So this was going to be a post about my mental status in Orlando, Florida. A few hours ago when I was composing this in my head, I was miserable.
I was going to describe a typical scenario of my children’s behaviour since we have arrived here. It would have gone something like this:
Wyatt: Ok so we’re here in
Magic Kingdom Epcot Center Daytona Beach Cocoa Beach Kennedy Space Center this world famous attraction. I’m hungry.
Zoe: I want some French fries.
Me: it’s 10am, you don’t need French fries. You just had breakfast less than an hour ago. You aren’t hungry.
Terran: I’m thirsty.
Me: Here’s a bottle of water.
Terran: But I don’t want water. I want chocolate milk.
Me: I can’t buy you any. I’m not supposed to spend any money whatsoever while we’re here. Your dad strictly forbids any extra expenditures whatsoever. That’s why we’re carrying this 50 lb backpack with 24 bottles of water.
Terran: Mom, Jackson is calling me Mental Maxwell.
Jackson: That’s because I’m Disabled Danny.
Me: Don’t say stuff like that. It’s not politically correct.
Actually I don’t even acknowledge this kind of stuff. Who has time for PC when I’m trying to convince them that the granola bars we brought are just as good as the funnel cake they’re being refused.
Zoe: I’ve got a sore stomach from my hunger pains.
Me: Well, you’re going to have to eat one of the cold pizza slices we brought left over from last night’s supper because I’m not supposed to buy you anything here. Remember: no spending any money.
Wayne: Oh for the love of God, would you guys just give it up!
And then I would have continued this post by describing how much of a tyrant Wayne is while on these holidays. How he can’t just sit still and enjoy the moment. How every second of Epcot Center at Disneyworld, he was marching us from one pavilion to the next. And if there’s a lineup, well forget about getting anywhere near that ride because Wayne doesn’t like to wait.
Oh you want to meet Winnie the Pooh? Only if nobody else is waiting in the lineup to meet him.
And all of this is done on the strictest of budgets.
Although he will encourage us to enter the souvenir shops, there will be no buying of souvenirs.
Even though he will gesture towards the cute little candy stores and the fudge-making factories, saying, “Look! Look over there! It says that they have the best chocolate in the world!” absolutely no purchases will be made.
There will be no buying of additional snacks, drinks, tshirts, or postcards.
If you’re hungry but we’ve gone through the snacks that were packed, then tough. You must wait until the next scheduled meal.
By the time we reach the planned restaurant, the kids are faint from hunger.
This is Zoe. She’s curled up on herself from weakness.
This is Jackson. He’s normally a very
hyper exuberant child.
When I first saw him like this, I was pretty sure he had passed out due to low blood sugar.
I was going to write about my feelings of failure as a parent who has been sucked into the stereotypical Disney vacation despite the fact that I’m the type of person who would much rather flake out on a deck chair by the pool or the Atlantic ocean while the kids swim. But noooo. I allowed myself to believe that my children required this kind of vacation in order to have experienced an idyllic childhood. I listened while my friends told me that Disney is magical. I had to see it through the eyes of my children. I had to be a kid again myself and experience what I never did as a child.
However, because I hated every second of everything, and getting upset with my children for hating it too, the experience wasn’t idyllic one little bit.
I was going to write a post about how I felt like a shit now, because instead of giving my children a good experience, all they would remember was me yelling at them about how ungrateful they were.
Turns out though that this post won’t be needed.
While we were at the biggest McDonald’s in the world (this was written on the sign) we witnessed a young woman being dragged out of the restaurant by her hair by her boyfriend. She was yelling, “Somebody help me!” The children and I stood stalk-still, numbed into inaction while the boyfriend ripped the dress off her back and left her curled up into a little ball in her underwear. As he exited the restaurant screaming something that we didn’t hear and/or don’t remember, Wyatt, my oldest son, looked at me and said, “I can’t wait to go back to school to tell my friends about this.”
Ok. Not funny.
But the girl was fine. She left a few moments later wearing a McDonald’s tshirt mumbling that she was going to kick her boyfriend’s ass.
But talk about dinner conversation. And the memories!