Halfpint’s Headspace

Here is another poem by my eldest daughter, now age eight:

THE BIG ROLLERCOASTER

I wanted to go on the rollercoaster called Here Now, Gone Then.

I got my ticket, waited in line, waiting for it to begin.

Up and down, loop-de-loop and doing all its tricks.

I didn't want to do it again because it was making me sick.

After I got off I never wanted to go on it again.

Now I know why they call it Here Now, Gone Then.

When my eldest daughter was seven she wrote this poem:

THE SMALLER

The smaller the number,

The bigger the piece.

The taller the number,

The piece is the least.

The smaller the child,

The bigger the mind.

The taller the child,

there is imagination they can't find.

November 18, 2008

This time of year is always overwhelming for our family.  DH works steadily around the clock at his office to meet pressing deadlines at the end of November.  This leaves me to solely manage the affairs of our home and children.   Therefore, I am always on the brink of insanity in November, but these past seven days have been unusually stressful.

Last week I quit my job due to a precarious situation that was worsening in nature daily.  Since then I have been tense as I search for a new source of income to pay for our Disney Vacation Club membership.   Our failing economy hasn’t done much for my job search or my nerves with the “doom and gloom” that is now a regular part of the news, but this is not the full extent of my recent anxiety. 

My 32^nd birthday was this past week.  The occasion should have been a joyful one, but it was quickly overshadowed the following day by mournful circumstances.  DH’s beloved grandfather passed away.  This man was considered a great pillar in the community that we reside in and touched many lives, so not only is our family dealing with a great loss but we are also expecting to host hoards of out-of-town family and friends as they arrive for the multiple memorial services.

I look at the disarray of my home, and I feel the muscles in my neck tighten with stress.  I am a mom who homeschools, manages the health issues of three children with a medical condition, and serves as primary administrator of all Disney matters in our home. For this reason, I simply have not been able to keep up with house cleaning during DH’s absence.  After all, if you put me in a position where I have to choose between freshly laundered clothes or perfectly planned advanced dinner reservations in Epcot®, I will choose the advanced dinner reservations every time. 

It is perfectly clear in my mind that choosing to spend my limited amount of time in this manner has been wise.  But as I look at the dirty underwear strewn across the house by DD4, who invariably strips en route to the potty, I hesitate to believe that my impending guests will feel the same. 

The task of cleaning a home that has been neglected for at least a month, carrying my regular load of responsibilities and hosting a nearly continuous flow of guests is a thought that makes my knees buckle and my forehead wrinkle in tension.  It is obvious that there is only one thing to be done.  There is an immediate need for relaxation.

I make my way to the kids’ bathroom for a hot, relaxing bath.  Their large bathroom with double sinks and a full-size tub is quite roomier than the claustrophobic outhouse and stand-up shower attached to my bedroom.  So I have been known to steal away from time to time into the relaxation of a warm, bubble bath that the kids’ restroom can provide.

I walk into the frigid, tiled room and make my preparations.  The lighting is dimmed as I turn off the overhead lights and put a match to numerous candles on the counter.  A pleasant aroma fills the air when a few drops of essential oils are mixed into the hot water filling the tub.  The soft and soothing touch of bubbles envelopes my skin as I step into the warm, liquid abyss that awaits.  And my whole body relaxes when I hit “play” on my CD player that emits various Disney tracks and mentally transports me to my paradise on Earth, Walt Disney World®.

It proves to be a pleasant time.  I have been able to soak for half an hour with interruptions from DD8, DS6, and DD4 coming only at intervals of every five minutes.  In comparison to other attempts at a relaxing bath that have abruptly ended due to the sudden onset of sibling enmity among my precious offspring, this endeavor must be considered a success.

On this particular occasion, though, I realize upon my emergence from the suds that I have forgotten to bring my change of clothes with me.  So I wrap one of the kids’ bath towels around me as best I can and scurry down the hallway to my room.  Unfortunately, DD8 catches a glimpse of this happenstance and begins giggling.   Because I fail to see the comical object of her amusement, I question, “What?”  In between giggles, DD8 manages to explain, “Your bottom and the top of your legs jiggle when you walk.”

Now I have always been one to appreciate the honesty of children.  They are truthful even when it hurts, and—in my opinion—that is a rare gift these days.  But on this particular occasion, I become a little alarmed.  We currently have reservations at Disney’s Beach Club Villas.  This resort is renowned for its pool that sprawls across an acre and features an impressive waterslide, lazy river, and sand-covered floor.  It is my guess that we will spend a noteable amount of time there, and I will need to wear my bathing suit (which happens to be a two-piece).

I give DD8 a troubled glance, disappear into the selcusion of my bedroom and shut the door behind me.  Admittedly, I have entered my fourth decade of life and given birth to three children on the way.  A little wear-and-tear is to be expected, but in my harried way of functioning, I have failed to stop and notice any spectacularly embarrassing changes in my body.  I slowly unwrap myself in front of the mirror to further examine my once-shapely bottom.  And there it is, the faintest sign of cellulite that does, indeed, jiggle when I step.  I gasp at the sight.  How can this be!  I feel like I am having an outer-body experience.  Here I am in my own skin, yet I am surely looking at someone else’s.

I console myself with the reminder that the lower half of my two-piece swimsuit resembles tight-fitting shorts rather than underwear briefs.  Perhaps this will hinder any jiggling from taking place while I am poolside, and I can still feel confident and comfortable when at Mickey’s beach resort. 

I sigh and manage to put on my undergarments before I hear DD4 wrestle with my doorknob outside in the hallway.  Another five minutes has passed, and she is about to burst in the room--right on schedule!  Once she has wriggled the knob enough to trigger the door’s release, DD4 unabashedly enters and inquires, “Mom?”

