces.  “When I was at Wal-Mart, they had Pirates of the Caribbean shirts on clearance.  I bought one for all the men.  I also found princess outfits for the girls.”  The children squeal with happiness at the news.

Feeling her effort of camaraderie has been endorsed, Grammy jaunts to the villa’s second bedroom and returns with a box.  Everyone waits for the ceremonial unveiling of our unitarian apparel.

With great fanfare Grammy pulls out the first pirate shirt.  It sports an edgy skull and crossbones dressed in Captain Jack Sparrow headgear and Pirates of the Caribbean banner, but the shirt is a shocking gold color.  I can see the reason for a reduced price, for the shirt screams “TASTELESS!”  Buddy and DS5 congratulate each other with high-fives.  They feel they have won the fashion lottery in scoring these scallywag duds.  DH and Uncle look on in complete horror.  They cannot believe they are expected to don that outrageous hue.

DH looks at me with big eyes that plead for rescue.  I shrug in his direction with a regretful expression.  I feel helpless to squash this moment of bargain hunting victory in Grammy’s life.

“I’m sorry to say,” Grammy expresses, “that I couldn’t get all the shirts to match perfectly.  They didn’t have the gold color in men’s sizes.  They only had black.”  With less fanfare but still some excitement, Grammy pulls out a much larger version of the same pirate shirt in a masculine black.  I see DH and Uncle take on relieved postures and smile gratefully as they are handed their evening attire.

“The girls have outfits,” Grammy declares.  As she pulls out each one, handing them off to Angel, DD7 and DD2, I see they are—in fact—rather adorable playsuits.  Frilly shorts in a floral pattern accompany a soft, graphic screen t-shirt of all the Disney princesses.  The girls are pleased.  Auntie and I smile at the thought of our darlings proudly being Disney branded for the evening with such appeal.  All that is left is the viewing of the women’s wear.  I don’t know whether I should be excited or frightened.

“Sadly, there were no Disney shirts for women on the sale rack,” Grammy explains.  “But I was able to find a couple in a thrift store.  They don’t match because—obviously–at thrift stores you just get what you find.  Grammy then pulls out two used and uninspiring tees.  There is no style in the shape of the shirts.  There is no “personality” in the design.  They have some clipart images of a few primary Disney characters and the generic word “Florida” printed in common fonts.  I can tell these were originally purchased in a gas station somewhere along a Florida highway.

Auntie speaks up, “Grammy, you know I have a hundred of those.  You can give them both to NDM#1.  I was going to wear my Chip-n-Dale shirt tonight anyway.”  Auntie is already dressed in her vintage-inspired chipmunk ringer tee and looks ready for a Disney night in style.  Grammy proudly responds, “How generous!”  She then turns to me and hands me my newly acquired treasures.

I hurry with them back to the safety of my villa bedroom as my mind races to find an escape from the current predicament.  The bottom line is these shirts are ugly, and—Mickey Mouse or no Mickey Mouse—they make me look ugly.  It will be my very first night experiencing the elegant seaside-themed Disney’s Boardwalk Area.  I want to stroll it in confidence and without care.  Wearing either of these shirts will condemn me to a night of insecurity and self-consciousness.  I will hardly be able to focus on my surroundings if I can’t see past my unbecoming tourist couture.

I search the core of my NDM being for the solution.  Think, think, think.  I will find the answer.  I must find the answer.

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THE TRAVELING CIRCUS 

When I was a young girl, Christmas mornings always started out awkwardly. Right after waking up, the first order of business each year was to empty our stockings of its contents. In the homes of my friends this was a highly anticipated event because they could look forward to finding things like cassette tapes, candy, and other really cool items. In my family, however, this was not the case.

