Disney, part 2

We arrived in Orlando and boarded our Disney bus to the resort.  I was a little worried about the hotel because it was listed as a "Value Resort." 

I will admit it.  I have become a hotel snob.  I think it comes from watching too many exposé episodes of Dateline . . . you know the ones with the undercover hotel guest who is armed with a black light and the ability to find peep holes (because apparently all current hotel employees were once cast members in the 1980’s movie Meatballs.)  I travel with my own blanket because I can’t stand the thought of hotel blankets touching my face, and I pack socks because I don’t like my bare feet touching the floor.

We decided, since our visit to Disney World would be short, that in order to max out our time, we would stay on a Disney property.  Hubby, the money-conscious CPA, chose a hotel listed in the Value category. 

I'm thinking something along the lines of an Econo Lodge.  Um, hello! . . . it's not prom night circa 1990!  

Personally, I would have gone with the Luxury level, but I wasn’t paying the bill.

I am happy to report that the Value resort was perfect . . . every child had his own bed (be it sofa bed or cot,) we had a kitchenette with a fridge, and there were two bathrooms (one for Mommy and one for, well, everyone else.)  Girls only.  Keep out.

And the restaurant served beer.  You know what takes the edge off after a long day at the Most Magical Place on Earth? 

A six-pack o’ Miller Lite.

We had pre-purchased our tickets to the park, and Hubby was determined that we were going to get our money’s worth.  This can be translated as follows: we are going to arrive at the park so that we are the first people in line and we aren’t leaving until Mickey himself kicks us out.  Day one was great . . . no major meltdowns.  None of the kids melted down either.  Mommy only got mad at Daddy one time, and that was when he left us at the lunch table so he could set up a chair near an outlet elsewhere, ostensibly so that he could charge his phone though what he was really doing was watching the play-by-play of the baseball game.  Everyone had a great time and we were all ready to go back for another day of overpriced magic. 

Here we are!!!

We misread the schedule on day two, however.  After spending all day at the park the day before, we woke at 6 am so that we could catch the shuttle bus over to the park.  We were TOTALLY first in line!  . . . because the park didn’t open at 8 am; it opened at 9.  We spent two coffeeless hours waiting for the turnstiles to open.  By 10 pm when the boys were dragging their feet, my legs were sore, and I was cranky could barely keep my eyes open, Hubby decided we were going to ride just a few more rides . . . you know, to max out our time.  We caught the shuttle back to the hotel after midnight.  

We were all exhausted and irritable the next day, which was when the boys and I were scheduled to fly home.  We made our way to the airport with all our luggage and our souvenirs.  After a leisurely lunch, we settled into a sitting area in the Orlando airport to wait the remaining 2 hours until our flight.  Hubby booted up his computer while the boys played on the iPad. 

Demons must have possessed his body for a moment, because no one who is married to me would have asked the following:

“Do you need me for anything?  Do you mind if I head back to the hotel so I can get started on some work?”

I could have responded with a sweet but-I-like-spending-time-with-you or honey-I-could-really-use-your-help or something equally as saccharine.  But, you see, his innocent question was about to make me batsh*t crazy.  “YES.  I.  mind.  Would YOU sit with three exhausted children in a strange airport for two hours by yourself?”

So no, he did not go back to the hotel to get started on work.

Misery loves company, motherf*cker.

When the time finally arrived for Hubby to gain his freedom us to head to our flight, we were sent through a family-friendly security line.  This is gonna be a breeze, I thought. 

We arrived at our gate and I once again discovered that we would be boarding with Group 7.  Super.  There were literally 3 people who boarded after us.  Heaven forbid they take pity on the haggard-looking mom with the three hyper children.  Sure enough, just as they called for Group 7, Small took off running.  I dropped the stroller, which I was carrying over my shoulder, my purse, and a carry-on and told Medium and Large to stay right where they were.  I went running after Small, and of course, Medium and Large ran with me, running in circles and giggling at the sight of Mommy, all persweaty and bouncing through the airport after a wayward toddler. 

Thanks for spending $7 so I could nap the entire flight!

Sigh. 

We finally boarded the plane.  I noticed this plane was equipped with televisions on the back of every seat, and for the low, low price of $7 each, all three of my boys could watch tv.  Hubby would never allow that.  Seven dollars each?  That’s a rip off! 

Guess what?  I swiped my credit card.  Three times. 

Swipe.  Swipe.  Swipe.  Best $21 bucks I ever spent.   

It's the Most Magical Place on Earth, Dammit.

A few weeks ago we took the boys to Disney World.  Hubby was teaching a training session the next week, so we decided to take the boys to Orlando for a long weekend. 

We had a great time, and it was so fun to take Small for his first time at Disney.

But . . . .

You know how the commercials show energetic, excited children chasing balloons gleefully and lovingly holding their parents’ hands?  I want THAT family.

We picked the boys up at school early on Friday so that we could catch our flight to Orlando.  Hubby complained about what he apparently considers my worst character flaw: slow packing.  Keep in mind he throws some clean undies and some t-shirts in a bag and he’s done.  I pack for the 3 boys and myself.  They require many accoutrements, including special stuffed friends and blankets, entertainment for the plane, matching swimsuits, etc., and I require many accoutrements because, well, it takes a lot of work to be a natural beauty.

"Apparently Her Majesty
 doesn't want to carry on."