Caught half-dressed and struggling to get jeans over my abundant theighs, I do my best to act as if nothing is improper about this  scene.  But DD4, who has now set eyes on her nearly naked mom, stops and stares.  She has apparently forgotten the original reason for her intrusion and is lost in thought.  Finally she asks, “Mommy, is there a baby in your tummy?”  I stand up straight in horror, leaving my jeans around my theighs where they seem content to stay.  Did she just say what I think she said?

It occurs to me that in addition to not taking time to examine my ample rear-end, I have not recently bothered to scrutinize my abdomen either.  I shut my eyes tightly, quickly pray that I can still find my toes, open my eyes and glance down.  I am happy to find that my toes are still in view, but due to a now mildly bloated belly and enlarged theighs, I am unable to see my knees.  The last time I dealt with this scenario, I was smiling from ear to ear because I was carrying DD4 in my first trimester.  But there is no smile today.  In fact, the wrinkled forehead and tense muscles that my bath had vanquished have now returned. 

“No, sweetheart,” I reply in a deflated tone, “Mommy doesn’t have a baby in her tummy.”  She considers my response momentarily and then remarks, “Yea, that’s not a baby.  That’s a jellyfish!”  With that DD4 makes her exit, giving me five more minutes of solitude to analyze the implications of her latest observation.

This is terrible!  My two-piece may be able to minimize the jiggling of my dierreire, but it is completely incapable of disguising abdominal jellyfish.  What is a Mickey-loving, thirty-something, mother-of-three to do?  I briefly entertain the thought of canceling our entire vacation, but the heinous nature of that sacriligious act becomes immediately apparent.  There must be another way, but the answer fails to come to me.

As I sit on my well-cushioned rump and my jelly-like stomach rolls over my underwear’s waistline, I squarely look at the situation before me.  A mere ten minutes ago I had happily washed all my cares away and felt ready to conquer anything.  But somehow I am now back at my starting point, feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, angst-ridden and in need of relaxation.  However, I will need to find an alternative method to soothe my knotted muscles and bruised self-esteem because it is certain that I will not be indulging in another bath anytime soon.

November 10

Over the last four years, I have gradually become dissatisfied with the irresponsible attitude that sometimes dominates our society.  It seems like rather than doing what is best for civilization, the general consensus is to take the “easiest road” in most matters.  The worst part is that when it comes time to “lie in the bed that was made,” no one wants to own up to the mistakes and the consequences.   We hear, “It was someone else’s job” or “It was someone else’s responsibility.”

This atmosphere of job-shifting and fault-finding is disturbing to say the least, and yet we remain on this path.  There is little sense of personal duty.  There is little notion of accountability.  There is primarily a desire to push off the consequences of “the easy way” long enough for another institution, president, generation or individual to manage.

This is especially true of our current political system.  It seems that both primary political groups contribute to the corrupt mindset that plagues Washington D.C.   They both appear to be apathetic as they continue seeking the “easy way out,” all the while expecting someone else to do the hard work that they were elected to do.  Is it shocking that—for this very reason--I nearly wrote in “Mickey Mouse” on my presidential ballot last week?  Mickey never shirks his duty.

Thank God for Walt Disney World®!  It is comforting to know that there is a place that is a safe-haven for those who are weary of the “buck-passers.” Here is a realm where everyone feels a personal sense of responsibility to do his part in making society a better place.  So today I suggest to the kids that we take a “breather” from our daily routine, sit at our computer and temporarily escape into Disney cyber space. 

Since our vacation is still 6 ½ months away, the Disney website is the next-best-thing after physically stepping onto Disney property.  The graphics and sound bites of the endless web pages are classically Disney.  And because a great amount of the website is interactive, it is uniquely able to give one an immersive experience that allows the exit from immediate surroundings and entrance into the utopian--albeit virtual--Disney one.

DD4 insists that we investigate the Disney preschool realm.   But DD8 suggests that we find something mature enough to hold her attention.  DS6 remains neutral since he tends to find amusement in both simple and complex content while I remain happy as long as what we do is Disney related.  In an attempt to satisfy all requests, we collectively decide to watch an interactive video from “Can You Teach My Alligator Manners?”  All of us gather in front of the computer screen and get ready to enjoy this adorable and instructional featurette.

Like the many other times we have watched this short show, we listen to the introductory song where Mikey explains that he has an ill-behaved alligator for a friend.  If he has any hope of keeping Al, the alligator, as a pet, he must teach this reptile some manners so that Mikey’s mother can find the silly creature tolerable.

We watch on.  This time Mikey finds himself in quite a predicament at a movie theatre.  The film is rolling; the audience is taken in, but Al is making everyone irritable with his continuous mumbling, grunting and calling-out to the characters of the big screen.  Mikey’s mom gives Mikey a disapproving glare, clearly communicating that he must get his alligator under control.  Mikey, in desperation, then turns to us and implores, “Can you teach my alligator manners?”

Normally, I am eager to participate with my children when we view Mikey’s interactive segments.  It is a pleasure to lend a helping hand to someone in need.  Plus, there is always the bonus of personal life-lessons learned in the process.  And after all, sometimes it actually does take a community to raise an alligator.  But for some reason, today I do not quite hold that communal sentiment.  Something seems a little off with Mikey’s immediate plea for assistance before attempting to handle the problem on his own.

Nevertheless, I oblige Mikey and respond (along with my children) that, indeed, we must select the orange square that instructs Al to remain quiet in the theatre so others can enjoy the film.  We are successful in our endeavor.  Al grasps the concept and adjusts his behavior accordingly.  Yet, I can’t help but still feel a little bitter about being asked to manage a task that clearly belonged to Mikey.