Grammy, my mother, was always too practical and frugal to splurge on desirable stocking stuffers. Instead of the latest recording by New Kids on the Block, I would pull out trial size bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray sprinkled among pencils, erasers and thumbtacks. These meaningless fillers never expressed “love” to me. To me they expressed Grammy’s desire to meet an obligation rather than her wish to make me happy. The difficulty was showing enthusiasm for these Christmas Day bombs when I usually felt a bit appalled by the apparent lack of consideration. Year after year, though, I pasted a huge smile on my face and gushed with gratitude as I held up my pack of q-tips for everyone to see. It was an exercise in forbearance.

In this moment, I am reminded of that old, familiar feeling that accompanied every Christmas morn. Our 2-bedroom villa at Disney’s Old Key West Resort has a room capacity of eight plus a child under three. Grammy was expected to arrive with my nephew, Buddy, which would bring our room occupant number up to six plus a child under three. However, standing at the door to greet our new arrivals, I find Grammy and Buddy accompanied by my sister, brother-in-law and their set of toddling twins.

I stand at the door in shock as the traveling circus files into my peaceful retreat. Grammy sets her bags down near the couch, turns to me and says, “SURPRISE!” Politely I remark with a wide grin, “It sure is! Wow!” From here, the appropriate rounds of hugs are given to our new additions.

As Auntie and Uncle make multiple trips carrying in all the equipment that typically accompanies a pair of 18 month-old twins, Grammy gives her explanation for this unexpected treat. “Well, you’ve never had the chance to meet the twins since you live so far away, and there was room for two more here. I figured I’d bring everyone with me for the trip. Even though the twins put us over room capacity, no one will notice they are here. They are very quiet and as good as gold.”

I shift my position and face Angel and Pooter who have littered the entire living room with all of their playthings in a matter of minutes. DVDs, stuffed animals, riding toys, and countless plastic figurines are scattered everywhere. Every item has some type of electronic feature that loudly speaks, sings, or plays music, and the twins have mastered the trick of activating them all simultaneously. As Pooter glides by me on a toddler-sized fire truck that comes equipped with siren effects, I remark at an elevated decibel, “Oh yes, I’m sure that we’ll hardly know they’re here.” Grammy smiles in agreement. Obviously, the fact that I have to yell over the cacophony of preschool electronics to communicate with her escapes her observation.

I try to think of a statement of gratitude that would hold truth. Shouting above the escalating racket, I exclaim, “I am glad that I can finally see the twins! I’ve hated that I missed their first year of life, and I’ve longed to meet them!” This is accurate. In spite of the fact that Auntie never made a trip to my home for the sole purpose of visiting my children, I still regret that challenging circumstances have relegated me to the same fate. I have fully looked forward to introducing myself to my precious niece and nephew . . . just not necessarily in an overcrowded condo on my romantic 10^th anniversary get-away.

I excuse myself from the conversation with Grammy to step out the front door and check on Uncle and Auntie who are still making trips back and forth from their SUV. I wonder if any Key West neighbors have spotted them. Is it possible that someone has been watching and keeping track of our party’s size? Would someone actually tally who goes in and out of our door, realize that we are in breach of room capacity restrictions and turn us “in” to Disney authorities? What consequences await those who dare to sneak in an extra two heads? Are we risking our good standing with Disney and in danger of being forever banned from Disney resorts?

I quickly glance back and forth to see if I can detect any suspicious onlookers, but no one is in sight. Perhaps the massive amount of unloading taking place has gone undetected, and we are clear for now. I can’t help but worry, though, as I wonder whether we will be able to keep our illegal activities under wraps for an entire week. The shame of being labeled a Disney criminal would be more than I could bear. 

I turn to go back inside. Once I open the door, I am lambasted with the wailing of a little one. Something has upset Angel, and she wants everyone to know about it. Much to her dismay, though, no one is paying attention because there are too many other things happening. The television has been turned on and is playing at a high volume. My kiddos, who were napping, are napping no more. Instead, they have joined their cousins in an orgy of wild behavior in the living room. There is shouting, jumping, and dancing.

Grammy looks as if she has just entered Heaven. Finally seeing all six of her grandchildren in one room together has given her the treat of her life. She beams with pride, sitting on the plaid couch, and encourages the youngsters to get more riled up.