So Hubby was already annoyed that we had several pieces of luggage for which we would have to pay a $25 fee.  He suggested that we pack everything for our family of 5 in carry-on bags that we could easily take with us onto the plane, but I gently reminded him areyououtofyourever-lovin'mind? that I would be making the return leg of the trip by myself with 3 active, exhausted male children, a stroller, and, according to him, plastic grocery bags that were supposed to double as inconspicuous luggage. 

$25 bucks it is.  It's a small price to pay to keep Her Majesty happy.

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time, which was good, because the line to get through security held more people than Rockefeller Plaza during a Beiber appearance.  Luckily my children are super patient and well-behaved so waiting in line for something as exciting as getting to take your shoes off and walk through a metal detector towards a menacing-looking stranger in a TSA uniform was no biggie.

Sigh.

And also, Hubby is super patient and well-behaved and is not the type to complain for the duration of our wait about how long the line is . . . we’re going to miss our flight . . . this is ridiculous . . . is this the first time these people have ever been to an airport? . . . who wears lace up boots through security? . . . no I’m not wearing any metal, etc.

We got to our gate with 3 children, all of whom were ours, so that was a bonus, and our stroller and our carry-ons full of schnacky-schnacks and in-flight entertainment for the under 10 crowd.  OF COURSE it was a packed flight, so we were relieved when the flight attendant announced that service members, special people who sit in first class and look down their monocles at the riff-raff who are assigned to seats three rows behind them, and people with special needs could board.

Special needs.  That’s us.

But nope.  The flight attendant gently reminded us that this was a flight to Orlando, that most people flying were families with young children, and that we would have to wait our turn. 

Now I’m just one person and I have no desire to take on a huge corporation so I won’t name them outright, but the airline starts with a U.  (and ends with a “nited.”)

Hubby uttered a few choice words that were inappropriate for young ears and made sarcastic comments under his breath really loudly while we waited for our group to be called.  In keeping with the rest of this adventure, we were to board as Group 7, so we would be boarding last, and because said airline felt the most logical way to board the aircraft was from front to back, our family of five would be climbing over monocle-wearing, brandy-sipping, Wall Street Journal-reading first class passengers as well as six other groups of passengers.

Once we were seated and buckled, the captain made an announcement that we would be delayed at least an hour so the ground crew could fix some maintenance issues.  This put Hubby over the edge.  He was sitting two rows ahead of the rest of the family because he had booked his flight through work and booked ours online.  I gently tapped the gentleman sitting next to him and told him not to engage my Hubby in conversation because “it only encourages him,” and then instructed Hubby that he had between now and when this plane lands to improve his attitude.

Because we’re going to the Most Magical Place on Earth, dammit.

What Brings You Here?

Every once and a while I look at all the information and statistics Blogger keeps regarding the BoyMommy blog.  It makes absolutely NO sense to me, but I have learned a few things. 

First, if someone links to my blog (by “sharing” it on your Facebook page, for example,) the blog gets A LOT more traffic than it does when I post it on my page or the BoyMommy Facebook page . . . because I can only reach so many people, but if you tell your friends, and they tell their friends, and they tell their friends, well, that’s a lot of people who I otherwise might not reach.  (Is everyone picking up on my subtle attempt to get you to share my blog on your page?  Huh?  Are ya?)

Second, if you type in certain search words on Google, you will be directed to my BoyMommy blog.  One would think that’s a wonderful opportunity, and it is, but I must say I am a little disturbed at the searches that are directing people to my blog.  Further, I am sure the searchers are equally as disturbed when they are directed to a blog that essentially chronicles my shortcomings as a parent, a dieter, and a general wearer of clothes.

 

You can’t make this sh*t up.  The following are ACTUAL searches that people Googled and that eventually led them to my blog.  I’m not sure if I should be more concerned with the peculiar searches or the fact that the world wide internets thinks, hmmm . . . you know what THIS person needs?  A little glimpse into BoyMommy’s life, that’s what! 

There are plenty of searches for boy mom, mom and boy, etc., and some pretty innocuous searches for various craft ideas or preppy clothing ideas.  But then there are the others . . . the searches that make me fear for the future of society. 

These are my faves:

• "Kid pooping" - whatdyawant?  a picture?
• "Midget shooting a bird" - yeah, I'd pay to see that.  I'd look it up myself if I didn't think it would direct me right back to my own blog.
• "Audrey Hepburn Leggings" - this, for some reason, is the most popular search that links people to me.
• "Dinosaur Train Sex" - um, you're a sicko, you freak.
• "Announcement for the funeral of my . . ." - of my WHAT?  You can't leave me hangin' like that!
• "Little boys pooping" - I've seen enough of this in my lifetime that I need not look it up on the world wide internets.
• "Spider trim" - like, how to give a spider a haircut?
• "How to lose 50 lbs. in 2 weeks" - if I knew the answer to this one, I wouldn't be sitting at my kitchen counter writing a blog about "Dinosaur Train Sex."
• "Didn’t even send a card" - Dude.  Sorry.  I didn't know.
• "Why do I have to do everything?" - I can pretty much guarantee that you did not find the answer you were seeking.
• "Love poem packers" - I love poems so I pack them?  I love Green Bay, so I write poems?
• "Big girl bloated beer" - okay, I kinda understand this one.
• "Boy getting bikini wax" - um, eeeeewwwwww.

Okay, so if you like this blog, please share a post (this one, or choose another favorite) on your Facebook page.  I will love you forever.