You're going to think I'm a total sap, but even checking in was magical.
I was so happy to finally be there that I had a PermaGrin and my feet were doing this happy little hopping shuffle. Because I'm not just happy about this trip, but about the next 40 something years of Welcome Homes. I'm happy to know that in the year 2042, when I arrive with my grandkids, I'll still be hopping and smiling. With my bunions and false teeth.
Behind the front desk, they have balloons. Lined up along the wall, evenly spaced, looking so pretty and happy. Old Key West is festive and fun, even if it is light years away from the parks. Tulja was the CM who checked us in; she was a complete sweetie. I would say that even if we didn't get our requested room location of "first floor, someplace near the hospitality house." And, after she gave us our room keys and our happy packet of info about the World, she gave each of the kids balloons. They are so excited, you'd think Mickey himself had given them those balloons.
And she hands us a big package from home, addressed to Conor. He's celebrating his 6th birthday on this trip, remember? I can see that it's from my sister, and try to hide it from him to save for his actual birthday. No way, the little man saw that it was for him. He notices everything, and who taught this kid to read, anyway? It was all I could do to stop him from tearing it open on the spot.
So, balloons, room keys, and a package. While we're gathering all these things, along with our carry-around stuff (after all, now that the flight's over there's no place to carry it "on") the kids are chatting it up with the CM at the Vacation Club info desk. Conor will talk to anyone, anyplace. Not shy. Not selective about topic, either. There have been weeks we've stayed home from church for fear of what he'd share at the Children's Circle. Into the microphone.
At that age he used to enter any conversation with a standard opener: "What kind of car do you have?" Skipped the niceties and went straight for the information he wanted.
When the person would look at this little guy, they'd assume his car knowledge was actually consistent with his age, and answer him something like, "A blue one."
"No," he'd persist. "What kind?"
"A van?" they'd say.
"Nooooo," says Conor, becoming distressed. "What KIND?"
Inevitably the other party to this conversation (e.g. the checkout person at the supermarket, another mom at the playground, the x-ray tech searching my boy's innards for the wood screw he swallowed...) would cast me a desperate glance.
I save them. "He wants to know the make and model. The year, even."
It got to the point that his younger sister thought that this was the usual way to greet someone. She'd twitter, "What kind car yoooou have?"
Some people got apologetic, like "I only have a Geo Metro." I would assure them that my boy is not a car snob. If it's got 4 wheels and a motor, he loves it.
Anyway.
My point was that he's not at all shy about initiating conversation. Ever. With anyone. His sisters, not so much. Sometimes they're shy, sometimes they're on conversational fire. This day, the happy day we arrived at Disney, they were "on."
I felt a little bad for the CM at the DVC desk. It was like he was on the red carpet being pelted with questions from the paparazzi. Either that or being interrogated by the KGB. He gave them stickers. As an act of surrender, I think.
They could not have been happier. Except for Conor -- not that he was unhappy, but he politely declined. "No thank you, I guess I'm just too big for stickers." My baby, all growed up and too big for stickers. Since when is 5 too big for stickers?
As we headed out to find our room, there was another family who had checked in just before us. We were behind them in line. For whatever reason, their kids didn't have balloons. The mom was apparently one of those people - you know the ones, who are entitled to have the same portioning of magic as everyone else. A magic communist. She took one look at our kids with their balloons, and marched straight back to the front desk. "Those kids have balloons," she informed Tulja. ""Why didn't my children get balloons?"
Okay, I hate to make snap judgments on people, but isn't there a nicer way to go about this? She sounded so accusatory. Chances are, there's no grand conspiracy to keep her kids out of the balloons club. I bet if she just asked nicely, Tulja would share the balloons. I hope this lady has never heard of towel animals; things could get ugly.
Anyway. We took up our carry-around stuff and shooed the troops out onto the grounds to wander around for a while looking for building 63.
Yes, the reports are correct. Old Key West is a bit confusing to find your way around the first time. I think the biggest thing is that there's no way to stay on the sidewalks and go directly where you want to go. You have to meander through parking lots, all the while keeping an eye peeled for a sign. Not like a message from God, just the little sign with the building number on it. It's not THAT difficult, even for us.
After a few instances of back tracking, a bunny sighting (Piper can spot a critter a mile away!) and one seemingly endless argument over who would ride shotgun in the double stroller -- you'd be AMAZED at how feet-tiring a 400 yard walk can be, apparently -- we found it.
Our one-bedroom villa was all that we'd imagined it to be. Spacious, bright, airy and clean. The kids were thrilled that they'd get to sleep in the "secret couch." That's what they call a sleep sofa. You know, it's a couch with a secret - a bed hidden inside, what could be better! For them it's a treat. And their little bodies aren't big enough to span the metal bar in the middle, so they don't experience the discomfort issues that adults do.
Best of all, a surprise for the birthday boy! A bunch of balloons attached to a large birthday card with a signed photo of Buzz and Woody.
Quick! Close the blinds! In case Cranky Entitled Lady from the lobby is walking by and sees what weeee've got that sheeeeee doesn't.
Because not only do we have a big bunch of balloons from Buzz, we've got a big package addressed to a birthday boy. Who has ignored my uncharacteristically gentle admonitions to save it for his actual birthday on Wednesday.
The package is shredded.
The Enabler has sent him an Incredibles t-shirt, bathing suit, and underpants. Also an Incredibles little lightup fan thingie. And, because she's the bestest auntie, also lightup fan thingies for the girls, too. Actually that's because she's the bestest sister. She saved me from the horrors of trying to have all 3 of them share this nifty little toy.
Except that in about 8 seconds flat Sydney has gotten her hair all tangled up in the fan. Good thing I'm planning to take her to the Main Street Barbershop for her first haircut later this week. She'll only have to walk around with this fan thingie hanging off her head for a few days.
After that, the kids unpacked. Meaning, in under 3 minutes they had strewn their belongings throughout every square foot of our home away from home. The grocery order arrived, but since our luggage hadn't, and the kids had done all the unpacking they could do for the moment, we decided to take the boat over to Downtown Disney so I could visit Guest Relations and do some ticket trading. DVC Discount AP's here we come!
Coming soon: In Which the Meanest Mama has words with Guest Relations, and nearly throws a flippie fit.