When Al and Mikey’s movie experience is over, they prepare to leave the theatre.  We then see that Al has made a disgusting mess around his seat.  Wrappers and stray pieces of popcorn abound, and he is about to toss his half-full cup of soda on the floor.  Mom is ticked-off, and Mikey is overwhelmed with the task that is before him.  But rather than pushing up his sleeves and getting to work, Mikey immediately cries out to us for help and expects us to show his alligator the proper way to act.  The frustration bubbles up inside of me. 

Mikey is “passing the buck!”  He has joined the ranks of parents who expect the school system to discipline their children.  He has come alongside the guardians who pawn off moral instruction to institutions like churches or other benevolent non-profit organizations.  Mikey now resembles Corporate America who looks to the “establishment” for provision or a “bail-out” of some kind as well as the apathetic politicians who avoid the personal responsibility of their elected positions.  It is almost more than I can take, for this mentality is pushing my buttons.

This is Mikey’s mom.  This is Mikey’s alligator.  This is Mikey’s problem.  Why should others be expected to manage this affair while Mikey takes a back-seat on the matter?  We don’t reap the benefits of having a pet alligator when all the work is done.  Mikey does.  In addition, it isn’t right that the community should suffer the consequences of an ill-behaved reptile when Mikey shirks his personal duty. The responsibilities of training this animal were given to Mikey when he desired to pursue pet ownership, not to the rest of us.  Therefore—with all this in mind--I conclude Mikey should take some more initiative and try to teach his alligator manners on his own.   

We are once again presented with a blue square and an orange square illustrating what we, the audience, can choose to teach Al during this instructional opportunity.  “Can you teach my alligator manners,” Mikey asks in a sweet but manipulative way.   I feel something “snap” in my brain.  “NO,” I scream at the computer screen, “DO IT YOURSELF, YOU LAZY KID!”

Stunned by my outburst, all three of my children turn and stare at me wide-eyed.  Apparently the frustration I hold towards Mikey and his lack of personal responsibility is entirely my own.  I suddenly become acutely aware that I am way too invested in this brief little skit. 

I look around at my shocked companions and sheepishly apologize for my unexpected eruption of disgust.  “Perhaps,” I propose, “It is time to watch something less provoking like ‘Choo Choo Soul’.”

November 2

As a NDM, my daily mission is to instill a passionate love for Disney in my children as well as teach them the necessary skills for leading a Disney-driven life.  These skills range from making Mickey Mouse pancakes on Saturday mornings to making Disney converts when visiting family and friends.  But some of the most vital skills needed are the ones used in preparation for Disney vacation planning.  With all this in mind, I invite DS6 to join me in the first steps of the process.

DS6 is caught in the difficult stage of boyhood that hangs on to the excitement of being a child yet also occasionally attempts to assert the stoicism of a grown-up.  I have seen DS6’s stoicism rear its head in reference to Disney on occasion, so I feel most compelled to invest my Disney efforts in him these days.  His little Disney soul is at a very impressionable stage, and I can’t risk losing him to the nonsense of Transformers, Webkinz or some other silly rubbish.  Time is of the essence here, and I reason that giving DS6 some vacation planning responsibilities will help fight off this inclination towards indifference.

“DS6,” I call out in the echoing hall of our home.  “Yes,” he calls back.  “Come here,” I yell, “I want you to help me with something.”  DS6 emerges from his room with the forced, manly strut that only six-year-olds know how to make adorable.   “What is it,” he inquires when he reaches me.  I explain, “You are getting to be so grown-up, and I think I could use your help with some planning today.”

Now every NDM knows that after reservations for a Walt Disney World® trip have been made, it is completely necessary to begin a “countdown” and design some method for tracking the number of days one must endure until departure for her “laughing place.”  This serves as a reminder that fun is up ahead and helps keep enthusiasm high while she and her family patiently wait. 

There are many ways to approach this important task.  Some families simply cross out a day on the calendar at the end of each night.  Some families create elaborate chains of paper links and remove a link with each passing day.  Our family is a little more high-tech.  We do our countdown electronically.

So DS6 and I sit down at our computer and go straight to the MickeyPath.com site that provides computers with a free banner that automatically ticks off the days until a specified Disney event.  There are other sites and programs that provide this service as well, but I’m partial to the dreamy look of the MickeyPath.com banners.

Once at the site, I find that MickeyPath.com has been hard at work since our family last utilized it.  There are now so many more options available to countdown-seeking persons.  You can choose a Countdown Generator that will simply provide a colored widget with your countdown information.  You can choose the original Countdown Banner that will provide you with a long, horizontal strip, displaying a Disney backdrop while a “slider” progresses from the left side to the right side of the strip as your special event draws near.  You can now also choose a Photo Banner that allows you to upload your own desired image as the background of your strip.  But for the indecisive individual, I see that MickeyPath.com has designed a Rotating Banner that permits the background images to change every few seconds so that you truly can have it all.

DS6 and I discuss our options and decide that the simplicity of the original Countdown Banner suits us best.  Not owning a digital camera, we have no images to upload for the Photo Banner, and the ADD effect of the Rotating Banner seems to distract from the actual countdown feature. 

Once the countdown style is selected, the next step is to choose a background.  As we muddle through the various options, I see that DS6 is deep in thought.  He is taking this responsibility very seriously, and I am encouraged by his apparent grasp of the importance of our task.  He decides that we should choose the Disney’s Beach Club Villas background since it will be our first time visiting that resort.

Next we must select an icon as our “slider.”  DS6’s intensity is fierce.  He is determined to make the wisest choice possible, and so he slowly examines each option and weighs the pros and cons of each.  Finally, it is established that a Figment image should direct our daily progression because we will be visiting his home of Epcot® this time around.

Lastly, we arrive at the part in the process for entering our event’s data.  I can see the enthusiasm rising in DS6 as we choose a title for our trip and type in the relevant information.  He is definitely benefiting from this exercise in Disney life skills, and I am so glad that I involved him.