To myself, I do admit that it is a joyful site to behold. I just wish it had taken place at another time and in another location. I hadn’t intended on sharing my 10^th anniversary with more than half of my extended family. When will DH and I ever find the time and space to be alone now? And will we be able to keep this menagerie from drawing too much attention to itself?

I bite my nails in my anxious state and close the front door. But as I walk toward the three-ring circus in my living room, my nerves subside a bit. I consider that this is not what I hoped for on my vacation. Nevertheless, it is the situation I now find myself in, and no matter what the show must go on.

Angel and Pooter still haven’t been formally introduced to me, and I realize it is time to correct this unfortunate fact. There is fun to be had with these little monsters, and I don’t want to miss it. “Angel and Pooter,” I call to the little people and gather them to my side, “How are you? I am your auntie. Have you ever heard of a Neurotic Disney Auntie? No? Well, you are looking at one.”

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LIVING THE NIGHTMARE

For a week and a half I have succeeded in keeping our check-in day a secret from my little Disney investigators.  It was not easy, but I cleverly avoided pointed questions from them by appearing momentarily preoccupied and unable to answer.  Surprisingly, Grammy did not become an obstacle either.  She did not make any attempts to foil my plans by revealing our arrival date to my mouseketeers, and—as far as I know—she did not discuss the trip at all with them.  This made it quite easy to pack and prepare for our vacation under the guise of “visiting Pop-Pop and B-Mom”. 

Since we did actually arrive at my dad and step-mother’s home late last night, the deception was readily accepted.  My children were enthralled to jump all over Pop-Pop and wrap B-Mom in hugs.  And even though we got there around 11 pm, energy was abundant.  It took me another couple hours to get the kids in bed, wrap up conversations with Pop-Pop and B-Mom, and settle myself down for a couple hours of rest.

It is now 2 am.  I stretch, yawn and shut off the alarm clock.  Check-in day is here, and there is not a moment to lose because we are still many states away from paradise.  I dress myself and begin repacking the few items that we schlepped into my parents’ home.  The responsibility of all this falls primarily to me because otherwise DH would be unwilling to leave at this hour.

After I have done all that I can possibly do on my own, I sigh and acknowledge it is time to awaken the family.  DH is irritable and difficult to arouse, but a wife knows a few tricks that will—without fail–bring her husband out of a dead sleep.  I am not beyond enlisting such manipulative trickery in times of Disney urgency, and DH pleasantly greets the day as a result.  Once I get DH up and resist further advances from him, I head downstairs to the sleeping quarters of my unsuspecting dreamers.  I am tickled as I anticipate driving into Walt Disney World’s gate, totally catching my kiddos off guard.  They are in for the best surprise that childhood can offer.

“Wake up.  It’s time to go,” I softly speak as I rub the arms of these precious ones.  “Where are we going,” DS5 questions.  “We are going on an adventure,” I answer.  “But, Mom, it is still the night,” DD7 assesses.  DD2 asks, “Where is the sun, Mommy.” I gently explain, “Yes, it is the night.  The sun is still sleeping, but we are going to get up and go exploring.” 

DD7 is not impressed.  “I don’t want to go exploring now,” she says, “I’m tired.  Besides, why aren’t we going to spend time with Pop-Pop and B-Mom?”  I honestly explain, “Pop-Pop and B-Mom have plans for the day.  So while they are out, we are going to have a family adventure.”  “But where are we going on our adventure,” DS5 persists. “Daddy and I thought we should just get in the van and drive until we find someplace that we would like to stop,” I propose.  DD7 is still not impressed.  “That is a terrible idea,” she declares.  “Yeah,” DS5 agrees.  I sit back and realize that this is going to be harder than I had anticipated.

