Have a Magical Day
I've taken children to Disney World before. I've even taken two children to Disney World while pregnant with a third.
Anticipating that juggling a tween, second-grader and preschooler among four theme parks would be well beyond my skillset, I invited Patricia, our babysitter of 10 years, to meet us in Orlando.
When we picked Patricia up at the airport after a nearly monthlong separation, at least one of us fell into her arms weeping with joy. (The children also were excited to see her.)
I am forever indebted to Patricia for coming. Taking three children to Disney World is a whole 'nother level. Of exhaustion, confusion and newly-lowered -- again -- parental standards.
Visiting the Magic Kingdom triggers sensory overload on so many levels - the characters! the rides! the lines! the crowds! the incredibly loud ambient music piped into every corner of the park!
And this is from the perspective of an adult who spent two years commuting daily through Grand Central Station, Penn Station and the World Trade Center.
Day 1, we go to the Magic Kingdom. We ride the Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin.
Doyle/Elliott from E.T. and Callie
I did not pay for these photos. I took shots of the screens at the end of the ride. Which was a good move, because I needed that cash for the bribery balloon.
I was pretty excited about being a "Galactic Hero" until I saw that the unmanned gun next to Patricia got the same title.
After the ride, Callie uses Christmas gift cards from her grandparents and cousins to get a Toy Story toy she's had her eye on. Welcome to the family, Rex.
By the time we've made our way over to Adventureland or something like that on the other side of the park, the four-year-old has launched into a tantrum. Remarkably early in the day, too.
Kid had a full breakfast and a decent night's sleep. She went on the ride she wanted without any wait. And yet she goes nuclear before we hit the two-hour mark. (See sensory overload, above.)
After a few attempts to de-escalate, I determine this is not going to dissipate quickly and we need to GET THE HELL OUT OF THE PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN LINE before things get really out of control.
This is when the bad parenting happens.
Public service announcement: A rapid exit from the Magic Kingdom is nearly impossible. In case you ever find yourself in a similar pickle, here are the steps involved in getting back to your car:
1. Wind your way back through the crowd and at least one live musical number on Main Street to the park entrance.
2. Return the rented stroller.
3. Coax screaming 38-pound child to walk through hordes of people to the exit, then up the ramp to the monorail. Smile calmly at the guests gawking at your child's nightmarish behavior.
4. Wait for monorail.
5. Ride monorail for two excruciatingly slow stops with screaming child (plus other assorted children and saintly babysitter). Do not engage when older brothers grouse that they can't *believe* their sister is behaving so poorly, and how they themselves *never* melted down when they were four. ("Maybe once every two weeks, Mom, but not like this," Doyle insists, as Patricia and I snort and avoid eye contact.)
6. Get off monorail at Ticket & Transportation Center, walk down ramp, find tram stop for "Heroes" -- as opposed to "Villains" -- lot.
7. Wait for tram, occasionally trying to distract child and then giving up and pretending not to know anyone in your group.
8. Board tram with screaming child, trying to guide rather than roughly pull said screaming child into tram.
9. Ride tram to your car, located at Aladdin section, row 36 or perhaps Simba section, row 18.
10. Step off tram at Aladdin section with now-sleeping child, carry child at least 17 miles down row 36 to your car, load formerly-screaming child into car seat, other children, friends and family members into car, and proceed to the exit. Congratulations. You have now left the park.
11. Hold it together when said child awakens moments later, playful and ready for the next adventure.
Hi Mommy! What are we doing now? (My four-year-old still drinks milk from a bottle. Ask my sister about it, she'll fill you in.)
So, yeah, I did actually buy my tantrum-having, bratty-behaving child a $12 balloon on Main Street as a last-ditch effort to get her to stop crying and preserve the sanity of everyone whose path we would cross during the journey back to the car.
And guess what? I would have paid $30.