As the computer processes the particulars of our vacation-reminder design, DS6 and I bubble over in anticipation.  The personalized Countdown Banner appears, and we wrap up the process by downloading the specialized widget to our desktop as well as add it to my signature that appears on my Disney internet boards.  DS6 is so pleased.  His eyes brighten as he views the colorful graphics he helped create.  This task has obviously inspired him.  I offer my congratulations on a job well done, and he smiles from ear to ear.

I release him to resume his activity in the bedroom, so he confidently struts in that direction.  I call out to DD4 so that she can view the product of our hard work.  She has a particular interest in Figment, so I suspect the sight of our new banner will bring her a giggle or two.  “DD4,” I bellow down the same hallway, “Come here!  I want to show you something.”  She pokes her head out of her bedroom where she has been playing.  “What is it,” she inquires.  But before I can utter any words, DS6 (who is passing by her in the hall) states in a dead-pan tone, “Oh, it’s just the countdown banner.  It’s no big deal.”

In shock, I turn to my DH who has witnessed the entire banner-designing process as well as the apathetic remark that followed.  Knowing the underlying mission that guides my every move, he intelligently surmises, “It looks like you still have some work to do.”

October 31

My eyes pop open. It is 8:00 am. Here is where it all begins. This day has been marked on the calendar for five months. Now that it has arrived, I will finally be freed from my imprisoned state of inactivity into the uninhibited state of Disney vacation planning.

Being a Disney Vacation Club Member who is exactly seven months away from my date of arrival in Walt Disney World®, I am now within the permitted timeframe to make reservations for my family’s next vacation. We have hopes to secure a 1-bedroom villa at Disney’s Beach Club Villas. But since this particular resort is not the resort that we bought into when we joined the Disney Vacation Club, those who own it as their “home resort” have been given a four-month head start in making reservations.

Disney’s Beach Club is one of Disney’s more popular resorts due to it’s large pool and close location to Epcot. This makes securing reservations there especially difficult. I have read numerous accounts online at various Disney internet boards where families have been waitlisted for months as they hope to obtain reservations, and some are actually denied in the end due to no vacancies opening up. The scenario sends chills up my spine, and I whisper a Disney wish that this will not be my family’s fate.

After everyone has been dressed and fed, the clocks strikes 9:00 am. I rush to the phone, grabbing my Disney Vacation Club Member card on the way. I sit on my bed in the privacy of my bedroom and begin to dial the memorized number. As is their custom, DD8, DS6, and DD4 follow me into my room and begin to play loudly around me. After so many years of instruction, they still have not grasped the concepts of privacy or consideration for individuals using the phone. “Quiet please,” I announce, “I am making a phone call. I need you to either be quiet or leave the room.” I am completely ignored as elevated levels of noise and activity continue to envelope me. I realize that something more earth-shattering is required to grab the attention of my small entourage. “Quiet! I am calling Mickey Mouse,” I yell. The room goes dead silent, and everything is still.

As I dial the member services number, little people gather and sit by my ankles. They are in awe, believing that their very own NDM will be soon be speaking to the Big Cheese, himself.

I listen to a pre-recorded list of options of extensions. After selecting the appropriate one, a very comforting voice greets me on the line and asks how I can be assisted. Although my nerves are wracked and I am developing a twitch as a result of my Disney’s Beach Club Villas anxiety, I do my best to sound calm and unconcerned as I explain my desire to place a reservation at this dreamy destination. The agent says that she will have to check for availability, and I am put on hold.

While I listen to muted Disney songs through the phone receiver, I feel the knots in my stomach tighten. Will we be waitlisted? How long will we be waitlisted? What will be my alternative plan if we are waitlisted?

DD4 tugs on my pant leg. “Mommy,” she sweetly petitions, “I want to talk to Mickey Mouse. Please may I talk to Mickey Mouse?” Doh! I am about to get caught in a Disney bluff, but I cleverly quip, “Oh! I am so sorry, honey. Daisy Duck answered the phone. She says that Mickey isn’t there right now.”

At that moment, the agent silences the pleasant Disney tunes by picking up the line again. “We do have a 1-bedroom villa available for you at Disney’s Beach Club Villas during the days you requested. Would you like me to go ahead and book your reservation?” I heave a sigh of relief; the knots in my stomach loosen; my twitch subsides. “Yes,” I confirm.

I feel another tug on my pant leg. “Mommy,” DD4 says in an adorable voice that I always find difficult to deny, “May I please talk to Daisy Duck? I really want to talk to Daisy Duck.” I wink at her to non-verbally communicate that her wish will be granted.

After the reservation has been made, the agent politely asks, “Is there anything else I can do for you today?” “Actually,” I respond, “There is something you can do for me. My four-year old daughter is standing here with me and knows that I am talking to you, Daisy Duck. She is very anxious to speak with you if you have an extra minute. Would it be alright if she said, ‘hello?’” The agent is silent for a brief second and then timidly replies, “But I don’t sound anything like a duck. I don’t know how to make my voice do that.” “That’s OK, Daisy,” I coax as I wink in reassurance to DD4, “We all know that your voice is a normal one. Only Donald’s voice sounds like a duck.” Being a good sport, the agent then agrees to speak with DD4 for who can hardly wait to take command of the phone.

“Hi, Daisy,” DD4 says in her best attempt at handling the phone with a grown-up disposition. Apparently the agent has embraced the spirit of my Disney bluff and taken the opportunity to engage my daughter beyond a simple greeting, for DD4 goes into an explanation about our costume party plans for the evening. After a minute of details describing our home’s festive decorations and our party’s itinerary and guest list, the conversation is still going strong. However, I sense that I should relieve the cooperative agent from this request that is surely out of the realm of her job description. I certainly don’t want to be flagged on the computer system in some way as an annoying Disney Vacation Club Member who makes bizarre demands of unfortunate agents.

