We finished lunch at The Liberty Tree Tavern and rated our lunch. On the PeptoB Scale. The rating is a bit of a toss up. The kidlets gave it three thumbs up. High up. Especially Beth. Who loved the turkey. A lot. We know this because she mentioned it about three-teen times. Before we left. Mellyman gave it a thumbs down. Because he was still disturbed about the foccacia. And its dryness and its heaviness. And he missed the old bread. We know this because he mentioned it about three-teen times. I gave it a half of a thumbs up. The salad was good. As usual. I always get it. The dressing was delish. As were the fries. Dipped in the dressing. And my stomach was feeling fine. After eating. Strangely enough. Perhaps, I thought, I was getting over whatever stomach issue I had arrived with. I felt good. But... still... I usually leave The Liberty Tree Tavern feeling pretty jazzed about eating there. Not so much this time. No idea why. Beth, however, was jazzed. Instead. For me. About it. She was slightly bummed that I could not fit another meal here into our schedule. The only option was to replace our Mother/Daughter Tea at the Grand Floridian later in the week with a return visit. Neither one of us wanted to do that. We love going for High Tea.
It is because we are so cultured. And refined. Inherently classy.
And... now it is time for Tommy's Super Pooper.
I know this because he mentioned it about three-teen times. As we were finishing up and getting ready to go. It started with the quiet whisper, "Mommy I have to poop!". Then again. Then he said, "Mommy the poop is getting ready!" Then he said, "Mommy! Super POOPER!"
I knew that we had to go. Right then. Upstairs to the washroom.
We did. Hightail it. To the ladies room. Hurry into the stall. Thanking the powers that be... who control such things as bathroom locations and line-ups... that there was NONE. At all. I put him up on the seat and said, "Don't touch anything in here!" Whereupon he promptly reached down and steadied himself with both hands. Grabbing firmly on to the seat. And sides of the toilet.
As usual.
Shudder!
We waited. And waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Some more.
Nothing. Happened.
Me: So, Tommy? Where's the super poop?
Tommy: It's still upstairs.
Me: Tell it to come down.
Tommy: I don't want to. It's a spikey poop.
Me: Oh, super.
Tommy: No. Spikey. I said.
Me: Well... what then?
Tommy: You sing.
Me: Here? In the ladies room?
Tommy: Yes please. The song. It may help me poop.
Me: ( To the tune of "Little Bird", people!) Super Poop, up high in the bum of me. Super Poop, y'a need to swim and be free. Did your Super Pee... yada yada blah blah.
I made it up to amuse myself during those endlessly long moments of infernal parental punishment I call: Toilet Training.
I regret it... now.
So do the rest of the happyhaunts.
Except for Tommy. Who finds it to be "The Magical Laxative Song". A song which I... or he or both of us... have sung at home in our washroom. Friends' homes. A couple of outhouses. A Go-Train. A Dora The Explorer Concert. And other. Places. Plenty of places. TFI. TMI.
Lucky me.
This time, in the middle of it, I heard the door to the ladies room open. Then the sound of running water. Then the door close...again.
Heh heh. Would have LOVED to be able to read minds. I think.
No matter. Though. Because it worked. He was successful.
And I am hard to embarrass.
We washed our hands. About three-teen times. I think.
We headed back downstairs to join the rest of the haunts. They were standing around outside. Waiting for us. Impatiently. I may add.
Beth wanted to go straight to Fantasyland.
Calvin wanted to go straight to the Haunted Mansion.
Mellyman didn't care.
Tommy is deathly afraid of the Haunted Mansion.
Guess where I wanted to go?
Yep.
My Mansion of Dreams. My favourite ride. Bar none.
Ahhhh. Welcome home!
Take that... DVC! Shhhh. Don't tell DH. I like the DVC's "Welcome Home", too.
This one is just better. To Me(l).
Calvin and I decided that we would go first. Probably because neither Beth nor Tommy cared to go. Mellyman doesn't feel the "magic", either. Of this ride. Just Calvin and I.
Sadly.
Because to me it is much more than a ride. It is a world unto itself. A remarkable experience. A feast for the senses. A journey that is never exactly the same. Each time. I've ridden this ride many many times. And I see or hear or discover something new and exciting EVERYTIME.
Yes. Everytime.
Calvin and I walk towards the entrance. Immediately I feel the nostalgia. Because... as much as it is new and different... each time. It is ALSO the same. As the first times I rode it. Thirty years ago. If that makes any sense????? To you. At all?
