Sprite's Keeper

The fisheye lens is to a nondrinker what a... um, okay, I have a few Kahlua's under my belt, so this title only emphasizes my haziness.

I think John is trying to get me drunk.

I KNOW John is trying to get me drunk.

This entire vacation has been peppered with "Want a drink with that?" No, not water, which is my usual answer. He's pushing the spirits. He has this theory about Drunk Jenny. Drunk Jenny on vacation is a lot more fun than regular Jenny on vacation. Regular Jenny comes with a side of schedules and a special supersized dessert of "Everything must be organized!" (You should have seen our cabin.) (Even our hostess was impressed with the daily evidence of our stay and I even apologized for THAT.) Drunk Jenny comes with no sides, just a "Whatever the hell you want to do, I'm game" devil may care attitude that seems to be more fun than "Where's Sprite?" "Sprite! Get off that chair!" "John, get off that chair!" he usually gets plied with.

Sure, once I'm under the influence, things are good and merry as long as he watches the imbibery. Too much and I'm no good to him. Too little and it's just as if Regular Jenny came to the party alone and didn't bring the dip.

But getting me under the influence? That's a trick in itself. I'm not one to drink as it stands, and once this weekend is over, two hours and counting until Monday claims its next victim, I'll be back on the wagon and declining all alcoholic fancies that should come my way, but for some reason, the second we stepped aboard the ship, there was a glass of champagne in my hand and I was sipping at random.

Did you know it's okay to bring your own alcohol aboard a cruise ship? (Check your cruise line's rules. It may be different for everyone.) We smuggled (quite openly) several small travel containers of Kahlua, rum, vodka, tequila, amaretto, and whatever else caught John's eye during a last minute stop at a liquor store the night before we boarded. One thing I don't quite understand is a cruise liner's kind of lax strictness on this rule. One would think they would discourage it quite sternly considering this takes away from their own sale of overpriced mixed cocktails (I had to write cocktails several different ways because the spelling didn't look right to me. This is what drinking does to me. It makes me forget the English language.)

John had bought me a smoothie on the pool deck and we yanked out a small bottle of rum (I giggled like an idiot while trying to be discreet about it, but John smirked and just emptied the container right there in the adult pool area where cast members and other guests could see us. That's right. When I think I'm breaking the rules, I giggle like a moron. If you're ever with me and I start snickering with no apparent reason, check my pockets.) and made my smoothie a little more smooth. He basically took a $3.99 drink and turned it into an $8.99 drink. And it was delicious.

This entire tangent has been sponsored by Bailey's.

But anyway, the trick to making me drink is to trick my taste buds into thinking I'm not drinking any liquor at all. Then the only way I'll be able to tell is when it's too late to discreetly pour the usually horrid airiness of the spirits down whichever drain is closest. (Some plants have taken a beating for me in the past when a sink wasn't readily available. And thrived as a result. Who knew?) So John knows to keep my appertif's light and shaken, not stirred. (Seriously, is there a difference?)

So, when he learned that I can drink champagne without making the face of death that usually follows a sip of wine, he ordered a few glasses of it for our anniversary dinner. The milk that Sprite didn't finish from dinner was brought back to our room where he sneakily added an ounce or two of Kahlua and gave me what likened to a White Russian (or just the best tasting chocolate milk EVER) to accompany us to that evening's show.  

Sigh. There's still quite a few bottles of the stuff left over from what we DIDN'T drink during our vacation, but they'll keep until New Year's, the only other holiday I usually let my hair down and let my BAL up.

(I just read what I wrote and it seems this post needs a sponsor.)

(Don't drink and write, folks. You won't respect yourself in the morning.)

(Pictures and more stories to come once John edits them and sends back the damn rented fisheye lens. Seriously, who likes looking at those pictures where you feel like you need to be inebriated to enjoy them?)

(And now the title makes sense. I knew I would come around..)

Five and dime.

I am so excited.

No, really! Never mind the lack of proper punctuation to truly convey the level of exitement I feel. Let's just say that I am so excited, I'm almost zen about it.

On Sunday, Sprite turns five, but that's not what I'm SOOOO excited about. Oh, sure, I'm proud of her for making it to the fifth birthday, the last few months were a bit sketchy since the attitude got a promotion and the gratitude got a demotion if we're being honest, so yes, let's color me partially excited over that.

On Wednesday, John and I will have completed ten years of Marriage 101. (Now we get to take our graduate courses!) And that lifts my skirts too, but still not enough to hit that "OHM" level of tranquility I feel when thinking about this upcoming week.

To mark our five year old daughter/ ten year old marriage, we are doing this:

And this:

And maybe even some of this:

(images courtesy of Google)

Now can you see why I'm so excited?

I have never been a guest on a cruise ship before. I've sailed almost a hundred cruises, but always as a little worker bee, seeing to it that the guests were happy, that the Karaoke machine was well stocked with ABBA songs, always making it look like I was having a blast and loving what I did, but honestly? Long work days (Cruise staff had it easy at 12 hours on, 12 hours off. You may want to thank your waiters and cabin attendants a little more profusely next time you cruise for 18 hour schedules are considered a cake walk to them.) and little room for the crew to blow off steam except in designated areas (Sure, the bow of the ship lends for some amazing star gazing since it's so dark, but when you can't see the deck below your feet, you do tend to worry that the water will soon be replacing the planks.) made for a lot of time re-reading the few books I brought, thinking I'd have no time to just be and every day would be full of swimming and sunning.

They weren't.

But I did get to meet thousands of guests, a whole roster of forgettable faces with the same unforgettable look of enjoyment on every one. They were having a great time.

I wanted that.