I gently tell DD4 to say good-bye to Daisy, and she obediently complies. I take the receiver and express my gratitude to the agent for going above and beyond her call of duty in this matter. The agent giggles slightly and relays that everything has been her pleasure as she notes that I should call back if I find I need any further service.

I hang up the phone with a grand smile on my face. DD8, DS6 and DD4 wait in anticipation for the results of the phone call. I announce that we will--in fact--be permitted to stay at Disney’s Beach Club Villas for our upcoming vacation, and we all explode into victory dances in the limited open area of my bedroom.

Now that the primary concern of the day has been attended to, the less important events (such as our large party this evening) may now have my attention. But I know that these other matters will only hold my focus momentarily, for very soon the details of our upcoming vacation will need to be filled in.  And a NDM has to have her priorities straight!

PASSING THE TORCH

I return to my villa feeling thankful for my encounter with Park Ranger Stan.  But as I open the door and see the condition of our room, I am brought back to the reality that my dreamy week is coming to a close.

DH has done a good job feeding the kids and packing up the kitchen.  I see that there is little left to be done, and I am grateful that I don’t have to spend my last moments here in a frenzy as I try to meet our check-out deadline.

A phone call is made to bell services, and shortly thereafter some cheerful park rangers arrive with a shiny cart to transport our luggage to the minivan.  They look a lot happier than our family does.  I personally am a little deflated as I watch our belongings be removed from our magical villa.  It marks the definite end of our wilderness occupation.  To watch the progression of our eviction is almost more than I can take.

The villa has been more than a temporary room for us.  It truly has come to feel like our “home away from home” even though we have only been here a few days.  I attribute this to the fact that these few days have been packed with more unforgettable memories than we have possibly made in the last six months.  Every day has been “family day”.  Every day has been an adventure.  We have taken an incredible journey together while we were here, and we have been rewarded at every turn.

I send the kids on with DH to follow our luggage and get strapped into the van for our trip.  After they exit, I have one final look through the villa.  I always do this to look for any items that were accidentally overlooked in our packing.  This time, though, I also do it to try to fix the memory of this precious place firmly in my mind.  Once I have glanced over each room for the last time, I know that I can’t delay any more.  It is time to go, so I walk out of the entrance to our villa and reluctantly shut the door behind me.

As I rejoin my family under the grand porte-cochere where the van is temporarily parked and being loaded, I find my children already affixed to their designated, travel spots.  I peer into the van from the open sliding panel to assess the situation.  DD3 is fervently sucking her thumb again to ease the stress of this traumatic departure.  DS6 is clutching his favorite stuffed animal for emotional support, and DD8 is staring at the entrance to the grand lobby we entered for the first time only six days ago. 

“DD8,” I ask, “What are you thinking about?”  My voice pulls her from her deep thoughts, and she looks at me with sorrowful eyes.  “Mom,” she cries as big teardrops run down her cheeks, “I just can’t bear it!  Why do we have to leave?  This place is so beautiful.  It is so wonderful!  We have had such a good time.  I can’t stand it that we are leaving!  I wish we could always live here.”  My heart aches for her because I am all too familiar with this sentiment. However, in the midst of her sobbing I see something incredibly beautiful.  I see that the seeds of Disney passion that I have been so diligent to sow over the span of her life have come to bloom.  I begin to shed tears, too, as I acknowledge that my life’s purpose as a NDM is coming to pass.

The car is finally loaded.  DH thanks the park rangers that helped us with this arduous task and tips them generously.  I climb into the passenger seat.  DH takes to the driver’s side, and we both slam our doors in a way that only emphasizes the closure of our fantastic vacation.

As we pull out of the lodge parking lot, I ponder all the developments that took place during this short week.  As a whole unit and as individuals, our family experienced incredible moments that brought about change and impacted us.  DH is the first to come to my mind.  He made extraordinary leaps in his personal Disney journey.  There were moments when he displayed enthusiasm for Disney that I once thought were beyond his scope.  I note that this is a true testament to the influence of a NDM and pixie dust power. 

I consider that this same power was also exhibited by DD3.  Being immersed in authentic Magic Kingdom® culture for the first time, this trip was the beginning of a fanatical Disney process that should continue throughout her years.  Significant investments were—undoubtedly--made in her little life this week, and I fully expect to see great returns on that investment as I continue to nurture her fledgling obsession.

My meditative thoughts then turn to DS6.  This past trip he made significant strides of his own.  Although this was not his first time in Walt Disney World®, the addition of years to his life seemed to help him put all of his Disney knowledge into it’s proper context this time.  It was a treasure to see him grasp Disney lore as well as participate in Disney events and make them his own!  I cannot deny that these are critical steps that will one day lead him to a love of Disney that is independent of me but at the same time will serve as a strong reference to his identity as the son of a NDM.

Neither can I overlook the blatant progress in DD8’s life during the past week.  It is obvious to me that being at Walt Disney World® somehow motivated her to leave behind a few cowardly inclinations and step into a braver temperment.  But most importantly, I clearly see that her neurotic Disney personhood has reached maturation.  She is the evidence that all my work as a NDM has not been in vain.  The torch has been passed.  A rich heritage of Disney neuroticism has effectively been transferred to the next generation.

These have all been amazing developments for our family.  But in my internal analysis of this trip, I suppose the most dynamic transition of the week has been my own.  Somehow within the course of our week in Walt Disney World® I have come to understand the true purpose of The Sacred Seven.  It is obvious now that they are meant to function as guidelines rather than commandments. Their purpose is to ultimately position Disney in such a way that it enhances family relationships not to enslave a family so that it enhances Disney.  This revelation has subtly become apparent and abruptly blind-sided me all at the same time.  I am curious to see how I accommodate this new idea as our family prepares for our return to Walt Disney World® for a whole new chapter in our book of Disney neuroticism.

