I have a confession to make.
For some time now, I have been putting off sitting down in front of this computer and typing out my final thoughts on our trip last year. I’ve been avoiding writing the ending. Like Don King’s been avoiding an actual hairstyle. And Nicole Richie’s been avoiding a Big Mac. For those of you who read the first report, you may remember that I made mention of the fact that beginnings were hard for me.
I am officially changing my stance.
Endings are harder.
Our vacation in the Land of Yellow came to an end far too quickly, in my opinion. And we have been back home for quite some time now. Once we arrived, it didn't take long for things around here to switch back to normal, every day mode. Our days are once again filled with responsibilities and commitments. The red and black countdown chain that once hung on the refrigerator has long since been replaced by school menus, dance recital reminders and football signup sheets. The Mickey bank is no longer proudly perched on the hutch in the kitchen. Instead, it has been downgraded to a cabinet in the laundry room just above the pile of clothes that needs to be attended to. The suitcases were emptied and stored back in the attic shortly after we returned from our trip. But I suppose in a way, I still haven’t stopped unpacking.
As I sit in this darkened room and reflect, I am struck by the fact that it has been eight months since I started this thing. Eight months. I never thought it would take this long. If there were a Longwinded Olympic Event, I can guarantee you I’d take gold in that. As well. Some may think it’s crazy to invest that much time and effort into writing about a vacation to Disneyworld. And after typing that out just now, I might be one of those people. But for me, as I’m sure it is for most others who do the same thing, writing about our adventures in the World is about more than just remembering the rides and the restaurants. The fireworks and the snacks. The castle, the ball, the hat and the tree. Sure, it's about our love for experiencing all of those things together. That goes without saying. But it’s also about much more than that. It’s a snapshot of our lives at this particular point in time. The point in time when our daughter is still young enough to mispronounce the word Epcot. And our son is not embarrassed to stand in line to meet a Power Ranger.
Our time in Disney is now and has always been about more than just the house that Walt built. And funnel cakes and fireworks. It’s about family. It’s about memories. And it’s about time.
Precious time.
One of my husband’s favorite sayings when we take a road trip is “It’s all about the time.” He says it as he’s pointing to his watch, attempting to spur me on while I stand in the middle of 7-11. Trying to decide between a Diet Coke or a Diet Dr. Pepper for the road. The phrase is also used when he’s being boastful about making good time on a trip. For instance, when he’s managed to get us to our destination in
seven and a half hours instead of the standard eight. Because that’s a feat worthy of celebration. And a victory dance. Joe Horn style. Or so I’m told.
It’s all about the time.
In the past eleven years, I have heard that phrase more times than I care to count. And until just recently, it never dawned on me how true a statement that is. It
is all about the time. It’s about the time that we carve out of our hectic schedules to spend with our loved ones. It’s about the time that none of us are promised. It’s about the time that we spend laughing ourselves silly over a joke that no one outside the family gets.
And it’s about the time that is steadily slipping through our fingers. Despite our best efforts to grasp it.
My husband and I were listening to a song the other night that neither of us had heard since we were dating many years ago. As we heard the familiar chords and lyrics, we were both transported back to a time when it was just the two of us. Before the marriage certificate hung on the wall and before the pitter patter of little feet graced our home. We were young and we had the world at our feet. As we listened to the very first line in the song, we looked at each other, we remembered those days, and we smiled a couple of bittersweet smiles.
Time won’t stand by forever.
We’re nowhere near our twilight years, but we no longer have the carefree youth that we once had. A few gray hairs (his, not mine) and the tiny, yet unmistakable beginnings of crow’s feet (I can’t believe I typed that: it’s only when I smile) have begun to show themselves in the reflections that stare back at us in the mirror. Our days are now filled to overflowing with priorities and responsibilities. Our lives have changed in so many ways since those early days. We love each other more now than I think we did on the day we were married and God has blessed us tremendously with two beautiful and amazing children. And they are growing like weeds right before our very eyes. The girl is no longer a Kindergartner. She ended up blossoming in her first year of school and she can’t wait to start the first grade. The boy has officially outgrown his Power Rangers phase and he now vehemently denies ever claiming he wanted to marry his mother when he grows up.
