I am back.
And hoo boy, do I have things to tell you. So many things. Funny stories and ridiculous occurrences. I have enough stories to fill the entire month of January—at least. I mean, you guys. Between Chrismukah in Atlanta, which will be dubbed The Great Sick Week of Oh Twelve and between taking my family to Disney World for the very first time the material is flowing like manna from heaven. Or something. I almost don’t even know where to start. The YMCA, Bat Mitzvah dress shopping, The American Girl Doll, the crazy lady at the parade, VIP Emily, allergy eating in Disney, the cup trick, getting stuck on The Pirates of the Caribbean ride, the Macaroni Club, sleeping on the floor of the Hilton, Merida hair, In the Garden of Beasts, the great Disney costume meltdown, the sick flight attendant, the awesome photo session. I mean, it just doesn’t stop.
And no, I have still not seen Les Miserables.
It’s not really for lack of trying, though. It’s for lack of that little thing called time. But today? Today I threw on my parka and giant winter boots on top of my Target jammies and threw three small over-tired, over-sugared, not-enough-sleeped children into my minivan and dropped them off at the front door of their school, came home, put the coffee pot on, rolled up my jammie sleeves and away we go.
We went to Disney World.
And it was good. It was so very, very good.
My children are 7, 10, and not-quite 12.
They were the absolute perfect ages because, you guys, I don’t know how anyone could take a stroller to the happiest place on earth because having to navigate one through the giant crowds of pushy people would have made it the most irritating place on earth for me. Isabella is at the perfect age for THE MAGIC. She spent almost every minute with *this* look on her face.
The look that says OH MY GOD MAMA ARE YOU SEEING THIS?!?!?
My older two are well past the feeling-the-magic stage, and really loved the other less-princess-y stuff at Disney. The rides (THE RIDES!), the shows, the experiences. But for Isabella, the princesses are THE princesses. The castles are THE castles. The grottos are THE grottos.
Pre-trip, she stressed about what she wanted to wear. Merida dress? Belle dress? Snow White t-shirt? What is appropriate dresswear for meeting princesses, really? Overwhelmed, she choose nothing. She choose to wear “skinny jeans and grey shirts, Mama. Those are my jam.” In a last-minute Atlanta conversations with her grandma, Isabella chose to wear a Jasmine outfit on the day we visited Magic Kingdom.
I, knowing my fickle beast of a child, recommended against it.
“I don’t think you are going to be happy, Boots.”
“I will be happy. I promise I will.”
But sometimes promises are made to be broken.
Cue The Great Disney Costume Meltdown, also known as sometimes it’s hard to be a second grader.
“I don’t like that you can see my tummy.”
“I can’t sit properly in this outfit.”
“I’m wearing PANTS! Why does Jasmine have to wear pants! These are not very princessy!”
“How can I wear this to meet princesses??????”
“I hate this outfit. Why did you make me wear it!!!”
“GAH I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE I AM GOING TO GET NAKED SOON!”
And that is how not 20 minutes into our second day in Disney World, Miss Isabella used her Disney money to morph completely into Mini Minnie.
Well, with the exception of her New Balance runners, but shhhhh! Don’t remind her.
She became Minnie. And then never stopped smiling.
In fact, I’m fairly certain that she’s STILL smiling today.
“Minnie is perfect, you know, because that way none of the princesses will be jealous and none will think that I like HER the best.”