After a nice, long rest in our cold dark hotel room, we were ready to hit it and hit it hard.
Which was a good thing because we had a busy night ahead of us. It was the big night. The one we had been looking forward to since we’d arrived. Not only were we attending
MNSSHP later on but we also had an ADR at Chef Mickey’s beforehand.
And we were pumped. To say the least.
We, as a family, love Chef Mickey’s. Love it. The place just screams Disney to us. We’ve always found the food to be pretty good there (big nasty bowls of Sno Caps aside) and the character interaction has always been impressive. Well, except for that one time. And again I say: don’t touch the duck’s bill. Don’t squeeze it. Don’t massage it. Don’t thump it. Don’t poke it. Don’t chew on it. Don’t even look at it. Cause you might draw back a nub. Grumpy overgrown ducks aside, the place is very cool and it’s where we prefer to have dinner on our first night. That is, unless we wait too late to book it and all the ADRs are gone. Ahem. I think the fact that the restaurant is located in the Contemporary gives it a very unique feel. Every time that monorail whizzes by overhead, you’re reminded of the fun that’s just waiting to be had next door at the Magic Kingdom.
It’s enough to make you downright giddy.
Or at least a little bit yellow.
With our mind on the mouse and the mouse on our mind, we hop up and get moving quick as a flash. If you’ll remember, the girl was going through a Minnie phase on this trip. She was all about Mickey’s main squeeze and she had been waiting all week to show off her new Minnie costume, complete with white gloves and sparkling red sequined bodice.
I pull it out of the closet, take it off the hanger and tell the girl “It is time.”
The squeal that followed was so shrill it was inaudible to human ears. Pluto next door at Camp Minnie Mickey, however, wasn’t a fan. Apparently. She was so excited she jumped down from the bunk bed and landed straight in the outfit. Gloves, tights, shoes and all. Then she went to stand by the door and wait patiently.
One down, one to go.
Before we left, I let the boy look at some costumes online and pick the one he wanted. I resisted giving my input and left the decision completely up to him. As long as his choice came from the pool of pre-approved Disney themed costumes I had managed to previously bookmark. Duh. Who do you think you’re dealing with?
The boy had done the Star Wars thing for two years in a row. Been there, done that. So he decided to mix things up a lil bit. His first choice this time around was Jack Sparrow. Cap'm Jack. The clothes themselves looked identical to the duds Johnny Depp sported in the movie. They were very cool. But the kicker was the hat. It was the piece de resistance. In other words, the hat rocked. In fact, it sealed the deal in the selection process and was just the push Jack Sparrow needed to win out over the Clone Trooper. It was that cool. Attached to the hat was a red do rag and attached to the do rag was the hair. The long, black, partially beaded Jack Sparrow hair. Without the hat, the boy was merely a nameless pirate. One of many. But with the hat, the boy became Jack Sparrow. Cap’m Jack Sparrow. It pulled the entire look together.
And yes, there’s a reason I just wrote all of that. Hang with me. Because unlike this season of Lost, it’ll make sense eventually.
Or will it?
Before we started getting dressed, I asked the boy, nay, I
strongly encouraged the boy to bring his costume with him and to get dressed after our meal, like we had done last year. Because I know my son. And I knew he would be more comfortable wearing his civilian clothes during the hootenanny with Mickey and crew. But he was feeling rather bold that night. And the boy was adamant. He wanted to wear his costume to Chef Mickey’s. He didn’t give a flip about waiting until later to change. Puh-leeze woman, he told me with his eyes. He was in Disneyworld. He was wearing the costume to dinner and he was wearing it loud and proud, dangit!
You just know that’s gonna come back to bite him in the butt, don’t you?
But, whatever. He was insistent. And he was growing up, after all. I figured if anyone knew the boy’s comfort level, it would be the boy.
So I say “Ooooo-kay. But only if you’re sure. It’s your call. Completely. Now come here like a good little boy and let Mama put some makeup on you.”
You're waiting for me to say I'm kidding.
Only I'm not.
Okay, so maybe I didn't say it like that. But at some point, I decided it might be a good idea to kick the whole Jack Sparrow vibe up a notch. To plus it. As Walt would say. I dig around in my makeup bag, retrieve my eyeliner and get ready to give the boy the Jack Sparrow Smoky Eye Special.
Oh yes I did.
And calm down. Yes, I did apply a touch of eyeliner. Just a touch. A dab. A speck. A smidgen, really. Just to complete the look. Cause it's all about the look. And no, he didn’t look like Nicole Richie when I was done. Or Katherine McPhee. Or Paula Deen. In other words: he didn't look like a female. Much. He did, however, look like Ozzy Osborne. Without the bat. With some sense and a funny hat.
Or did he?
Actually, it was hardly noticeable. And he had willingly agreed to it under the stipulation that he would also get an Insta-beard to go with it. A goatee, if you will. I agree but only because I kind of like the scruffy look. Well, the real kind, that is. Not the drawn on kind so much. And especially not if it looks like a cluttered collection of capital Vs, which is exactly what the boy’s goatee ended up looking like.