They are no longer five and eight.
They no longer smell of books and papers and school when I pull them close. Instead, a new scent has replaced the smell of learning. It is the scent of summertime. It is sunscreen, it is fresh air, saltwater and fun.
In short: they smell of the change of seasons. To me.
Literally. And figuratively.
We know all too well that time won’t stand by forever and that our children will be backing down our driveway before we can blink our eyes. We know we can’t stop them from growing up any more than we can will that gray hair in my husband’s sideburns to turn brown again. Nor would we choose to, even if we could. We look forward to watching our son turn from a boy into a man and watching our daughter grow into a beautiful young lady. I have no doubt we will take great pride in them when those days come. We just wish they wouldn’t come so fast. But it is our hope that as they grow, they will carry the memories that the four of us make here and now, together as a family, close to their hearts for the rest of their days.
So we take some time, precious time, to turn off the world for a week and stop to smell the roses. There’s no rushing off in four different directions once the alarm goes off. We spend all day together. We share every meal. We laugh. A lot. We hold lengthy conversations. We bond, we make memories. But most importantly of all,
we reconnect. And that is extremely important for families in this fast paced world of ours. Whether it takes place in Lake Buena Vista, Fort Payne, Alabama, the Redneck Riviera (wherever that may be), or in the living room at home, it matters not.
We can reconnect anywhere.
It’s just a heck of a lot more fun in Disneyworld.
You may remember I mentioned that on this trip, I took an insane amount of pictures. Well, I did. I still won’t tell you the exact number, but I will say that I came thisclose to filling a 2 GB card.
You do the math. NOFrick.
During this process, I have referenced those pictures each and every time I’ve sat down to write. In looking back over them and several others from years past, it occurs to me that some of our best memories as a family have been made with Disneyworld as the backdrop. From the album stuffed full of pictures of a couple of googly eyed young newlyweds taken on our honeymoon back in '95 to the insane amount of snapshots of smiling, Itzakadoozie juice covered faces taken on this latest trip, our family has grown by leaps and bounds over the years. And in some ways I suppose, we have used Disneyworld as our measuring stick. The background has basically remained the same, but the subjects in the foreground are ever changing. As time has marched on, Main Street has gone from unfamiliar to familiar territory to me. And in every giddy memory I have of walking down that street and hearing that music being pumped out of the landscaping, my husband is there walking right beside me. Grinning from ear to ear. In fact, I hold no memories there that do not include my family.
It is our place. Our place of happiness. And we have found so much yellow there over the years.
That’s not to say that our vacations there are perfect. They’re not. Because nothing is perfect here on this earth. If it was, you’d be able to tell because everyone would be wearing deodorant and their
correct tank top sizes. There would be no cranes towering over Cinderella's castle. There would be no register journals nor would there be any Suzy Helpershoes in desperate need of said register journals. And flip flops would be considered a stylish and sensible footwear choice. But the fact of the matter is that there
are unsightly cranes. There are register journals and stinky, rude strangers to contend with. There are crowds, there is heat, there are short tempers and sore feet. We experienced some of all of that on this trip. Well, all of it except for the Suzy Helpershoes register journal thing. That was strictly ZZUB. And knowing him, he was totally asking for it. Based on the smell alone.
But you take the good with the bad and you roll with it. And it has been our experience that the good far outweighs the bad there any day of the week.
Especially if there are funnel cakes and Illuminations involved.
And that’s why we’ll go back.
When will we return? We don't know. But one thing we do know is that we will. Lord willin' and the creek don't rise. It may be this year, but it may not be. We just might end up taking that detour to Dollywood after all before we head back down I-75 for the next round of Spot the Disney Sign Game. And if that happens, we’ll have a blast there too. Grist mill and all. Because if I know nothing else, I do know that no matter
where we find ourselves, as long as we have each other, our health and God, we’ll always have everything we need.
Well, everything except for the Dole Whips.
It’s all about the time.
He says it as he points to his watch. And there we are. Standing in the middle of the AKL lobby as DH informs us that it’s time to blow this popsicle stand and start concentrating on making good time.
The looks on their faces tell me we already have.