Now, thanks to the stars aligning, major money saving, and a wonderful dual anniversary to be shared between the three of us, we are going to enjoy complete and reckless abandonment of time. That's right. No watch, no cell phone, no BLOG, no cares for four whole nights as the kid, who has already threatened to spend all her time in the Kid's Club, we've negotiated down to afternoons, yes, I've had to pull her back a little so we could have SOME family time together, I mean, who else is going to watch over our deck chairs while John and I take our tenth turn on the AquaDuck?, gets to celebrate her birthday sailing the high seas and we get to celebrate our anniversary dining in complete opulence at Palo, thanks to some babysitting perks the Disney geniuses thought of beforehand, (Some of those Imagineers must be parents.), and even an anniversary couple's massage, gauranteed to get the kinks out or at least relax you to the point of no longer caring that you had kinks to begin with.

My Nook is full of new reading material. My sunscreen is waiting to be packed. I have fully memorized Mamma Mia and am ready to hit that Karaoke room. John and Sprite are jumping at the bit, as I am. In my own mellow way.

We're going to have a fabulous time. And why shouldn't we? We're a happy family. We genuinely love each other, even when we don't like each other.

Damn straight we're going to celebrate this:

Like a Hidden Mickey, but more obscure..

We thoroughly enjoyed our annual Labor Day vacation in Disney World, but while basking in the relative anonymity of being tourists #43456-43458, John, Sprite, and I noticed some new attractions that have never been promoted before, although we don't know why they haven't for they made our vacation that much more memorable:

"To Be A Brat or Not To Be A Brat" (also the adult version of "To Be A Bitch/Asshole or Not To Be a Bitch/Asshole") - continuous show times, various locations throughout Walt Disney World- Sprite seemed to be the only one with the guide map to this attraction for whenever there was a family squabble going on within earshot of our little eavesdropper, she immediately joined the queue to watch the high-larity of these street performers, most of them very well trained for they didn't even notice their audience as they provided the back story of why they were yelling at each other and wishing on each other varying options of death. Some of these performers even made their act mobile as they tried to navigate/ fight each other over who actually knew where to find Mickey's Philharmonic. And the best part of the show? It was right behind them! Disney does it all, I tell you!

"It's a Great Big Beautiful Parking Lot"- ongoing attraction/ walking tour, various parking lot locations throughout Walt Disney World. The best part of this attraction is that there is no wait time. You don't even know you're on the attraction until you realize your spouse changed parking spots the night before opting for a closer proximity to the room and forgot to tell you about it until after you've left the room and your cell phone armed only with a rolling suitcase topped by another heavy bag and balancing yet another piece of luggage on top of THAT and the memory of seeing your vehicle in another location when your child spotted it from the 9th floor window while waiting for your elevator the day before. The attraction is always moving, never stopping until you do while you try to keep everything from sliding off the totem pole and simultaneously raise your provided key fob high above your head, listening for the audio-animatronic character vehicle to respond with a chirp to your never ending finger presses. Once you transverse the entire parking lot, you may even get to take the tour again, this time thinking somehow your vehicle was stolen right from under Mickey's nose and building an inner side story of how you're going to maim your spouse even though it was a very innocent mistake and one they realized once you had already left your room and maybe called your number just to rest their eyes on a ringing phone right in front of them. When you do find your vehicle and deposit the items intended for it, you may then exit the attraction in a safe manner. And please stand clear of the doors. "Por favor mantengase alejado de las puertas." (Note: this attraction does require some physical exertion. Guests are expected to provide their own refreshments.)

"Spouse Impossible"- (we found this attraction at both Animal Kingdom and Epcot, but I think it changes daily, check your guide maps for listings and allow for time as showtimes are not exact) The object of this attraction is to split up between parks, one going to Epcot, the other taking the child (and the bus) to Animal Kingdom, and then meet at a specific location within one of the parks at a later time, pre-designated by both parties. (Children need parental supervision when on this attraction.) Oh, and during the course of your separation, one cell phone battery must die making any form of contact virtually impossible as you race to find each other in front of the Mexico pavilion by the appointed deadline. Spoiler alert: the attraction tries to trick you into thinking you can make it from one park to the other within thirty minutes or so, but the child (somehow in on it) manages to hold things up by complaining of tired feet. (While entertaining, this part of the attraction does tend to drag a bit.) Do yourself a favor and add another thirty minutes to your plan to skip the mundane stuff. Now, here is where the excitement factor is upped: when one of you makes it to the designated location, the other is nowhere to be found, and since one of you does not have a way to contact the other, you must rely on various resources to resolve the mystery of the missing spouse. Another spoiler: try a cast member. They're not supposed to help, but can provide you with clues on ways to make contact, solving the riddle. Just remember, this is only an attraction and should not be taken seriously, lest you become one of the "To Be A-" street performers by mistake, drawing your own audience.

Next time you journey over to a theme park, keep your eyes peeled for these hidden attractions, guaranteed to add more moments to the "In ten years, we'll sit back and laugh about this" memories!

(Disclaimer: Disney World is in no way affiliated with this blog or blog post and does not endorse any of these "attractions". While written in light of events that happened during our vacation, this post should in no way be taken as statements made on behalf of the Walt Disney Company. These are simply activities that happen EVERY TIME we're there.  We like Disney! We do! Which is why we add disclaimers so Disney doesn't sue us, thereby preventing us from spending more money there...)

Judging by the photos, you'd think we spent our vacation in a Benetton ad..

I should confess now. Hell, I should have confessed back in June when John bought the damn thing, but I think you can tell by the quality of the pictures that have been appearing on this site. John has gotten himself a fancy schmancy high quality costs as much as an actual cannon complete with cannon balls, hehe, I wrote "balls", Canon camera.

