When my daughter was three, we told her an awesome lie that has served us very well. We told her that Disney World requires everyone to be five years old to go. Now if you are over five but your sibling is not, that’s okay, they can come in with you. But the main kid has to be over five.
And this worked like a charm.
Until she turned five.
So now we are holding up our end of the bargain and going to Disney World. And honestly, against my usually bitter sarcastic New Yorker self, I’m actually pretty damn excited. I’m not the most excited for the rides and attractions. I’m not even the most excited for the pool and tan I hope to get.
No, the thing I’m most excited is to see that moment of awe they will have when they see everything. I can’t wait to see their mouths open, their smiles filling their faces, and the utter disbelief of what’s happening around them.
Of course, I can totally wait for the meltdowns, insane heat and people who walk around in clothes that are much too small for them. Why does the heat make people want to squish their asses into tight clothing? I wish we lived in a society where togas were appropriate in Florida.
But in the end, here’s my hope. I hope that when I walk through the gates of Disney World, the attendant hands me a set of ears and a flask with Mickey Mouse on it. If that happens, it would truly be the most magical place on Earth…
So wish me luck, people. I’m going in. If you don’t hear from me for a few weeks, send help. And by help, I mean a babysitter, a stack of People magazines and a fruity drink with an umbrella in it. Thanks in advance…3 Comments