We take one final whiff of the place and sigh. Really deeply. There’s no more stalling. No more fiddle fartin’ around. The fat lady has sung. It’s time to hit it. Time to ease on down the road. The jig is up.
In other words, it’s time to go.
As we walk through the Animal Kingdom Lodge doors for the last time, we spot our blessedly overpacked minivan off to the right. We notice it’s sitting pretty low. I don’t know why. It’s not like it’s carrying a bunch of cargo or anything.
Or is it?
The fact of the matter is that the sucker was so low to the ground, it could've seriously been considered a low rider. All we needed was some neon lights mounted underneath it and a little boom and we would've been in business.
I don’t know what kind of business. So don’t ask.
We head off towards the world’s first trendsetting low rider minivan and on the way, we successfully manage to trip a few more guests who are obviously just checking in. Don't judge. They were asking for it. They were smiling their smug little newbie smiles and practically screaming with their eyes “This is our first day. You realize, of course, that we’re checking in now. And then when we’re done with that, we’ll eat at Boma and head over to Epicot and watch Illuminations. And eat a funnel cake or three. But hey, enjoy Sonny’s and the pukefest on the ride home.”
People. They’re the worst.
We hop into the van and get situated for the long ride that lay ahead of us. As we pull out of the parking lot, we turn to wave goodbye to the cool as all get out light fixtures.
Sigh.
Goodbye Animal Kingdom Lodge. It’s been real. It’s been fun. It’s been real fun.
Yes, I took a picture of it. Now you know how I managed to rack up the photo count.
And no, we weren’t playing the Circle of Life on the way out. Although we will torture our children and ourselves with Disney movies on the way home, we can’t bring ourselves to pop in a Disney CD of any kind as we’re leaving. It’s just too much. It causes the children to gnash their teeth, let loose a series of bloodcurdling screams, and attempt to claw their way out of the van as we pass the arches on the way out. And that's just not good for anybody involved. So we turned on the radio. The regular, non Disney radio.
Shudder. At this point, I have no clue who was on, but I’m gonna have to go with Tom Petty.
Because at that point, we were promptly driven straight out of Disneyworld.
Again.
And this time it was on purpose.
As the kids saw the arches pass by their window, they piped up from the back seat and yelled at their father again. Something about driving us out of Disneyworld. They seemed especially hostile this time. Between me and you, I think they knew it was for real.
And so it ends much the same as it began.
Before we'd made it out to I-4 and after the hostiles had been appeased with sugary snacks that reminded them of Epicot, the topic of conversation took on a familiar tone.
We’re not going back next year, La. I’m serious about it this time. It was fun, but we’ve been four years in a row now. I don’t want to get burned out on it. I want it to be a huge deal when we go. I want it to be something exciting. Not just something we've become used to. We need to take a break. We’re going somewhere else next year. I mean it.
Long
awkward
pause.
“WhatchutalkinboutWillis?"
As we barrell our way back towards home, we tear open both bags of Happy Colas and share our favorite memories of the trip. We had done so many fun things that week and found so much yellow, it was hard for me to pick just one memory. It was
all good. But apparently some moments were better than others because after some discussion, it was determined that riding Soarin' was by far the favorite memory of the trip. Hands down. It was followed closely by the Illuminations Trifecta. And our crazy, funny night at Chef Mickey's.
Once Chef Mickey's was mentioned, the back seat erupted into a round of ear piercing laughter as each child mimicked the antics of Mickey and crew. And their impressions were
spot on. I've got a feeling the events of that night, and many others like them, is something they won't soon forget.
I sure hope not anyway.
Just like on every other trip that we take, my husband was at the wheel and we said a prayer on the way home that day. We prayed for a safe journey and we thanked God for the countless wonderful blessings that He's given to us, including the opportunity to share some serious together time in the shadow of such an amazing, fun place.
We say Amen. And from the back of the van, we hear a sweet, small voice pipe up.
“And Dear Lord, please let us go back to Disneyworld when I’m in the first grade. Amen.”
Long
awkward
pause.
"D'oh!"
I'm glad you've come along for the ride with us again, woman. Even if you DO call a buggy by the wrong name and mispronounce the word "aunt". 