He's been playing with it ever since, testing out speeds, settings, even the holy "manual" setting in which you actually need an eye for that sort of thing, or patience and an updated eye perscription. He's even let me practice, and I've shown some of the results here on this site.

I still have my point and shoot, which sits dutifully in my purse, ready to use at a moment's notice since his requires more effort, and storage space, but I admit it! John's equipment is a lot more fun to play with.

(If you think I'm oblivious to what I just wrote there, I've been smirking for two whole minutes over it. I wonder if John will notice...)

So, okay, here it is, in all it's (late) glory, our Disney World vacation photos, the nicest ones picked out of the thousands (yes, I said thousands) we took, here for your viewing pleasure. And captions to boot! If you could care less about the back story, then just scan through the pictures and have yourself a good day. If you have time to spare, enjoy. It's not like you have anything to do today anyway..)

Major disclosure: I have almost no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to photography. I just know what I like and asked a lot of questions while John was editing. Right over his shoulder. Repeatedly. Thinking back, that could have been annoying.

 

We took this picture near the "falls" at Wilderness Lodge. The afternoon sun had created a lot of shade for the pool area so while direct sunlight is missing, the colors really seem to pop. Also, the color blends were a complete accident. I had shrugged Sprite into her sweater since Sprite's honorary great-grandmother "Mama Elli" had knitted her the sweater but fretted that it wasn't the right length, so I wanted a picture of her in it for proof that all was well. Thanks to that picture, Sprite scored herself another Mama Elli original for Christmas in beautiful pastels.

  

This picture is practically untouched. I call it the "happy surprise", which happens once in a while when you take hundreds of pictures, and while scanning through them, you come upon one which is absolutely perfect, right focus, right light, right everything to give the photo personality and warmth. John only toned down the color a bit as the sun had faded the overall image just a little too much.

 

I love what Photoshop does for the skin. John took this picture while we were waiting on line to meet Donald Duck near the Mexico pavilion at Epcot. He softened my skin with a retouching tool, re-cropped it to take out the rest of the background, and added a halo effect to the mouse ears on my beret. (I know. I wasn't aware you could do that either. It kind of killed my admiration for a lot of professional pictures in which I thought the photographer had captured EVERYTHING just right.) And this has become his favorite picture of me. (Really. I'm already framed and on the wall.) I'm not telling you he retouched the picture to make myself look humble. I'm telling you to keep myself honest.

 

Ah, yes. The magical morning. It had been raining most of Sunday morning as we puddled our way over to The Grand Floridian Resort for breakfast with my folks. After our meal though, the clouds broke apart and the most beautiful sky presented itself. And with the shower the area had received, everything was fresh and clean, as if the rainstorm had been sponsored by Zest. So we took advantage of it, ignoring the "implied" instructions to stay off the grass (that would be why they built sidewalks, right?) and John and I sent the grandparents out onto the lawn to chase Sprite a bit. John added a slight vignette to this one just to round it out some.

 

Now, this one has a pronounced vignette, meant to spotlight the special bond between Sprite and my mom, who seems to think Sprite is a complete angel despite my protests (with charts and everything!) otherwise. Sprite had just run to her and in a swoosh, Baba grabbed her and brought her high for some love. And John captured it. I think this is my mom's favorite.

 

John didn't do much to this one after he took the picture on our sunset ferry ride to the Magic Kingdom. So he tells me. And I'll believe him considering he didn't bother to erase the circles under my eyes or clean up my eyebrows. But he loves this photo for the simple reason that it's a common look for me. On a good hair day. When I'm not breaking out. I'll shut up now.

 

There is so much I love about this photo. John had shown me both the original color and the black and white. At first, I preferred the color, but then, when he cropped it, (and did nothing else) I was immediately enthralled with the black and white since the action is so much more pronounced. Her shadow, her mouse ears, even her clothes become timeless. Plus, Minnie's bloomers are showing. A little tarnish on the old gold for added cheekiness.

 

John named this picture "In a world of her own", a tongue in cheek reference to Alice in Wonderland, one of Sprite's favorite movies. (The cartoon, not Johhny Depp. While I would actually encourage a healthy obsession with Johnny Depp, I don't think beheadings as depicted in the film are in her near future.) He took this photo in Epcot down one of the garden paths, while we were waiting for one (or both) of my parents to use the restroom. Once in editing, he simply boosted the colors of the flowers and added a vignette around the border. Lots of vignettes going around, there may be an epidemic..

 

I don't know why I didn't include this picture in Sprite's birthday rehash since it's clearly a favorite. All I know is that I took the shot and then John turned it into something better. I think he darkened the colors a little and added a small vignette for the borders and it now speaks so much of the little boy who only shows his goofy side to those who know him and the fun we had. Thank goodness we're good friends with his parents or they would surely question why this is framed in our home.

 

This picture came very close to being a throw-away. While going through the preliminary round, John didn't think the focus was very good and trashed it. I immediately stopped him (and instated the three second rule to let me concur before his finger does the knee-jerk toggle over the delete key) and asked him to play with the settings on it since I really liked Sprite's expression in it. So he whitened the edges and the result made me happy.

 

Don't let the picture fool you. It was very cold outside when this was taken at Wilderness Lodge. This picture is actually a re-crop (and warmth added to make it seem like the summer) of another picture in which Sprite was in my arms and doing something weird with her face (the same face which accounts for 500,000 other unused photos) and John decided to crop her completely out. I know, it's mean, but she's still in the will..

 

And of course, John's parting shot of her princess transformation, whitened around the edges to give it a touch of purity, the colorful Mickey barrette a stamp of approval on our vacation.

