The Disney Driven Life

Community Blog for Neurotic Disney People

You will recall in Disney’s Caribbean Beach Resort: Review Part 1 and 2 that my family decided to stay at this resort for our third time.  We had checked in at the resort and were staying in the “Nemo” themed room in the Barbados section.  We had noticed that the room had some condensation issues, but were more worried about our son who had become quite ill during our visit.  We had carefully watched him for 2 days in the hotel room with him only getting more sick.  In the end, we had called 911 to assist.  Now, off to the ER…

My son was admitted and took many tests.  After 4 hours of my son asking to return to our Resort, we heard that he had severe Bronchitis.  The doctor asked if he has been around smoke or damp spaces.  I told him about our room and the condensation found on the walls and windows.  He insisted that we move from this room to a dry room at the Resort.  We used the cab service and got back to our room at 2 AM after getting my son’s medication.  Overly tired, we called the front desk and requested a room change.  We were on the phone with at least 3 cast members over various phone calls, and then finally spoke with the manager on duty.  The phone conversations took nearly 45 minutes, but we were eventually accommodated and even reimbursed for the cab fee.

After getting our approval for the room change, we were told we would be picked up in 10 minutes by a cast member who would take us to our new room.  We packed quicker than I could have ever imagined possible, then headed for our new room.  We were delighted after the evening we had had to see that we had been placed in the newly themed pirate room!  But to be honest, at nearly 4 AM, my husband and I said “cool”, then hit the sack!

When I woke, I was a bit nervous that my “Nemo” loving son would not like the new pirate theme.  My son woke up and looked around the room with confusion then with complete delight!  He started walking around the room looking at the pirate cross-bone curtain, boat-shaped beds, crate drawers, and hidden barrel refrigerator.  Nemo, what Nemo?  These rooms are so nice and new!  No condensation here, I checked!  The carpet, curtains and bedspreads are crispy new.  All three of us were completely enthralled with the room and were in love!

We were able to stay here in the pirate themed room at no additional cost for the remaining two nights of our stay there.  These rooms typically run $30 more per night than the standard “Nemo” themed rooms.  You will find that these rooms are located in the Trinidad section of the Resort.  My understanding is that Disney had many customers that did not want to stay in the remote Trinidad South areas.  In response, they created the exciting pirate themed rooms only available in that area.

In the end, we were pleased with our stay in the pirate themed rooms at the Caribbean Beach.  We are still very skeptical of staying in the “Nemo” themed rooms, but only because of personal issues from this trip.  While I have not had the opportunity to stay at this Resort since this trip, my son says we will definitely be getting the pirate themed rooms on our next visit to the Resort!

Contributed by: Natalie H. Natalie is the Disney Driven Life’s resident resort expert.

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You will recall in Disney’s Caribbean Beach Resort: Review Part 1, I gave a brief description of the Resort’s Custom House Lobby, “Nemo” theme, and room’s amenities. We had stayed at this resort in the past and had loved it for its themed rooms, exciting pool area and food selections. On this third stay at the Caribbean Beach, we checked in at the Lobby and were assigned to the Barbados area.

We used bell services for our luggage, then quickly found our room to be in order as we remembered it from year’s past. My son was delighted again to see that Nemo was still there in the room in various spots. It had been a year since our last stay at this Resort, and being older and wiser, he was able to spot the Hidden Mickey in the bedspread pattern. We unpacked all of our stuff and got comfortable for our five night stay.

I had noticed in previous trips that other Disney “nuts” had taken supplies to decorate their window for added entertainment value for themselves and the passing guests. This being the week of my son’s 4th birthday, I thought it would be exciting to also decorate the window. I had packed a strand of lights and some pictures, i.e. one photo was of my son on his favorite “Pirates of the Caribbean” ride. I sent my husband and son away so I could decorate. I quickly found a spot to plug in the lights, and then noticed that the windows were completely saturated with streaks of water. I didn’t think much of this condensation at the time, but instead used a towel to quickly dry the windows and began getting my decorations hung on the windows. When my son returned, he was so excited to see the lights and decorations there for his upcoming birthday!

We spend the next morning at the park, and then returned to the hotel for my son’s nap (ok, my nap… blame it on the kid!). When we returned to the room, several of our photos had fallen to the ground. I found that they had fallen because of the condensation. Later that night after returning from the parks, we found that our WALLS were also wet. My husband and I discussed the matter and thought it must be because the room is air conditioned and the doors and windows were not tightly sealed.

The next day was another park visit and again we returned to our room for naptime. This time my son was acting a bit more worn out than usual. Upon arriving at the room, my son began getting sick. Over and over my child got sick. He slept for hours while my husband and I tried to decide what to do. Since we had no rental car on this particular trip, we felt stuck. We decided to spend the rest of that day watching him there in the room to see if the symptoms subsided.

During our stay in the room, my husband and I would trade out shifts and took walks to Old Port Royale Centertown. We both found the walk to Old Port refreshing for the great views of the Barefoot Lake and pools. Old Port offers shopping at the gift shop, Calypso Trading Post & Calypso Straw Market, food at the food court or the table service restaurant, Shutters, and fun at the arcade. In addition, there are other amenities at Old Port such as an ATM, Poolside bar and rentals of water sprites, paddle boats and pontoon boats.

We did find that the Market had some supplies for illnesses, however, by that evening, when our little guy was extremely weak, had a fever and was not eating. At 8 PM we decided to call the front desk to ask for advice on getting medical attention. They said we had two options; either call a cab company to take us to the emergency room or call 911. When asked if they had a vehicle to transport us to the emergency room, we were told no. They did offer that most guests use 911 and said that if using 911, we would need to take a cab back to the Resort. The cast member said that they would reimburse us for any charges for this cab ride.

After deliberation, we called 911 and explained that we were not really having an emergency but had no car for transport. The operator explained that they were in the business of assisting people in our situation and could help. Within 10 minutes, my son was being loaded on a stretcher and we were getting in the back of an ambulance.

Next week I will continue my review of my family’s stay at the Resort.

Contributed by: Natalie H. Natalie is the Disney Driven Life’s resident resort expert.

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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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DISNEY DINING BOOT CAMP

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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UNDERDOG, ALPHA-DOG OR SLY DOG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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SAINT PATRICK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

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A MORSEL THAT’S HARD TO SWALLOW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Contact information for Walt Disney World special dietary requests:

(407) 824-5967

WDW.Special.Diets@disney.com

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

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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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