I look at the clock.  There is no more time to be wasted.  I must get this wagon on the trail.  These “Grumpies” are going to get the best surprise of their childhood whether they like it or not.  “OK,” I firmly address, “I’m done being nice.  Get up out of bed.  Get dressed, and get in the van.”  “We haven’t eaten breakfast yet,” DS5 notes in a whiny voice. I sternly retort, “We will eat breakfast after we have driven for a little while.  Now move it.”

Reluctantly, my cranky sleepwalkers comply.  They are moving slower than a sloth submerged in a tank full of peanut butter and are full of complaints.  However, they are moving.  I am hopeful that they will fall asleep in the van and lose this unpleasant and argumentative demeanor.

My hopes are in vain.  As I securely buckle three scowling children into the backseat of our van, I suggest, “I think that everyone should just go back to sleep.  Daddy and I will wake you up when we have decided what we are going to do on our adventure.” “I am not going to sleep,” DD7 protests.  She is in a particularly difficult mind-set.  Being yanked away from loving grandparents at 3 am to pursue an undisclosed adventure after only a couple hours of sleep has rubbed her the wrong way.  It seems that at this point, she would oppose me no matter what I said; therefore, I am certain to not mention Disney.  “Suit yourself,” I resign, “The only one you will make miserable is yourself.”

I couldn’t be more wrong.  Hours pass, and DD7 has been sure to frustrate DH and me by regularly expelling her disapproving thoughts to us from the back of the van.  It has caused DD2 to suddenly awaken from her awkward position in the carseat a few times and realize she is incredibly uncomfortable.  Needless to say, we have endured a number of loud crying spells in addition to DD7’s scolding.  The magic that I hoped to build as we got closer to FL has dissolved instead.  Where did I go wrong?

As the sun rises, it is apparent that the weather has sided with DD7.  We are overcome by dark and heavy thunderstorms that make driving extremely difficult.  The rain pelts our van at a volume that makes sleep unattainable, so now there are three very irritable, uncomfortable and sleep-deprived kiddos at the opposite end of our vehicle.  The whining and crying escalate with every mile.  DH is tense.  I am certain that his nerves are raw from our children, but driving with such poor visibility makes him take on a crazed look.  I become concerned.

“Mom,” DD7 shouts above the deafening rain, “I think that we should turn around and go back.  This is getting ridiculous.  We cannot have an adventure in this rain.  Plus, we are very hungry.”  That’s right!  I realize that it is time to eat.  DH and I had planned to stop at a welcome center, set out the food we prepared the night before and enjoy a breakfast picnic.  This is not an option now. 

Due to the digestive condition that plagues my family, we cannot eat food from a restaurant.  We must eat the food we prepared, but how do I serve items like baked butternut squash, green beans and lamb while perched on top of the stacked coolers and luggage that cover every square inch of our mobile unit?  It is a question I don’t care to answer; nevertheless, I unbuckle myself and ungracefully climb over these piles to reach the back area of the van.

I provide some amusement for the three black rain clouds who watch me intently as I tip over a time or two, losing all manner of dignity.  I feel like I am performing a balancing act in Cirque du Soleil (albeit an unsuccessful one). I try to rearrange items from my unsafe position atop a shifting stack of boxes.  The task is laborious, but I finally access the needed cooler. 

I somehow manage to dish out the various items of our picnic menu.  Our family is a sight.  The children try to eat their “table service” meal in a “counter service” fashion.  I monitor the situation while continuing to perfect my balancing skills, and DH drives through the nearly hail-like storm as we slowly progress down the highway.

This was not what I had envisioned when I planned to present my kids with a semi-surprise trip to Disney.  The dream has taken a nasty turn and devolved into a nightmare.  As I teeter on my unstable tower of boxes, I can’t help but wonder if we will make it.  Will we arrive in Orlando as the united and enthusiastic family that I have worked so hard to attain?  I consider the question and hope for the best, but—in the back of my mind—I cannot shake the thought that this is a foreshadowing of things to come.

*for Disney road-trip tips, contact NDM#1 at ndm1@thedisneydrivenlife.com

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SURPRISE! SURPRISE!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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