These aren't the only photos we took, but with all the pictures and captions I've thrown at you, you probably need a break. Go on. Stretch your legs. Grab a drink. Take a nap if you're so inclined. And I promise these are the last ones.

Huh, I just noticed that there aren't any pictures of Sprite with the characters. It turns out I do have one more to share with you.

On another day..

Flying the Friendly Skies

I am not a frequent flier.

I'm not even a semi-frequent flier. Actually, I'm not sure what I would call myself in terms of high velocity travel. A frequent worrier?

Yes. That fits.

I think my parents' propensity of booking early flights was the only thing I WASN'T worrying about since it gave us the best chance that the pilots would be up and awake and nowhere near air rage status. (Yes, I did watch for the ties and stripes. They had coffee in their hands, always a plus. I even considered buying them a donut from the Dunkin Donuts stop shop, but they looked happy enough and I didn't want to break a twenty.)

Something to be said about Southwest Airlines. What a way to make you feel like a sixth grader all over again. Southwest does not have assigned seating. They have "all the infirm and infants first, everyone else, find an empty spot and plant it. If it has a seat belt, it's allowed. No, not that seat. That's mine."

My mom had preferential boarding (you pay ten bucks for it) so she scooted ahead and nabbed a seat for herself and Dad. Meanwhile, my aunt Judy was also joining us for the flight so I thought I would try to find a cute two-seat arrangement so she wouldn't be sitting by herself. As I boarded, every aisle I passed had one person "saving" a seat for someone else who was still twiddling their hair in the terminal. Even my mother was acting the part as I whacked my bag along the armrests until I found an empty row halfway down, one not being claimed for selfish reasons, destined to sit with the band. (No. I love band geeks. I married one.) (John played the tuba all throughout high school.) (Although, I have often argued that he "held" the tuba throughout high school. The notes he forced out of that instrument were due to mere exertion.) (My theory is still being tested. I think.)

Judy found me and we settled in to watch the rest of the sardines pack themselves into a very full flight. I noticed him first.

He was dressed in pilot wear, latest fashion, so I've read in Aviation Today. (Pretty big circulation for such a small target audience.) His name tag said "crew", but his tie and stripes did not match the laid back "find a seat so I can begin the safety speech" dress code of the flight attendants. He acknowledged the place beside me, an empty window seat. Nodding that the seat was NOT saved, he smiled gratefully and scooted across my aunt and me.

My nerves were getting the best of me as we taxied back from the gate and toward the runway. Judy had her book out, her travel pillow fluffed, and looked ready to go into silent mode. No hand holding "it'll be okay" gestures there. I turned to the stranger on my left, his head cocked right as he looked out the window.

He never saw me coming. He heard me instead. (I get wordy when I'm nervous. And funny. Some of my best stuff has come out of stressful situations. I'd tell you about it, but I tend to shake off the one liners as soon as I shake off the nerves.)

"Are you a pilot?" I figured I would start from the top and work my way down until I guessed the right position he held.

His blue eyes smiled (gosh, I just love smiling eyes) as he turned back toward me. "Yes, I am."

Score.

"So if something happens to our pilots, you can step in and make some overtime?"

My aunt snorted next to me while he gave me another lopsided smile. "Sure. If it ever came down to that."

He must have noticed I was nervous to fly. (It may have been because I admitted it in the next few moments. Along with my likes and dislikes, LIVING being among the likes.)

I talked that man's ear off (right one, never saw the left due to the cramped quarters) (although, the space was so cramped, it may have been nickels) (See? I TOLD you I get funny when nervous!) (SOMEONE will laugh at that, it may not be you..) for the entire flight, never letting a pause grow longer than a minute, ignoring the flight attendant and her offerings of 100 calorie pack honey buns. (But I did accept a cup of water to keep my throat moist for more questioning.)

He answered every question, not minding that this friendly conversation had turned into a veritable interview complete with "what if" scenarios. (I like to cover the bases, not considering that the more I know, the more my imagination will scare the ever living shit out of me when making me picture the scene.) I even found out that a broken coffee maker can ground a plane if not fixed in three days. (These passengers like their caffeine.)

Somehow, the topics traveled as we did, going from airlines to kids to daycares. (We both have girls under the age of "trustable", only coming back to questions every time I felt a dip, or a slow of the craft, or even the gentle turbulence that seemed to quiet every time he explained away another one of my fears.)

This man had thousands of miles, TENS of thousands of miles under his belt, and he was calm. This kept me calm.

Quickly, far quicker than I could have envisioned, we came in for a smooth landing, touching down in Baltimore.

As the passengers began to grab their things and jostle for the exit like there was a prize waiting for them in the terminal, I turned once more to my new best friend. "Thank you so much for talking with me."

"No problem. My name is Brian."

"Jen."

"Enjoy your stay and have a safe flight back."

Thanks, Brian, for making the skies a lot more friendly.

(Would you believe that on the way back from Baltimore, he boarded the same plane again? I had already taken my place between Mom and Dad, Judy was on a later flight, the last passengers were boarding, and I looked up into those same friendly blue eyes as he recognized me.)

(Would you believe I actually joked with my dad about making him give up HIS seat so Brian could sit beside me?)

(He didn't give up his seat.)

(I WAS joking.)

(Kind of.)

(Everything was okay though. Mom held my hand during take off.)

(Seriously, I was kidding.)

Bookmark

I've always loved the word bookmark. Technically speaking, it marks the spot you want to come back to. Simple enough, right? A bookmark can flag a favorite paragraph, remind you of where you were, how much you have to go, its skills are endless as long as you can come up with another use for it.