You know how certain smells take you back to a particular moment in time? And songs? Both are HUGE memory triggers. At least for Me(l). For example, the song "Stairway to Heaven" immediately sends me back to countless high school dances. Where I would spend endless minutes crushed against some guy I would NEVER, EVER have asked to dance. If it were MY choice. Smelling his shirt. Yep. Smelling the sweaty shirt of some guy I wouldn't even have chosen to be lab-partners with. If given a choice. Because... I had a strict "No Turn Down" policy. I still do. To this day. If I am asked to dance. I will. And I will smile and appear to enjoy myself and thank the gentleman. At the end. It is because of this: I always had a number of male friends. Growing up. Many times they were not considered the "cool" guys. At school. And I witnessed some harsh brush offs. Even as early as at senior public (middle school for you Americans) dances. Brush offs that looked really painful. I realized right away that I did not care for the look in their eyes. After the brush off. By the girl they really wanted to dance with and had gathered their courage to approach. I also realized... that I REALLY didn't care for the look. In the girls' eyes. As well. So, I will dance with anyone who asks. Anytime.
I am very popular with the "Geriatric Crowd". At weddings and social functions. Now. But... those old guys can DANCE! Mind you. They know some moves. Nowadays, young people just don't know how to dance! I say.
Heh heh. (I'm channeling The General. For some reason.)
Anywho... where was I? Before the rabbit trail.
Okay... I was saying that approaching the Haunted Mansion is like being transported back in time. The look, the feel and, yes, the smell of it. Is the same as when I was a little girl. I feel the same innocent excitement and wonder... that I felt the first time I walked towards it. With my parents.
I lovelovelove it. That feeling.
My Father loved this ride too. Just as much as I do. The General, not so much. She rode it only a couple of times.
My Dad and I rode it over and over and over. Each time we visited The World. As both a child and a teenager.
It was... "OUR RIDE".
And it still is. Mine and my Dad's.
But...
We're letting Calvin join our little club. And, I desperately wish three more would join, too. But... they don't seem to want to. So far.
Calvin and I stand by the door and stare at this:
Waiting patiently for her eyes to open. And look around.
There are always people standing around that haven't seen it before. Their reactions are funny. Sometimes the other people they are with miss it and don't believe them. Sometimes they are startled. Sometimes they think they imagined it. The first time.
The door opens and a castmember is looming in front of us. It was my favourite Haunted Mansion guy... the big fat grumpy guy. No offense. I mean there is no other way to describe him. Except to add... HE'S GREAT! He always is right in character. He looks bored and unhappy. He's perfect. Calvin and I were hoping it would be him. We try to make him smile. This time Calvin bounces in front of him like a bunny. While I say, " Hi! How're you doing? BUDDY!" With a big smile. When he looks blankly at us. I say, "Want to hug it out?!" He turns. And walks away from us to the parlor.
Heh heh.
He's good. I say! Just like the British Beefeaters. They NEVER smile.
Well.
Only for Pamela Anderson.
And... Fergie.
So Calvin and I stand in the middle of the "Stretching Room". And feel the magic.
We both love this part and wrap our arms around each other and pretend to shake with fear.
Sometimes I have to "shush" other guests. Who insist on talking to each other. And ruining the experience.
For us.
The lightening flashes and we see the body hanging!
We are silly, excited mortals!
I mean... grim grinning happy haunts.
We board our Doombuggy and set off. Into another world. Of ghosts from around the world. There are ghosts from different literary and historical periods and nations. Plus supernatural and occult standards. Another world.
A very busy, noisy cluttered world.
I love the ballroom scene. My favourite.
If I ride it a hundred more times. In this life. I still believe I'll catch something new each time.
Calvin is right THERE with me.
We are loving it. Together. He'll point and turn to me. We'll grin excitedly at each other. We pretend to be scared. We pretend to be bored. Right before the guys pop up from behind the tombstones. Screaming. Then we scream at each other.
Whew!
Great ride.
I'm always sad when it's over.
We exit our Doombuggy. The two of us. The ghostly hitchhiker never seems to leave with us.
Sadly.
And rush out to tell the other three happyhaunts what a "GREAT RIDE! THE BEST RIDE!" It is.
Yet once... again. For about the three-teenth time.
"There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west. And my spirit is crying for leaving..."
To be continued. Up next: More Mansion of Dreams. But not for me. No Mansion for me! Fantasyland calls. Tommy.
I would be glued to my tv. Seriously. Like i'm glued to this trip report. 
Nothing would get done around my house. My little boy would be running around with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. In his underwear and nothing else cause I wouldn't have time to feed the family and do laundry AND watch that awsome show. I know what my priorities are. Hehe. Just kidding. Maybe. 
admit he does in fact have a little inocent crush on that Sexy Momma Mel Happyhaunt....
Loved it.
