The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

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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THE QUEST FOR THE PERFECT PANCAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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