But a bookmark mostly is a pause in your enjoyment. It allows you to move on with reality without relenquishing the alternate life you've temporarily lived and will sporatically live until you finish the volume. I just love the symbolism of it all.

Today, I am flying up to Washington DC to spend a long weekend with family, friends, and someone I've "known" for almost two years. While I am sure to have a wonderful time-

Memo to the pilots: PLEASE be in a good mood and alert. I am not a confident good flier and the fact that I have to sleep in the same room with my parents for 3 nights, which, while not a new experience but has not happened since I was in my TEENS, will most likely subject me to safety checks, re-imposed curfews, "Don't talk to strangers" talks, and possibly a few groundings as I may or may not revert back to the sullen, internal, egocentric teenage ways of the "just because I'm a minor", already has me in a few mental knots, so I would appreciate you getting us there and getting us back in one piece and alive as well. If you feel like springing the emergency slide, great! But do it after we've landed and come to a full and complete stop with all our tray tables stowed upright in a safe manner. Yes, I will be watching for demeanors while waiting to board. SMILE, dammit.

- I will be missing John and Sprite immensely. They'll be fine, great even, with all the fun things he's planning for her during their freedom weekend from me. All the things I reject? He'll consider. All the things I immediately shoot down? Will get a fair and impartial hearing and maybe even a stay of execution from the judge. (I may have to check for tattoos upon my return.)

It almost feels like I'm pausing my life, a ginornous version of Tivo, and leaving it at a standstill to function in a different type of reality, with a different type of venue. Fun, yes. Home, no. (There's a big difference.)

So, I feel like I need to bookmark my life, therefore I'm bookmarking this site, a way to access the page I've left, remind myself that what I'm coming back to, which had me from the first paragraph, still has so much to offer, and I can't wait to read the rest.

The prettiest bookmark I've ever made.

I can't wait to see you again, Sprite. Take care of Daddy.

And John? I love you very much. I promise to call. (And no tattoos..)

I'll see everyone else on Tuesday. Have a great and safe weekend.
 

Totally.

"Sprite, do you want to go sit with Abigail and the other kids?"

"Yes."

The door opened for the Crush attraction, and bolstered by her confidence, I signaled to Becca that I would stay as close as possible to our offspring, as parents were usually segregated to the back rows since this show was geared directly to the little dudes, an interactive program guaranteed to blow their Mickey Mouse ears off, the parents as well with the genius involved in designing it.

(For anyone unfamiliar with Epcot or Finding Nemo, "Turtle Talk with Crush" is a sit down show right outside the Nemo ride where the kids can sit front and center and ask questions of the scene stealing reptilian rocker from Finding Nemo while the parents take a load off their aching feet and enjoy the air conditioned respite from the Florida heat. And here's the best part. Crush answers them right back, calls them by name once he learns it, and steals every kid's heart there. If you are headed down Disney's way and have a chance to come by this attraction, it's worth it.)

I claimed a spot in the front row, at the ready in case Sprite's nerves got the best of her, which they did when the host, wielding his microphone, started the show. She abandoned her post right behind Abby, who wasn't afraid at all, and darted for my lap.

Crush swam into view and began talking the language of the seas, which is and shall always be Surfer.

"See?" I whispered into her ear, feeling her relax as she took in the scene, "It's just a cartoon. Would you like to join Abby again?"

She nodded and wriggled off my lap to re-establish herself with the juvenile population.

Once Crush and our host finished with the intro, Crush addressed the audience. "All right little dudes, if you have any questions, raise your fins."

Several hands shot up into the air, beckoning to be called on. I smiled as Sprite, looking around her, brought hers right up with the others, not wanting to be left out of whatever game she was obviously playing.

Questions were asked of the wise old turtle, like his age, which he quickly proved that 150 is not too old to have a six-pack. The kids were wowed that they were actually corresponding with a famous turtle and the parents were having a great laugh at seeing their kids so thrilled with the experience. Okay, we were enjoying the hell out of it ourselves too. I admit it.

"All right, all right, good questions. Let's go for the little shiela in the lime green shell with the brown fur on the noggin."

The host scanned the seated participants, found where Crush's focus was, and planted himself right next to my daughter before pointing the microphone at her.

Crush swam over to the right side of the screen, coming closer to Abigail and Sprite. "And what's your name, little dudette?"

I thought she would make a run for it again and bowed my head in potential embarrassment for her before I heard a voice over the speakers.

"I'm Sprite."

I looked up again, relieved that she was still enjoying herself, not overwhelmed by the onslaught of attention.

"Righteous name, little one. And what is your question for the Crush man?"

Oh, she wouldn't get it. She's too young. This would probably kill some time from the other kids.

Sprite pondered his invitation and then turned her head back to the microphone. "Minnie Mouse."

The parents laughed as Crush actually looked stumped for a second before answering, "Um, Mickey Mouse's girlfriend?"

The laughter grew in volume, the older audience impressed with his quick wit while he quickly bantered, "You almost stumped me there!" before lowering his eyelids gently. "And how old are you, little one?"

"I'm free."

Yes, Sprite invoked awe's from the crowd. (Come on, a three year old lisping sweetness into a microphone? Even Grumpy would get Dopey over it.)

I lost track of the show, my eyes watering as I watched two of my favorite kids having a blast with each other, speechless with awe over the one I had been worried about, the one who had to be talked, almost forced into every experience that day, the one who had taken her own step forward, pushed herself into the spotlight, and shined when her bluff was called.

She's going to beat my expectations a lot throughout life.

Totally.