I consider that in the next year, there is so much to look forward to in the growth of our NDM family.   The possibilities fill my mind, and I feel the excitement rise up within me.  Somehow these notions make our departure a little less painful.  “Good-bye, Disney,” I yell as I lean out my window and wave at the world around me.  Then with the flair of a true mouseketeer I add, “See you real soon!”

DAY 8

WONDERING ABOUT THE WILDERNESS LODGE

With a great jolt, I sit up straight in bed.  As I gasp for breath, I look at the clock.  It is 4:30 am.  I begin to panic and let out a great whine, “Oh no!  I can’t believe it!”  DH startles at my actions, “What?!  What is it?”  “I can’t believe it,” I say nearly in tears, “I missed it.”  DH continues to probe, “What did you miss?”  I wail, “The Wonders of the Wilderness Lodge Tour!  I just can’t believe it!  It was one of the things I was most looking forward to doing.  I was planning on doing it the morning my mom came, but I forgot until just this moment.  Now I have lost my chance since we are leaving today.  And we won’t be back at this resort for years because we will stay at all the other Disney Vacation Club resorts before we return to this one.”

I flop down on my extremely puffy pillow, pouting like a little girl who was just denied tea and cake at her unbirthday party.  The tour had looked so intriguing when I read about it on the Disboards.  It promised to deliver a unique history of all the lodge particulars.  This was my chance to find out the inspirational stories behind this magnificent building, and it slipped through my fingers almost unnoticed.  Life is so unfair sometimes.  How could this have happened? 

“Well, when is the tour,” DH continues with his investigation.  I moan with all the doom and gloom I can muster, “It is at 9:00am Wedenesday through Friday.  Wednesday was the day I was supposed to go.  Thursday we went to the Magic Kingdom®.  And today, we will be too busy getting packed up and checking out.  I can’t believe it!  How could I have forgotten it?  Did we sleep in that morning?”  DH confirms that we did sleep in on Wednesday morning, which is the reason the tour must have slipped my mind.  I moan again as I realize that letting my NDM guard down and relaxing on my vacation has deprived me of one of the primary events I had been hoping to attend.  In the future I will have to be more careful about releasing my NDM ways to indulge in this new notion of “relaxing” on vacation.  There certainly is no point in “relaxing” if you miss all the fun.

I huff and puff a bit, and then I bury my head in my abundant pillow to muffle the scream of frustration that I am compelled to let out.  I know that I must let this go, but how can our “perfect” vacation recover from this gross oversight?

Rubbing my back in sympathy, DH says, “Well, why don’t you go this morning?  If you get up a little early to help with packing the suitcases, I will feed the kids and clean and pack the kitchen.”  My heart takes an unexpected leap.  What a romantic gesture!  “Really?  Do you mean that,” I ask with great expectation.  “Sure,” he states, “We’ve eaten most of the food we brought, so packing up the kitchen won’t be as difficult as it was from home.  How long does the tour last?”  I express uncertainty but relay that I doubt it will be more than an hour.  “Well, then you will still be back an hour before we have to leave.  That should be enough time to make sure we’ve got everything taken care of before they pick up our bags,” he lovingly rationalizes.

A grand smile overtakes my face.  DH’s ability to understand the uncommon needs of a NDM certainly takes me by surprise.  What an incredible show of sensitivity on his part!  He is absolved of any Disney sins that he has previously committed, and he is granted the status of Disney saint for the rest of the day.  I give him a tender kiss on his precious cheek and snuggle back into the comfort of my bed for another hour and a half.

When the clock reads 6:00 am, I get out of bed and start to prepare for the day.  After making myself presentable, I lay clothes out for all my sleepy heads and pack up their suitcases.  I then gather all of the souvenirs we have accumulated and make sure they are carefully packaged as well.  Slowly a mountain of suitcases, boxes, and bags grows near the entrance of our villa. 

Once everyone awakens, I get to work on a more thorough routine of departure preparation.  Children dressed and groomed?  Check!  Beds stripped?  Check!  Dirty towels and linens put in laundry basket?  Check!  Extra blankets folded?  Check!  Kids toys and special stuffed animals located, gathered and ready for transportation?  Check!

It isn’t long before the nine o’-clock hour rolls around.  I hurry out the door and rush to the lobby.  I don’t want to risk being left behind on the tour because NDMs simply love Disney history.  We feed on it like plants absorbing water from the soil.  It is a form of sustenance for us.  The tales about the people and events that helped form the present Disney come together to form a compelling story of drama, suspense, comedy, tragedy, action and romance.  It is a feast for the NDM mind, and I am hungry!

I arrive in the lobby, but fail to see a group.  Have I missed the tour in spite of my great effort to make it on time?  I inquire at the Concierge Desk.  They inform me that the group is standing by the huge supporting pillar right behind me.  Odd!  I certainly had not seen a group when I arrived three seconds ago.  I turn to take a second look, but I still don’t see a group.  I question at the Concierge Desk once again.  They tell me more specifically to fix my gaze upon a middle-aged couple casually standing near the pillar.  I remark, “Just them?”  They nod, so I make my way over to the designated tour spot.

I am a little surprised by the tiny number of attendants.  Apparently, this is not a widely popular tour.  I reason that not everyone can be expected to show such a passionate hunger for Disney history.  This level of interest is almost always reserved for the more devout Disney fans such as the unique breed of NDMs.

