My Affair With Walt Disney, Part 1

So I guess it's been about 10 days since I returned from Flo-Rida and I have finally accepted that my vacation is over and I have to get on with my life.

But I don't have to like it.

Before we embarked on this trip, you could say I was a Disney cynic.  My lowest form of insult was to say that someone was wearing an embroidered Eyeore sweatshirt, because I didn't understand the Kingdom Walt Built.  It is a bit magical and pixie dust and all that bullshit.  It really is.  And I'm glad I spent Oldest Daughter's first semester of college to go.

I'm not sure who let me wear these huge Bermuda shorts, but they should be shot.  I do have varicose veins, but come on.  On my spring shopping list?  Shorter shorts.  I look like Zac Efron on the basketball court in High School Musical.  This is our first "official" pic on the trip.  We are taking Tour Guide Mike's advice, getting there early, and ready to storm the gates.

Then we made a fatal error.  We chose Space Mountain as our first ride.  If you recall, Space Mountain is a very jerky roller coaster almost entirely in the dark, twisting and snapping and going downhill very fast.  Current Husband, Oldest Daughter, and The Son thought it was fantastic, and went back a few times.

Their ride was very different from my ride.  In this photo, Youngest Daughter is taking a break from screaming bloody murder and asking why I'm doing this to her.  I am leaning forward in my seat, reassuring her, and cracking my spinal column around every blind, dark turn while I try to maintain physical contact with her so she doesn't completely lose her shit.  Needless to say, YD didn't get back on this ride.  Or any other roller coaster in the park for the duration of our trip, for that matter.

The Son getting some Chipmunk Love. 

Obligatory castle shot.  I forgot to suck in my gut and CH has his sexy safari hat on, designed to keep his pink newborn skin form burning.  The kids are so proud.  See your future, Darling Offspring.  Love your future.

Our first princess.  Look at Aladdin, the cocky bastard. 

Second princess.

Third.

Fourth.

Are you detecting a theme here?  And we are only halfway through our princesses.   The Son and CH were loving this action so far - the princesses kept beckoning The Son - "Come over and take a picture!"  He almost did it until Cinderella called him "little prince"  - I could read his face "LITTLE PRINCE?  WTF, CINDERELLA?  I'M TWELVE!"  And game over.

I will tell you that if this is about my love affair with Walt Disney, it was really a three-way with Tour Guide Mike.  Thanks reader Pat, he was worth EVERY PENNY of the $21.95 I spent.  We rode every major ride in every park at least twice, and never waited more than 20 minutes for a ride.  There were three hour lines on some of the rides we did TWICE, and it's all because I read what Tour Guide Mike had to say.  The family mocked me at first, but by Day Three they were all, "What does Mike say about this ride?"

So maybe Mom does know what she's talking about after all.  Huh.