Shock Therapy

(I wrote an unauthorized Guide to Disney back in December of 2008. Emphasis on the unauthorized. Within this guide, I recommended that people not underestimate their kids or overestimate them either when it comes to rides, basically calling out the parents who force their kids onto attractions which only causes more issues most of the time. Pardon me while I now eat those words..)

"I wanna go home!"

She pulled the newly familiar shriek out of her arsenal, her body going rigid, knowing we were about to take her into the dark unknown.

It was now Saturday morning. We had arrived at the Disney Resort for a late dinner at the hotel on Friday and a Monorail ride over to the Magic Kingdom to catch the Spectromagic parade and fireworks show.

Sprite, being so excited with the castle staring her clear in the face, had edged back into her shell with the fall of darkness and the start of Spectromagic. Standing there, holding her sturdy body against me, I murmured reassurances to her as the floats began appearing around the corner, their vibrant lights garish at first to the mind of a three year old, especially one who doesn't know where the line between make believe and reality actually stands.

Her protests of wanting to be somewhere else, her Mickey rooom (the hotel room), over there (wherever her finger pointed which would take her farther from the commotion she was being exposed to), even HOME (the dreaded word which even she knew meant she would actually have to leave Disney World, a place she loved), bubbled up to the surface, at first loudly, then softening as my whispers of being safe and "no one is going to touch you or come near you, just look" until she would start whispering back with reports of the characters she had spotted. A moment of calm would settle as the first wave passed before us, then she would begin her chants of wanting to go home again once the new round curved the bend.

Like a wave, she started and stopped her rebuttals against my cheek, actually letting herself get swept up into the spectacle before her, starting to recognize the music, wave to Cinderella in her coach, call the Evil Queen "mean" from the safety of the crowd.

Once the parade swept through, my arms gave out and she bounded over to John, ready to regale him with what she had just seen.

I'm no stranger to this.

My sister had a pretty typical fear of darkness and sudden loud noises, scary pictures, your everyday fears of a young kid. I remember how my mother and father used to hold her tight, letting her leech off of their confidence until she was strong enough to face whatever she was facing, whether it be a movie (dark theaters), fireworks (loud noises), or new situations (theme park rides she didn't know). Of course, being her younger sister, I had my own fears too, of masks, (I'm still leery of them.) but never quite developed the phobias she did. She outgrew the fear, like most children do.

I knew, as my parents had known, that I had to expose Sprite to some things even if she was afraid of the outcome. I knew, as my parents had known, that she would relax once she realized I was right, that she was safe, that nothing was going to harm her, that she would live to see another cartoon, and actually enjoy herself if she just gave herself the chance.

The parade scenario repeated itself for the fireworks, my tired arms taking her on again, softly singing the soundtrack to her, covering her ears for the highly explosive finale, taking great pleasure in pointing out TinkerBell as she flew high above the park in a glowing green shot. She clung close, her eyes never leaving the show, not wanting to miss anything, her stronghold more from happiness and amazement than that dreaded foe-bia.

By the time we made our way back to the hotel, way past her bedtime, (but when do bedtimes count for anything on vacation anyway?) she wanted to see the parade again, the fireworks "again!", crowed with glee over what she had done, overflowing with bravado and ready to take on the world.

A good night's sleep wiped away every ounce of bravery and replaced it with abject fear.

First walking into Epcot, I automatically nixed Spaceship Earth as a possible ride for her, knowing from experience, that the darkness and subject matter was something she would not be able to find any amusement in. Finding the Nemo ride, encouraged by the fact that it was slow moving and involved a movie she loved, we made a beeline for it, talking it up the entire time with words like "Hey, Sprite, do you want to meet Nemo?"

Rule Number One when trying to get a kid to loosen up: Don't tell them what you're going to do until you're right about to do it. (The five minute walk set us back about 40 minutes.)

If that stroller had hand brakes, she would have pulled them before we even got to the Living Seas area.

She declined meeting Nemo, shouting "NO!" as we came closer, beginning to cry when she saw the statues in front of the ride, statues of Marlin, Dory, and Nemo that were obviously not going anywhere. Of course, the same could have been said for the seagulls who came to life in front of the ride and started saying "Mine. Mine."

John declared the objective a failure, ready to move on, but I was determined. I knew she would enjoy it if she just took the chance. I pulled her from the stroller, set her down in front of me, ready to talk some sense into her. (Rule Number Two: Talking sense into a preschooler? Really?)

She took off, trying to get away from the ride, away from Nemo, away from me as I stumbled behind her, finally catching the child on the verge of a freak out, holding her close as I walked slowly around, not back to the source of her predicament. (I'm not that stupid. Just stubborn.)

I used the same tone I had used the night before to talk her through the activities, "We're just going to look, we're not going to touch anything, this is something you will like, it's just a show, a cartoon", slowly moving toward John and the ride, giving him hand signals to keep going while I kept her in my trance.

She dug into my neck with claws of terror, the dark corridor of the ride's entrance enveloping us wholly."See? We're at the beach. You like the beach. We're just walking on the boardwalk." (Rule Number Three: Distract, distract, distract.) On and on I kept talking, some sensical, some non, in the same monotone timber, weaving my way through the oceanside queue, John in tow, thankful that the line was non-existent as we plopped ourselves into a moving pink seashell.

Sprite straddled my lap, pulling her arms into my center, something she has done since birth when unsure of anything, and John settled beside me.

I dropped the calm voice and took on an excited one as I pointed out what she liked. "Where's Nemo? They're looking for him- Look! There's Dory! And Bruce!" John caught on to my plan and added his own sightings, Sprite yanking her head to and fro to see what we were seeing.

By the end of the ride, she was excited again, ready to take on the gift store lurking on the outskirts which was ready to pounce on unsuspecting people still trying to get accustomed to the sudden brightness. (Why can't she be afraid of that?)