Park Ranger Stan, an elderly man who is our tour guide, approaches our group with his protégé.  He introduces his trainee and himself with an adorable smile that makes me wish I could pinch his cheek.  He gives a brief explanation of his own long-standing history of working for Walt Disney World®, and I am completely taken in.  I love hearing about how Disney has affected the lives of others and how other lives have affected Disney, and Park Ranger Stan shares his memories with great affection.  This tour is off to a great start.

But then Park Ranger Stan begins a long monologue about the materials that compose the lodge.  We stand in this single spot for about fifteen minutes, listening to in-depth descriptions about types of wood, concrete and stone as Park Ranger Stan points his red, power-point pen at various features in the lobby.

While I have a healthy appreciation for construction materials, the amount of concrete needed to form the walkways is not exactly what I came to hear about.  I tell myself to be patient.  Surely, once we start moving Park Ranger Stan will switch from these cold-hard construction statistics to inspiring tales that took place within different areas of this beautiful and magical setting.  I can tell by his endearing nature that this man is connected to many lives here, and I am certain he has more stories to tell than time will allow.

Eventually the middle-aged woman in our group asks if we will be moving from the spot we have been standing in for about twenty minutes.  Park Ranger Stan explains that the tour begins, remains and ends in this single spot.  He states that his power-point pen makes moving unnecessary since we can visually follow the red dot around the room. 

I am confused.  It seems like the historic tales we will soon hear would be more powerful if we travel to the places in which they occurred.  But I tell myself not to be so demanding.  The important part is not standing in various locations.  The important part is simply learning the legacies.

But Park Ranger Stan just continues to talk about square footage and sand bags.  We are occasionally blessed with a passing remark about Native Americans visiting the construction site to approve Disney’s efforts of authenticity, but—in general—the topic remains strictly architectural with little said about humanity.  I feel myself get a bit antsy.

After another ten minutes, Park Ranger Stan asks with finality, “Does anyone have questions?”  I am left a little alarmed that his tone indicates we are at the end of this tour, and I have yet to hear one bonafide, historical tale about a specific event, person or token of humanity other than our dear park ranger’s introductory resume.

 I quickly raise my hand.  “Could you tell us about any interesting people or events that are in the lodge’s history,” I sweetly implore.  “Hmmm.  Could you give me an example of what you are looking for,” he probes.  I respond, “Well, things like . . . have any famous people stayed here?  What happened when they did?  Was the building packed with onlookers?  Has anyone died here?  Has anyone been born here?  Have any horrific curses been cast on this place?  What about blessings?  Were there any terrific obstacles that needed to be overcome and ultimately ended up in the triumphant completion of the building?  Oh!  I know!  Are there any Wilderness spirits that haunt the lodge on occasion?  Or are there any legendary cast members who have greatly contributed in some way to the betterment of this place?” 

Park Ranger Stan looks a little stunned by my sudden, verbal explosion.  “Well, I guess I don’t rightly know of anything like that off the top of my head,” he admits.  “What about romantic tales?  Do you have any specific memories about weddings that have taken place here,” I plead.  He shakes his head and says, “Not exactly.  I can tell you, though, that weddings in the lodge take place on that upper balcony.  Most of the bride’s here are Asian.  Apparently, it is less expensive for an Asian bride to have a grand affair here in Walt Disney World® than it is to have a smaller affair in their own country.”  I consider this tid-bit more interesting than the other stuff he has told us so far, but when I inquire about more specifics, he has none to give.

In an attempt to jump start his memory, I feed him the beginnings of a story that I have already heard.  I rationalize that though I know the basics of this tale, he may be able to fill in details with a more personal touch.  At this point, I am desperate to hear a story even if I already know it.  “Can you tell us the story of the man who worked here and began the tradition of rubbing Humphrey’s nose,” I ask.  “I’d be happy to do that if I knew the story,” he replies.  I suggest, “Oh, I am sure you know this.  There was a man who used to work here.  You must have known him.  He would rub Humphrey’s nose.  But he is now dead.  Does that sound familiar?”  “No,” he says with a terrific smile, “but I am really interested to hear about it.  Why don’t you tell the group about it?”

I am a little embarrassed to be suddenly thrust into the role of tour guide, but this tour is begging for stories that aren’t about brick and mortar.  I feel obliged to share what I know with the other two people who made the effort to come to this tour (possibly with misaligned expectations as I did).  “Well, I am a member on the Disboards, which is an online community.  If you have a question about Disney, these people will have the answer for you within 5 minutes flat.  Anyway, on that board, this story is Disney’s Wilderness Lodge 101.  There was a cast member, someone they called ‘A Wilderness Vet,’ and he really loved his job here.  He apparently started the tradition of rubbing Humphrey’s nose.  Humphrey is the bear on the bottom of the totem pole near the mercantile shop.  Park Ranger Stan, do you mind shining your power-point dot on Humphrey for us,” I request.  Park Ranger Stan is happy to assist my presentation and directs our attention to Humphrey with his pen.  I continue, “Well, he told everyone that when they visited Disney’s Wilderness Lodge, if they would rub Humphrey’s nose at the start of their vacation, it would make their magical vacation dreams come true.  He has died since then, but people still seek out Humphrey every time they visit to carry on this tradition.  My kids and I did this when we first arrived earlier this week, and it was a lot of fun for us.  As you can see, the paint on Humphrey’s nose has been worn off.  This is because of all of the rubbing, so this cast member’s legacy lives on at the nose of this adorable bear.”

My story is met with unexpressive nods from the inattentive couple.  Apparently, brick and mortar statistics actually were all they came to hear about.  But Park Ranger Stan looks as if he could not be more pleased with my tale.  He remarks, “That was wonderful!  Maybe you should learn to give the tour.  I never realized that Humphrey’s paint had been rubbed off, but you are right.  Isn’t that amazing!” 

Due to Park Ranger Stan’s reaction, I feel proud of my contribution.  Maybe the mystical cast member’s legend will expand if Park Ranger Stan decides to add the tale to his tour.

