off to neverland
DIS Veteran
- Joined
- Aug 21, 2004
- Messages
- 703
Cast:Me, 34, mom and wife
Dix, 43, Great husband and dad
Boo, 5.25 year-old son who likes Way Dangerous Things
Sis, 2.25 year-old pony princess daughter
Important trip items:
-The exact same rental car we had 3 months ago during WDW trip
Dix was gone when I woke the next morning. On the nightstand next to the bed was a cup of coffee and a note that he was exercising and would be back in a little while.
I sat up and took a sip of the coffee. Cream and two sugars, just the way I like it. The temperature was lukewarm, so it must have been sitting there for a while and I could tell by the cup that he had brought it up from the counter service restaurant in the lobby.
Not exactly his homemade Love Coffee, but definitely left for me with love.
The kids were still sound asleep and I stood up and stretched in the dark room. I needed to brush my teeth, so I tiptoed over the kids scattered toys and paraphernalia and found my way to the bathroom sink.
Yikes! When I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, I had to laugh. I have longer, naturally curly hair, and I normally tame it down with a large round brush and hair dryer. I had been too tired to deal with it after my shower the night before, so I had gone to bed with a wet head.
Now it was frizzy and puffy on the temples and flat on the side on which I had slept. My face looked tiny and pale in comparison to the out-of-control hair ball that surrounded it.
I looked like I had stuck my finger in an electrical outlet.
My aunt often tells the story of when her husband was a firefighter, and ironically, her own chimney started on fire. Like a good mother, she shoved the kids out the door to safety, but then returned into the house in a valiant effort to pick her dirty underwear off the bathroom floor. She was so embarrassed by the thought of those firemen friends seeing her dirty underwear, that she risked her own life.
As I inspected my hair in the mirror, I told myself that if there were a fire in the Wilderness Lodge, I too would have to save myself the embarrassment and fix my hair before I got rescued.
Looking at the disaster it was, and knowing how long it was going to take to get it halfway tame, I figured Id never make it out alive.
As I brushed my teeth, I made the determined effort to stop looking at my hair mop. I was wearing a spaghetti strap cami shirt and some loose pants, and I studied my body in the mirror. For the past six months, I had completely dedicated myself to exercising, and I had lost nearly fifteen pounds and had really toned up. Since our last WDW trip, I had pushed very hard, and looking at myself now I doubted my evil children would be able to jiggle my saddlebag flab the way they had just three months earlier.
For the first time since I had had children, I liked the way my body looked. I was proud of what I had achieved and felt motivated to keep going.
I liked myself.
Then I made the mistake of looking at my hair again.
Lord have mercy on us all.
I grabbed my lukewarm given with love coffee and tiptoed out to the balcony. It was early morning, and I doubted anyone would be out there. I carefully peered out the door and my eyes immediately wandered to the dumpster below me.
So, this was the infamous Wilderness Lodge dumpster view that so many on the DIS feared.
It really wasnt bad. There was a wood pole structure built around it in which vines climbed to hide it, and the dumpster was green and blended in with the trees. It didnt bother me at all, and I probably wouldnt have even taken note of it except that so many have made a big deal about it on the Dis.
I looked at the tops of the trees in front of me and stretched, reaching my arms high toward the sky. The warm and humid Florida air felt great after the long dry winter in Canada. Life was good, and I felt happy, even with a dumpster view.
Higher, higher, higher I reached.
Hmmm, hmmmm .. A deep male voice next to me broke through the silence! My heart stopped, and I jumped straight up in the air and launched into my famous super scared scream.
In high school, I screamed that scream in a Halloween haunted house and attracted so much attention that a newspaper photographer took a picture of my friends and my terrified faces.
We made the front page.
In Brazil, I screamed that scream when I was startled by a young man, who unbeknownst to me, was hired to paint the wall near next to our house. I let loose on him with all my might and the next day when our gardener came to work, he told me that rumors of my terrifying scream had been circulating the favela (slum) all night long. He was certain that I no longer needed to worry about my safety because everyone in the favela (slum) thought I was crazy and would be too afraid to come and rob me.
I had absolutely traumatized that poor painter with my screams.
Well okay, maybe it wasnt just the screams. Maybe the fact that I had knocked him off the wall and chased him down the street with a broom might have had something to do with his trauma.
But I still think most of his fear came from my scream.
The painter and I eventually met and became friends, and he was very careful to warn me when he would be climbing around on my fence.
My screams always come in three waves.
First, the long AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGH!
Then, a medium AAAAAAAGGGGGH!
And, finally, a short staccato, AAAGH!
Often by the time the first long scream is finished, I have realized that whatever startled me is no longer a threat, but for some reason, the other two screams follow anyway.
They are involuntary reactions. I have no control over my screams.
So there I stood in my cami and low-waisted sleeping pants, with my hair a complete disaster, screaming my lungs out at the man next door.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGH!
AAAAAAAGGGGGH!
AAAGH!
And then I ran back into the room and shut the door behind me.
I think it's safe to say that I have a very active startle reflex.
He had scared the wits out of me! He must have been there the whole time, but that daggumit Hated-On-The-Dis-Dumpster had distracted me and I hadnt looked directly to my right when I walked out.
I was terribly embarrassed, and felt that I should apologize to him, but I couldnt go back out there with my hair and clothes the way they were! I guessed I could always freshen up, but it was going to take me a long time to work through that mess of hair, and I didnt want the kids to wake up.
Actually, on second thought... if they had slept through my famous scream, then certainly I could fix my hair and not wake them. Kids be darned, the hair had to be fixed.
I was just getting ready to tackle my hair when Dix gently opened the door and tiptoed in. He came straight to me for a kiss, and then laughed when he saw my hair. He gave it a gentle rub and said, Bad hair day?
Thats not all, I told him. You might want to check on the poor guy next door. I launched into the whole story, and Dix listened intently until I came to the part about screaming.
It wasnt your Brazil Scared Scream, was it?
Yup, I nodded sadly.
He stood there for a moment in silence and then burst out laughing.
Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. You arent the one with the wild hair and the ridiculous scream, Dix.
I gave him a shove. PLEASE Go outside and make amends for me! Tell him Im on drugs or something. Tell him I forgot my valium this morning. Just make it okay.
Dix went out to the balcony and before long, I could hear the deep rumble of two male voices and then a smaller, kid-like voice.
Oh great, my screaming woke his kid.
Well, at least Dix would be friendly and nice while I showered and prepared for the day. As soon as I was presentable, Id go out myself and apologize.
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I love your reports. You are the best writer/story teller. I can smell the jasmine now! 