All day, we played this game of Hide and Seek with her fears, pulling this shock therapy that got us withering looks from other parents as we entered every attraction we deemed Sprite friendly, and looks of understanding as we exited with a hopping, smiling, "I want to ride it again!" cherub. Careful not to push anything too far, "Do you want to meet Marie from the Aristocats? No? Okay. How about Belle? Yes? Well, let's go!", letting her egg us into things, letting her just enjoy herself for long stretches, trying not to turn this into a day of neverending challenges.

But sometimes, the best shock therapy comes from an outside influence.

We met up with the Katz's who similarily were enjoying their day at Disney World as well (a strange but wonderful coincidence) in the late afternoon, Sprite immediately attaching herself to Abigail's side. (If you want to see just how long Sprite and Abby have been theme park hopping together, click here.) Abby, while younger than Sprite by about 5 months, does not face her fears the same way. She just covers her ears (for noise) and keeps going. This helped Sprite calm down when we entered another ride, a ride where Sprite pulled out her best rebuttal yet, "I have to go potty!" (She had just gone and was only using it, and her head, to get herself out of the moving theater, something Becca and I had to admire her for. Not every kid would pull that gem out of their cupboard.) By again talking to her in low murmurs and using Abby as a comparison ("See? Abigail's sitting there and enjoying herself. Ms. Becca and I would never put you girls into any danger."), she finally dropped her battle and just asked from time to time, "Is it over?", pausing to watch the movie end.

By the end of the night, thanks to Abby and the entourage that surrounded her, she even got herself close to her favorite character, Minnie Mouse, close enough to give her a high five, from the safety of my arms.

And of course, walking back to our car, she looked back upon Epcot's glowing landmark with longing.

"I want to go ride Nemo! Can we go now?"

"No, honey. We have to go back to the Mickey room. Mommy and Daddy are tired."

"I don't wanna go home!"

Full circle, folks.

 
 
 
 
 

Turning two weeks of fail into a weekend of flair.

"I have a suggestion for this weekend, but you're going to say no."

"Tell me what it is and I may say yes."

"You'll say no to this, but I think we should do it."

I looked over to John as we all sat around the dinner table on a Thursday evening. Our plans for the upcoming days had just fallen apart, my mother and father having to cancel their trip to see us due to an illness. They were being sensitive to Sprite's needs considering the kid had just gotten over a four day bug that had her "throwing out" everything she ate. (Her words, not ours. After trying to correct her, we've decided her way is cuter. And more appropriate taking into account the amount of trajectory involved. Yeah, I know you didn't need the visual, but I'm actually taking pity on you. I could have told you what her meals actually entailed..) That same bug had canceled our tea party the previous weekend which we had been so excited for, and had quarantined her to the house for nothing but movies, liquid enforcement, and Mommy repeatedly invading her ears for a temperature check.

Sprite ignored us as she picked at her food so I continued. "Spill it."

"I want to take her to D-I-S-N-E-Y." Yes, we're at the phase of spelling things out now, especially since hearing the word "Disney" will wake her up from two rooms over while we're whispering to each other. I think she's catching on though since good things typically happen after we spell that particular word.

"Store?" Why was he asking? Even I knew it had been a sucky couple of weeks for her. My frugal butt could unclench a bit for a toy.

"Not the store. The World."

My eyes widened. "When do you want to do this?"

He smiled. "How does tomorrow afternoon sound?"

Folks, I am not good at spontaneous. No, wait. I'm not giving myself enough credit. I can be great at spontaneous, when it involves a sudden hankering for a movie outing or "Let's go get some ice cream!", but picking up and leaving for two nights, kenneling the dogs, and dropping what could easily exceed a thousand dollars on food, theme parks, and the way too costly souvenir she'll kick and scream for and then ignore once the money changes hands? Not good at it whatsoever. Plus, we were already saving for our big trip to Disney World for her fourth birthday around the holidays, why go now?

My silence told him I was thinking about one thing. The cost. He continued, "The season passes are already paid for. We'll just activate them earlier than December. It will only cost us food, hotel, and a few nights for the dogs, and I've had some jobs lately which takes care of that. We won't touch our budget."

John, being an IT extraordinare, has been working a few odd jobs which offers us some extra money to do with as we please. We please to pay off debt, but it has also taken care of our fence, some little things here and there that have popped up, however the money is really his to spend as he sees fit since it is not part of our bottom line. And he was seeing fit to spend it on us and making his little girl smile.

I hedged. "You're sure we won't touch our budget?"

Hope dawned. "Not at all. This can even be my Father's Day present if you're that concerned about it."

I saw the excitement in his eyes, knew I would see it mirrored in hers, and gave in. "All right. Let's do it. BUT."

"But what?"

"We don't say a word about it to Sprite until we pick her up from school. I don't want her driving her class crazy with talk of the D-word."

"Deal."

Two hours, a call to Disney Reservations, and a quick call to Becca later, we had our weekend planned.

And Sprite got a reason to smile on Friday at 3 PM.

This weekend was going to rock.

(You know how I am about these video things. Just don't trust em. I have trust issues. It's not new. Let me know if it works for you. Or if it doesn't. )

Pony Express

Ah, Disney, you've done it again.

Our first day at Disney World found us in Disney Village, an area full of shops all attuned to the magic of the Mouse.

We entered the toy area, looking for possible holiday gifts destined for our nieces and nephews when Sprite was drawn to a low table set up in the middle of the store. On the table was an array of My Little Pony figures and assorted outfits.