Suddenly, Park Ranger Stan’s face brightens.  “I have a story for you that I think you will like,” he offers, “But we will have to go to the floor where the weddings take place.  Does everyone have enough time to do this?  Our tour is actually over now, so you may leave if you need to.”  Everyone agrees to stay, however, and he leads us to the higher level.

Once we are there, he has us look over the railing for a bird’s eye view of the lobby floor.  In a secretive tone he relays that he doesn’t always give this information out because some consider it to be offensive to their religion or to their lack of religion.  With that disclaimer, I am hooked.  I know this is going to be good. 

He then explains that the Native American tale of Creation is told in the layout of the wood planks on the floor.  So with his pointer pen in hand, Park Ranger Stan begins the elaborate Creation story from the perspective of Native Americans.  With each story detail he traces the floor with his floating red dot to illustrate the hidden symbolism.  Park Ranger Stan becomes more engrossed in the legend with each word, and I can see his enthusiasm and pride in the lodge growing as his story progresses.  He continues until the end and delivers an excellent and informative report that certainly speaks of the lodge’s architectural history as well as the theology that is the backdrop for it.  And by the time he finishes this climatic presentation, I am full to the brim with satisfaction.  This is the type of thing that I had hoped to learn about.  It was long in coming, but Park Ranger Stan did not let me down.

As we conclude our time together, Park Ranger Stan asks again, “Does anyone have more questions?”  I raise my hand again.  He looks at me quizzically, waiting for me to respond.  I carefully inquire, “Are you able to show us any of the Hidden Mickeys of the lodge?”  Park Ranger Stan flashes me his winning smile but says, “You have stumped me again.”  Rats!  “Well,” I think to myself, “no one could blame me for trying.”

REFRAMING THE BIG PICTURE

When our turn around the carousel is over and we carefully dismount, it is time to go.  We all hold hands and move toward the exit on Main Street, U.S.A.® with a deep sense of contentment and peace. 

It is a bittersweet and almost surreal feeling to walk this path voluntarily.  I am so accustomed to being pushed down it by a dense, packed-sardine-style crowd that is making its mass exodus.  In a way, I miss the sense of solidarity that hangs heavy over a large group that has shared the same struggle of surviving a long day and is now being removed due to the arbitrary practice of closing the park by a particular hour.  It seems odd to pass the brightly lit shops and heavenly smells on the way out without crying babies all around and the balloons of a person, who stands directly in front of me, smacking me in the face.  And it is definitely foreign to have enough open space around me as I walk so that I can see the ground and avoid awkwardly stepping on a trolley track and twisting my ankle.

Yet at the same time, I have a new sense of pride as I leave on my own accord.  It is unexpected, but there is a great amount of dignity in admitting that your time in the park has come to an end before cast members begin rejecting your entry in the lines of their closed attractions.  And there is certainly less stress in catching your mode of transportation since hour-long waits have not yet formed in the boat docks, bus stops, and tram and monorail depots.

I feel my eyes are opened a little more with every step toward our exit.  Apparently, Disney can be enjoyed in more ways than The Sacred Seven indicate.  A “perfect” Disney vacation takes a different shape for different families in different stages, and room needs to be left for these different “walks of life” as well as the evolution of one’s own “walk in life”.  For example, it has become apparent that even in this single vacation, our family’s membership in the Disney Vacation Club has already begun to subtly change the way that we operate.  It is relieving to understand that it is Ok to allow these changes to take place . . . even embrace them.

I hold tightly to the new treasure of these truths as we board the red flag-flying boat that takes us back to The Villas at Disney’s Wilderness Lodge.  We are on our way back to relax a little in the comfort of our villa before turning in for a full night’s rest.  The extra hours of sleep will be needed for the emotionally difficult day that looms before us, the day of departure from our cherished Walt Disney World®.

A HAPPY ENDING

Feeling the need to avert having nightmares, I suggest that we all pick a more cheerful ride in Fantasyland® to follow my harrowing time in The Haunted Mansion.  DH proposes that whatever it is, it should be the last ride of the day.  He is really feeling drained by all of our activities and sees a need for adequate rest to prepare for our trip back home tomorrow.  The children don’t protest since they seem very tired as well.

As a NDM, I am not accustomed to leaving the park before it closes.  However, I remember the epiphany I nearly had earlier in the day.  Perhaps the time has finally come to acknowledge that staying in the park solely for the sake of neurosis is not in the best interest of the family.  Am I able to do this?  I hesitate for a brief moment as I try to conjure a reason to delay our exit, but I am unable to do so.  We have covered every square inch of the Magic Kingdom® and even repeated some of it.  Everything we could have wished for in a trip has come to pass.  To insist that there is more to desire would be beyond neurotic—it would be crazy. 

The simple truth is that it is time to retract (or at least amend) the final tenet of The Sacred Seven that states:  Thou shalt not exit the park until forced.  As impossible as it previously seemed, I now understand that there are instances when an early departure may be preferred.  And now that I have the comfort of knowing my family will return every year, I feel I can relinquish some of my rituals and trust that my family’s Disney heritage will still be passed on effectively.

Without reluctance, I agree to DH’s suggested plan and prepare for our last ride of the trip.  The entire family agrees that Cinderella’s Golden Carousel is the ideal attraction to end our wonderful day.   There is little wait for it.  It is possibly the most romantic and cheerful exhibit in all of the Magic Kingdom®, and everyone can ride it.  So when we are admitted, we hurriedly select our steeds and begin our fanciful rotations around the musical core.  As the wind blows my sweat-plastered and knotted hair, I hear the fantastic giggles of my small equestrians.  I relish every second and remember that it is unforgettable moments like these that make Walt Disney World® a beautiful place.