Mommy Bloggers: A Vacation of One's Own

This essay has been written for Mommybloggers by the hilarious mazeway of SquidInk:

About a year ago, it came in the mail: “It has come to our attention that you have 3 children over the age of 2. You have not yet taken them to Disney World. You have one year to comply.” Why hadn't we taken them yet? Let's just say we weren't all that comfortable handing over the children to a 7 foot tall mouse wearing pants. But hey, at least he's wearing pants, right? It's a rite of passage for Middle Class America coming somewhere between “Would you like to cut the cord?” and “I'm here for your daughter.” It's no vision quest, but, apparently, it's required. So we started planning. If we're going to go to Disney, at least the kids will be old enough to remember it. To be certain that their memories are pleasant and not of the “Remember when Mom lost it in line for the Jungle Cruise and totally strangled Scrooge McDuck? I can still hear his cries for mercy” variety, we roped my in-laws into going as well. Three kids...four adults...I instantly declared my intention to stay at the hotel, lounging by the pool, sipping fruity drinks with umbrellas in them, and flirting with pool boys. “Are you really not going to the parks? Don't you want to see your children's faces as they experience the wonder of the Happiest Place on Earth?” Apparently my sentiment gene got pushed out of the pool to make room for my starting-projects-but-not-finishing-them gene because I was unswayed. Go. Have fun. I'll be here, rested and maybe a little drunk, when you get back.

Do I hate Disney? Well, it's more complicated that that...I'm a complex gal, dontchaknow? I'm creeped out by the powerful hold that all things Disney have on our culture. I let the kids watch the Disney Channel (truth be told, I'd let them watch The Spice Channel if it gave me 15 minutes of quiet), but I won't buy anything character-related. I think grown-ups who wear Pooh Bear sweatshirts baseball caps with Grumpy on them should also have to wear light-up sneakers and training pants. Most of the so-called “princess” movies tend to make me rant a bit “Oh! So she's just going to turn her back on her entire family and way of life and give up her voice—HER VOICE, PEOPLE, DON'T YOU SEE?--for a chance at meeting a man she's only ever seen from afar? This is what we tell our daughters?!?” or “Let me get this straight. He abuses her and frightens and threatens her but once she loves him enough he turns from a beast to a prince? That's the message? Hello?!?” But I do have a grudging respect for the craft. They do what they do well. But what I hate is lines, crowds, and stressed out parents shouting at their kids that Mommy and Daddy spent a lot of money to come here and they'd better enjoy Every Blessed Minute of it, by god, or else! So I was fine with opting out. And my family was fine with it. So yay.

I know that those of you with 8 homeschooled children under the age of 9 will think me a huge baby, but having three kids kicks my butt. I'm an introverted sort. I like silence, and solitude, and silence. Kids are not so good with the quiet. So I was just giddy with the idea that I could take my jewelery making supplies, some books, and a laptop. Day One, they went to the Magic Kingdom. I made a bracelet, worked a crossword, had a nap. Day Two, they went to Epcot. I visited some imaginary friends from an internet chat board. But Day Three was to be in Animal Kingdom. And I do love me some critters, when they're of normal size and not wearing clothes. So I bought a one day ticket and went along.

Our day started before that park officially opened, at a “character breakfast” at Donald's Breakfast-asaurus. (A note: Fine dining establishments seldom have “asaurus” tacked onto the end. Nor do they feature roaming 7ft tall ducks in Santa hats. Just so you know.) We walked a lot, rode some rides, saw some critters, didn't see anyone abusing their kids. Not even me. I was just bowled over by the attention to detail in the “theming” of the exhibits and rides. There's a new section opening soon called “Everest Expedition” or some such alliteration, and it's been made to look just like Tibet, only really clean and free of actual Tibetans. The pay phones are even painted to look rusted, but not in a dirty way. The outside of the restrooms looks totally beat and run down and shabby, but inside—pristine, modern, gleaming. It was just so...Disney. I know, too much time in grad school, not enough time learning how to just enjoy stuff like a person. Whatever. My point is...well, I'm not sure I have one. But I went in, okay, I DID go into a park, so get off my back.

It wasn't so bad. But I was happy to get back to my reading and beading and napping. I suppose the Good Mommy would write about how much I found I missed them while they were gone and how glad I was to get to spend time with them again, but I'm not that gal. Return time came too soon. Seven days wasn't enough. I never did get to lounge by the pool and leer drunkenly at pool boys (turns out Orlando isn't in St. Thomas, and while 70 is nice for walking around, it's not so great for pool-side loafing), but I did get some jewelry made, some book read, some blogging done. And my animosity toward Disney is lessened just a bit. I almost bought my youngest a Snow White doll for Hanukkah. Then I came to my senses. “She just up and marries some guy who actually sought her out and kissed her thinking she was dead? Doesn't that seem a little grotesque?” And next time I'm choosing our vacation destination. And I assure you, it won't involve giant mice.

Read more from mazeway at her home on the 'web: Squidink:

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