Theme park magic, or the things we do for love
As we reminisce about that difficult day from a decade’s distance, my husband describes his feelings of panic and helplessness.
There he stood in the middle of chaos, lights flashing, people running past, children screaming. He had no idea where to turn, who to ask for help, or which direction to go. Despite his fancy education at America’s finest institutions, and a work history of roles at the top levels of law, government, and finance, nothing had prepared him for this moment. He had met his match, intellectually, physically, and emotionally. I was elsewhere, with spotty cell service, and he called me multiple times before I finally was able to pick up.
The desperation in his voice was palpable despite the poor connection.
“I’ve been standing here in Main Street at the Magic Kingdom for the last half hour and have no idea where to take these girls,” he said. “Please help me!”
Yes, he was fine operating at elite levels most days, but throw him into Disney World with our three youngest kids and a double stroller, and he was as frightened as Snow White finding her way through the haunted forest. I did my best to suggest some options like Dumbo or Teacups, but there was only so much I could do to direct his journey remotely. I was having my own difficulties, not far away at the Universal Studios park and its Harry Potter World.
With five daughters spanning 10 years, all with different appetites for adventure, we had decided to split up for our one day at the parks. My husband had chosen to accompany the little ones, figuring he would enjoy reminiscing about his childhood trips and watching their tiny faces light up from the Disney magic. This left me to accompany the older two, including our eldest, who at the time was fully obsessed with Harry Potter, and had dreamt of entering this world for years.
As we ran from the park entrance to the back, hoping to beat the lines, we marveled at the intricate details of the faux storefronts, costumed characters, and shop wares bringing to life the stories she had long loved.
We arrived in good time but without much of a plan. So we hopped on the first big-kid rides we spotted, a pair of short but intense roller coasters which included 360 degree rotations that left my stomach feeling like I’d eaten a potions experiment. I was ready to magically apparate to the hotel to recover, but fun was to be had, so I wobbled behind my kids to the main attraction, a motion simulator ride in a giant castle with an insanely long line.
We were best friends with the people around us by the time we got to the castle doorstep, which of course was only the threshold of the remaining twists and turns until we actually boarded the ride. You might think three hours would be enough to restore my equilibrium, but alas, ’twas not to be. The ride itself was meant to simulate Harry and friends experiencing key moments of the series. The hang-glider-like ride seat swooped and twisted as we flew over the English countryside, escaped Dementors, played Quidditch, and fought dragons, jerking us back and forth and pelting us with special effects like a mist of water or a blast of fire.
My tender tummy was terrible, but I kept it together. The things we do for love.
When the ride seemed to end, I relaxed a bit, thanking the good Lord that I had made through. Big mistake. The demented ride designers had one last surprise sudden reversal, as did my digestive tract. My kids initially thought it was just another special effect. If only.
It turns out that this was a problem the staff had encountered before. They escorted us away, whisking us from the biohazard and into the catacombs of the massive building. A uniformed staff person led us through the windowless maze for at least 10 minutes. I walked through stairwells and long corridors in my sorry state, my two girls loudly taunting me with a mix of laughter and disgust, until we reached a special room available only to the privileged few.
After she fiddled with the padlock, our guide revealed small dark chamber with a sink and a large cabinet filled with t-shirts in every size and color, complimentary for those who really needed them. How droll! I was happy to wash up and change my shirt, but in truth, my effort to contain the mess had landed mostly on my lap, and there were no bottoms provided. The staff person kindly suggested I go buy an $80 pair of sweatpants in the gift shop downstairs. I was not about to reward this disaster, which was so clearly the fault of the ride itself, as they must have known when they included the room of shirts! I politely declined and requested some pants.
The staff person gave it some thought, left for a bit, and returned with her treasure: white, loose, semi-sheer knee-length knickers, with a rhinestone-encrusted design of purple swirls and butterflies. The style would have gotten an 8-year-old teased for dressing babyish. I humbly accepted and quickly changed.
The rest of the day went smoothly enough. My girls did not miss a chance to mock me, especially when it became apparent how very transparent my pantaloons were in the sunshine. I tied a sweater around my waist and strolled through Diagon Alley nonetheless, surprising my kids by agreeing to stay all day and take them to every ride. I just never got on board again. Ever.
As we scroll through smiling social media posts filled with family trips to the parks, we realize our kids get as much joy out of remembering the mishaps and mayhem as they do from the parts that were meant to be fun. They loved sharing memories of trips where we underdressed for unexpected freezing rain (though it did shorten the lines!), stayed in truly terrible motels, or pushed ourselves, exhausted, to hold out until the nightly fireworks display. They remember the time together and laugh more from the mistakes than from picture-perfect vacations.
The magic isn’t in the kingdom, but in bonding with those we love, imperfections and all.
Laura (Lori) Fein of Teaneck is a litigator at Eckert Seamans LLC. She is the daughter of the greatest mom ever, who she hopes is reading this, and the mom to five daughters who probably never will. Her podcast Mommash: The Oy and Joy of Family is available on all platforms, and she can be reached at mommash.podcast@gmail.com.
comments