I have just returned from the
”
Happiest Place on Earth,
”
and it’s a miracle I survived.
I have just returned from the “Happiest Place on Earth,” and it’s a miracle I survived.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love Disneyland. When I was a kid, my grandmother took us every summer. We’d fight over who got the leftover “E” tickets from my youngest sister, who was too little to use them.
When I got older, I still loved Disneyland. I’d beg Harry to go – even though he isn’t a big fan of the House of Mouse. But once Junior came along – well, let’s just say that Harry didn’t have a choice.
Of course, my Disneyland experience has changed over the years. Once upon a time, I was carefree – there only to have fun and ride the rides.
Now I’m a pack mule.
Around my neck, I have two bottles of water, a small purse and a camera. In my pockets are my sunglasses, Junior’s sunglasses and three lucky pennies Junior must take with him on Splash Mountain – but that he can’t carry for fear of losing them.
By the time we reach New Orleans Square and some jazz musicians give Junior beaded necklaces – which he promptly puts around my neck – I’m ready to fall over.
But wait! I still don’t have enough to carry. So while Junior and Harry ride Splash Mountain for the five hundredth time, I buy snacks. And that’s how I end up in the middle of a sea of people, trying to balance a veggie platter, a bag of Cheetos and a huge dill pickle.
And that’s when the stroller mommas attack.
People should be licensed to drive strollers at Disneyland. They shouldn’t just be handing them out to any person with a kid. Stroller driving at Disneyland takes skill, practice and the ability to not care when you run over an 80-year-old man with a cane who is just trying to make sure that his great-granddaughter gets to see Jasmine and Aladdin’s Story Time.
Stroller mommas will assault you for absolutely no reason while you are walking up Main Street, dragging your kicking and screaming child back to the hotel.
And if you are just innocently sitting on a curb, waiting for the parade to pass by? Well, you can expect at least two random stroller attacks from behind.
And if the strollers don’t get you, the characters will.
Oh sure, Mickey and Minnie and the rest of the gang are supposed to be fun. But have you seen the size of their heads? Most kids start to cry the minute some giant-noggined Captain Hook tries to give them a hug.
And still, there are the parents, taking a break from stroller attacks to try to get a picture of their child with a big-brained Mickey – while the kid cries his eyes out.
And let’s not even get into the Disney Princess thing. Please. Do you really believe Snow White wore that much makeup?
And at the end of every ride there is a store with over-priced Disney stuff that I bought by the bucketfuls. Hey, I may be a little cynical about it – but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to buy every single antenna ball available.
But at the end of a long Disney day, when the fireworks are done and Junior is so tired he can barely walk back to the hotel, the magic is still there. It’s in the tune to “It’s a Small World” that won’t leave my head, it’s in the Mickey ears that every child is wearing and it’s in me.
Of course, I am carrying it all.