"Pony!" Sprite breathed and was hooked. (Of course, this is the same kid who received a My Little Pony for her birthday last year from my sister and played with it maybe a few times before it was dismissed to her toy box.) While she played with the free entertainment and John supervised, I walked the perimeter of the store, finding the source of the Pony mayhem and a birthday gift for Elizabeth. Now, here's where WE were hooked. (Damn them!) For eighteen bucks, the store gives you a box and the opportunity to fill it with up to three Pony's, a bed, mirror, and as many outfits as you can squish into the smallish space. We were also given hints as to how to fill the box by a Cast Member who preferred to remain nameless.

John and I looked at each other while Sprite couldn't contain her excitement with the mountain of "Pony!" related possibilities in front of her. We agreed the price was pretty damn good for A LOT of items. We found every Princess outfit, accompanying shoes, hats, a Minnie Mouse get up, on and on, and filled the box to the rim, barely closing the top, a requirement to get all the items within for the alloted amount.

When we arrived at the register, the Cast Member asked, "Are you sure you got all the items?"

"Well, we could only fit two ponies in."

"You can have three though."

I considered this, "Um, I think two is okay."

She then rifled through the very full box. "You're missing shoes, some barrettes, a teacup.." As she spoke, she tossed more items in. I smiled as I thought of the various choking hazards my vacuum would face when these little shoes and such would be left helter skelter all over my house. (Although Harry would have a field day chewing on colorful plastic pieces.) (I think some of that chewing is in direct retaliation to the number of times Sprite has cornered Harry with a doll brush and rubber hair bands proposing to "do his hair".)

We finally left with Sprite's new fifteen minutes of fun and brought her back to the hotel where she spread her wealth out all over her bed. She formed a quick attachment to the blue Pony.

"What's the Pony's name?" John asked.

Sprite thought about it and then crooked an eyebrow. "Pony."

John rolled his eyes at me. "How about Colby?"

"Colby?" I questioned, fiddling with the Mouse ears barrette on the pink pony's mane. How flipping cute WAS this stuff?!

Sprite tested the name out. "Colby."

This Pony became her new best friend, an even better best friend than the Princess Minnie doll she had declared her love for when we first stepped onto Disney property. The Pony accompanied her to dinner, to sleep, to breakfast the next morning, to the park...

Yes, the park. Sprite had decided to "feed" Colby lunch while at the Character Play And Dine buffet, (which was amazing by the way, I have a post coming out about Disney on a whole for The Locals Love It on September 22 and I will venture further into the variety of diet killers we came across) and when John took her outside for some air while I paid the bill, she accidentally left the Pony on a patio chair in the middle of one of the busiest areas of Disney's Hollywood Studios on one of the busiest days of the year and said nothing about it until we were in the Pre-Show area of The Little Mermaid attraction on the other side of the park when she asked for her Colby.

I looked in her backpack. No Colby.

"Did she leave it at the restaurant?" I asked John, who frowned in response. I thought back to the visual sweep I usually do at a table before we vacate. Nothing noticed.

"No, she brought it outside... outside. Crap, it's probably gone by now-"

"What time is it?" I interrupted.

He looked at his watch. "12:40. The show starts in less than twenty minutes."

"I'll be right back."

I ducked out of the theatre and weaved through the queue, excusing myself and apologizing as I sidestepped others. (Others whose toes I would probably be stepping on once more when Sprite demanded in no uncertain terms to leave the show before Ariel finished her aria.) Once free of the population throng, I broke into an all out run across the main area of the Studios, backtracking to where we had (maybe?) last seen the Pony, still watchful for any familiar bright blue toys with shockingly pink sparkly hair, yet pessimistic that another child would possibly pick it up before I could rescue it and claim it for their own. I could only think of the disappointment and ensuing tears when Sprite realized Colby was never coming back. (And yes, I also thought of the possible second trip to Disney Village I would need to make for Colby to magically reappear that night.) (And how that eighteen dollar deal wasn't looking so good anymore..)

Once in the vicinity of the restaurant, I rushed to the grouping of tables on a lower level of the area and scanned the chairs. Nothing. Damn it.

Then my eyes landed on a Custodial Cast Member standing near the railing overlooking the lake, watching me, smiling, and holding our saving grace in his left hand.

"Little girl?" he asked, as he noticed my eyes light up with excitement and relief. He explained how he had found the Pony about five minutes before and decided to wait for the owner to show up before he turned it into Lost and Found.

I blew out the rest of the breath I was huffing out. "Thank you so much!" I panted, taking back the object of Sprite's affection and the possibility that the day would go well.

I ran back, somehow sure that the very people who questioned my running by the first time now understood my sprint had everything to do with the prize I now gripped tightly in my hand.

Manuevering back into the Pre-show area, I handed Colby over to an unassuming Sprite amid John's surprised "You found it?!".

I wiped the sweat off my brow, bending over to catch my breath. "Can I just tell you how much I love Disney World?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quick sidenote: Sprite hung onto that Pony for the rest of the day and even proudly showed it off to Abigail the next morning when we arrived at the Katz Cradle for Brunch. Of course, she promptly forgot the damn horse again when we left and didn't start moaning about it until we got home. Um, yeah, I couldn't handle a run that far, so the love of her life "Colby" arrived at our home Monday morning through a different kind of Express thanks to another understanding mother. Becca, I owe you.

Oh, and Becca? Did you have to mark the item down as livestock since it is a horse and all?

I'm not sure if it's allowed, but I completely intruded again on Travel Tip Thursday over at Pseudo's! Click the link and check out some other travellers while making yourself increasingly jealous that you can't see the kind of scenery out your window that Pseudo looks at EVERY DAY.
Don'tcha just hate her a little? Maybe you should Spin THAT up..