Because he insisted on doing it himself.
By the time he was done, he had shot past puberty and was well on his way to being a really short, hairy middle aged man in ten minutes flat, from the looks of it. A really short, (slightly) girlish hairy middle aged man with a goatee and a noticeably crooked mustache.
Without the hat.
With the hat, however, he was something totally different. With the hat, the boy was Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. Through and through. No lie. He looked awesome, if I do say so myself.
He checks his look in the mirror (from several angles), smiles his approval, then bares his teeth and growls at himself. He was the pirate and he was pumping himself up for a lil pillaging, plundering and pilfering. At the buffet line.
Once we’re all ready, we head downstairs, jump in the car and speed over to the Contemporary. We pull up, valet the ride (that’s right), and take off into the lobby to catch an elevator up to the fourth floor. As we arrive at the podium, I look around and notice that although we’re definitely not the first to arrive, it seems as though we’ve beaten the crowd. There is no line to speak of and we’re able to check in fairly quickly.
That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
Before we’re shown to our table, we take a detour over to the side to have our picture taken with a cardboard Mickey holding an insanely large fork and spoon. They’re nearly twice as tall as he is. Now I ask you. Why would anybody need a spoon that big? Am I missing something?
After we smile for the camera, we take a few steps and run smack dab into Mr. Grumpy himself. And no, it wasn’t Alec Baldwin. It was the duck. Our waitress happily volunteers to take a picture of us with him. Remembering the hand smack from last year, the boy informs her that he is disinclined to acquiesce to her request. Then we tell him to get a grip and get over it. Or something like that. Actually, it was a sweet picture. The kids were happy to see Donald and there were huge smiles all around. And the duck was cool this time. Because we’d learned our lesson. We didn’t grope the bill.
We wave goodbye to Donald and then follow the server to our table where we unload the camera gear and make ourselves comfortable.
The thing about Chef Mickey’s is that once you sit down, you can’t immediately run off to fix your plate. Well, not that you couldn't. But you shouldn’t. And any true Disney geek wouldn’t. You have to sit for a minute or two and just take in the scene. Get a bead on the characters and determine if you have enough time to make it to the buffet line and back before they come around. Cause you don’t wanna be missing the Mickey.
So we sit at our little table and look around us. For a minute or two. We notice once again how bright the color scheme is in there and we point out the huge red Mickey head graphics to the kids. The noise level is momentarily kicked up a notch as the monorail whizzes by overhead, carrying smiling families to their happy place just next door.
Once our server has our drink order, we decide that we should have enough time to pillage and plunder the buffet and be back before the mayhem that is the Parade of Characters makes its way around to our table. So we take off, load our plates down with prime rib and the fixins for us and chicken strips and the fixins for the kids, and then find our spot again. Before the girl could get the first bite of chicken down her throat, Mickey materializes and teases her with his presence at the surrounding tables.
She breaks out into an irrepressible grin as she notices The Mouse dancing with a little girl about her age a few tables over. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She had been missing the Mouse and there he stood in all his overgrown rodent glory. With her eyes trained on the prize, she clutches her Minnie doll a little too tightly, lets out a nervous giggle and whispers, “I bet he’ll kiss me.”
Which killed me. Because it was such a moment. I was struck by the innocence. Nothing else in that room existed to the child in that moment. Just an overgrown mouse with a two syllable laugh. You could see the butterflies in her stomach as he inched his way toward her.
Pan over to the boy.
He's kicked back in his seat. He's lost the hat and downright refuses to put it back on. Says it’s stupid. And that he looks like a girl. He deadpans “I’m an eight year old boy. What do you think, I’m s’posed to be wearing makeup?!”
My, how quickly they turn.
As the crowd had picked up and he'd noticed there weren't any other kids dressed in costume in the vicinity, we’d noticed his body language had changed. The eyes had become shifty. He began to slouch in his seat. And then it had happened. He had slowly pulled the hat that had previously ROCKED off his head and passed it to his father, leaving him looking like a nameless (abeit short and cute) pirate with Smoky Eyes.
With a drawn on goatee and crooked mustache for good measure.
The boy continued the running commentary on how raged up and humiliated he was that he was the only kid (besides his little sister, who obviously didn’t count) dressed up in costume and bemoaning the fact that he was wearing eyeliner in public while my husband and I laughed. Hard. Yeah, step off Alec and Britney. We’ll be taking the Parent of the Year award now. We couldn’t help it though. The boy can be pretty funny when he wants to be. And he was definitely on that night. In between convulsions, my husband put his arm around our son's neck, pulled him close, and began egging it on. Calling him girly names. Telling him he needed to switch razors. And making him laugh. Hard. Right back. Because that’s how we make our kids feel better. I reminded him that once we finished dinner and got to the MK, everyone there would be in costume. Not just him and his sister. And that I was sure we'd run into plenty of other extremely masculine pirates wearing eyeliner.
If that made him feel any better, the thing that happened next probably made him feel much worse. Once he was able to catch his breath, that is.
Chip appeared from out of nowhere, took one look at the boy, grabbed his belly, pointed, and began laughing at him. For a minute or two. Then he pretended to spit on his hands, rub them together, and wipe off the boy’s face. He was hugely animated and it was hilarious. The boy loves him some Chip and Dale. Absolutely loves them. Of all the characters, they’re the ones he talks about the most. And that overgrown chipmunk’s antics had him laughing so hard that night I thought he was going to projectile vomit his Mickeyroni across the table at any second. Once we snapped a picture and got the autograph, Chip patted the boy on the back, waved goodbye and moved on to another table.
One rodent down, three to go.
While the girl was distracted with Chip, The Mouse came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around and her eyes lit up. And they shared a little moment. He complimented the costume (we know because we’re very familiar with rodent sign language) and stretched out his arms for a hug. She happily complied. And then he kissed her. Smack dab on the forehead. Yep. She had called it. The girl knew she was lookin’ cute in the Minnie getup and that there was no way The Mouse would be able to resist her charms. They shared a deep discussion without words, then he held her hand and guided her into a pose for the camera. He gave her a quick goodbye kiss before moving on.
And just like that, he was out of her life.
Well, actually he was about three steps away. Visiting with a nameless, hatless pirate.
Like Chip, Mickey was hilarious with the boy. He patted him on the head and began doing what we call the Row, Row, Row Your Black Pearl. Which was followed by the Walk the Plank. And the Man Overboard. Which led to the Swim For Shore. Backstroke style. He then showed off his 2L2Quit hand motions and did a killer Chicken Noodle Soup. With a soda on the side.
Again, the boy threw his head back and laughed.
Minnie made her way around shortly. She flirted with the boy and then she and the girl had a great visit. They bonded like only girls can. There were hugs all around and they compared dresses and shoes while the boy child and Goofy engaged in a very competitive swordfight beside the table.
You know, maybe the boy hadn’t been too happy about being one of just a handful of kids in costume at Chef Mickey’s that night. After all, unlike his sister (who loved being dressed up), he was eight years old and practically grown. He had a reputation to protect. But one thing’s for sure. He got a ton of special attention from all of the characters. Much more so than in years past. And he ate it up. Completely ate it up. Looking back, I don’t know if Mickey and crew were just really on their game that night or if all the extra attention was because of the costume. And the Smoky Eyes. And the faux facial hair. But whatever the reason, I do know that night turned out to be one of our most memorable visits to Chef Mickey’s. Hands down. And not just because the prime rib and parmesan mashed potatoes rocked. Although they did. But moreso because the characters completely cracked us up.
As the napkin twirling music began and the place deteriorated into utter chaos, we twirled our napkins high above our heads and smiled. And counted the kids attempting to slap their siblings really hard in the face with a green napkin. I don't know why that cracks us up, but it does. Well, as long as it’s not our kids doing it. Cause they best not even think about it. But when it's a kid across the room, we point them out to each other and laugh. And play a lil sumpm sumpm we like to call 'How Many Itzakadoozies Has THAT Kid Had Today?'
Ahh. Good times.
Once we’d said goodbye to all of the characters and finished our meal, we made our way to the dessert bar to partake of the cutest little desserts around. How can you NOT put the little Mickey head dessert on your plate? To be truthful, I had no clue what it actually was at the time. It could’ve been mud on a cracker for all I knew. But it had a cute little Mickey head on it. And that baby was coming with me.
After we had completely stuffed ourselves, we signed the slip and gathered our gear. We had places to go and things to do.
Well, one place to go. And lots of things to do.
We made our usual stop at the familiar bathroom downstairs before leaving the restaurant and heading out into the Contemporary. As we made our way toward the sun soaked monorail platform, the girl began to skip and hum. As opposed to rattle and hum. She was in a great mood. Heck, we were all in a great mood.
We didn’t have to wait too long before the monorail whizzed into the hotel and came to a stop in front of us.
The doors slide open and we move into the nearly empty car to claim a seat. And with that, we finally take our spot as one of the happy families headed next door for a little bit of yellow and a whole lot of fun. We hear the familiar voice and begin to mouth the spiel as the monorail glides out of the Contemporary and into the fading sunlight, setting a course over the Lagoon and straight for the Grand Floridian.
We look out the window as the sun sets over the Magic Kingdom and take in the beauty of the place. For what will be the last time on this trip.
And I feel downright giddy.
Up Next: MNSSHP. It's really not so scary. 
)
Was the food really that good?
Let me see if I can get caught up!!
Just because he is still here.
and I need some me some funny to get through the day...perhaps you could write about trips to the grocery store...or shoe shopping...The Lala's take on Stride Rite...y'know fun stuff like that...to tide us all over until your next trip...THANKS!
i got here nearly first, it sort of tied up with the uk school run time but I digress.....another top notch installment for sure, and i was really feeling for the boy back there, do you have an account for his therapy later? of course you do....or do you?
Now lets hear about that party, that wasn't so scary apparently
