A Disney Profile

At 6:00 AM, I thought I would be the only one in line for coffee at the Swan every morning. It's a vacation destination after all, and I thought the majority of people at the resort would be sleeping in. For me though, it was Convention week. The first in four years. A reunion of 12,000 people that required long days and long nights. Early morning doses of caffeine were more than necessary. 

6:00 AM on the nose, I was first to cross the starting line, and I sauntered up to the counter. Quickly, I realized I was the only one with such a lackadaisical attitude toward my breakfast. I paused to assess if I should get Cheerios or Raisin Bran and felt a sense of pressure on my back. The man behind me scooted by to be first at the register. He knew his baked goods and coffee order before he arrived in Orlando. And then a woman behind him also made her way past me to close out her sale in second place. I came in a meager third in this early morning transaction race.  

I stepped to the condiment bar to assess the competition. As I topped off my coffee with cream and sugar, I looked around the lobby. Double strollers ready to go, Type A Dad and Type A Mom force feeding croissants to children still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, plotting and planning the route for the day, rotating their Magic Bands in an unnerving way, hyping everyone up for a day they had been dreaming about for years. 

Oh my goodness, this wasn't a vacation, this was an Olympic event for these people. After Convention, my family was coming down to do our Disney experience and I worried if we had the chops to compete in the nation's most expensive sport - Disney Vacationing.  

After five days navigating the Orange County Convention Center, Peter, Eva, and the five kids flew into land locked Florida to start part 2 of my trip. Disney World.

After witnessing the way families prepare in the morning, leaving their rooms at daybreak with sleepy kids in their strollers, walking then breaking into a jog so they can be first in line for the Parks, debating once again their path of least to resistance to see and ride as much as possible, and yelling at the stragglers to keep up; I was convinced that the Disney experience had reached a new level of crazy. And I didn't feel like our family stood a chance at winning the most magical Disney World experience award. 

Considering the line up - the players involved in America's most beloved vacation - I could see we were the underdog. 

- There was the matching shirt crew. 

- The Type A Mom and along for the ride Dad with two kids 

- The Type A Dad and along for the ride Mom with two kids 

- The more mature family with teenage kids who knew the route to success better than their parents

- The family with all the gear for the day: personalized Magic Bands, water bottles and snacks, umbrellas and ponchos, cold and warm weather gear, mobile maps and compasses, they practically had tents in the event they were welcomed to spend the night.  

- There were the Bachelorette women  

- The honeymooners 

- The early birds 

- The night owls 

- The ones just in it for the snacks, turkey legs, and all you can eat buffets. 

- The thrill seekers

- The show watchers 

- The princess followers

- And all the people dressed as Star Wars characters - one of which proposed to Rey as she appeared in Tatooine.   

... And then ... then ...  there was our oversized family. Trying to get into each park with our Magic Mobile device (which turned out to be less magical than a band or a card at the entrance gate) and the kids' finger prints that never seemed to light up green on the first try. Type A Dad and honeymooner couple both asked to move around us. We were a clear impediment to winning their most magical day. 

Once inside the Magic Kingdom, we were excited to learn that staying on Property meant that you could get into the rides earlier. I felt like such a winner in this moment. Around the Cinderella's Castle we went, smiles on fire. Only to reveal on the other side that the whole world was apparently also staying on property, stacking up lines that were 45 minutes deep already.  

We decided to divide and conquer - Peter took Bobby to Tomorrow Land, and I took the girls to Fantasy Land. In total, our party did about 8 rides in 3 hours, which I thought was very admirable. Less admirable was waiting in three different lines for highly desirable and highly overpriced snacks that my kids didn't even eat. By 11:00 the park was filling up quickly, so we moved from a slow roll, into a push people out of the way to get to our lunch reservation roll. The meal was an all you can eat buffet at the Crystal Palace - a mock version of the one from the 1851 World's Fair. It's safe to say, Peter won this event - and that's saying something given the cruise ship riding clientele who were dining with us. Our only flaw, well my flaw to be precise, was walking out without paying. I was called back in the middle of the princess parade to give them my credit card so I wouldn't end up in Sheriff Nottingham's jail. 

We made it through one more ride at the Magic Kingdom, and then bussed back to our hotel. I had big plans for us to come back in the evening, dine on Main Street and watch the fireworks, but we didn't make it back. The pool and a sushi dinner were more appealing than the alternative of crowds and lines and babies that likely would have cried through all of it. 

After the Magic Kingdom day, we did Hollywood Studios and Epcot as well. We likely didn't execute the visits as efficiently and effectively as the majority of site seers in Orlando, but for our family, it was magical nonetheless. 

Magical because Mary got to eat really expensive frozen lemonade, step inside the world of Harry Potter, which she's been reading about for years, and explore every country in Epcot, collecting postcards at each stop. 

Magical because Margaret got to meet all the princesses and Minnie Mouse, sing along to Frozen on stage, and cry and then laugh her way on the runaway railroad that was Big Thunder Mountain. 

Magical because Caroline and Jacqueline came back knowing the word Olaf after meeting him. They couldn't say Lightening McQueen, but they loved that experience too. Miraculously, they also touched a lot of dirty surfaces without getting sick. 

Magical because Bobby rode all the rides he could - Star Tours, the Millenium Falcon, Rocking Roller Coaster, Space Mountain, and Star Tours again and again and again. He got to make his own light saber, have a steak dinner at the Brown Derby with me, and dig in the sand on the faux beach at our hotel. If there was anyone who appreciated Disney the way I do, it was Bobby, and I loved sharing that with him. 

And perhaps most magical of all, because I caught Peter sneaking in pictures of Chewy, Mos Eisley, and the Star Troopers - maybe taking a step closer to understanding why people, like me, love Disney World so much.

 

It was absolutely exhausting and energizing at the same time. And the collection of pictures and memories made the money spent worth it. See, the most magical trick of Disney.   

   

If you want tips, I don't have a better one than you do you. That is, make the most of it at the pace your family can handle - don't worry about any other players in the Disney World rat race - because at the end of the day, just a little bit of pixie dust makes any kid fly.  

Lo. 

Mary Unmasked

A couple weeks ago, mask mandates were lifted at school. For the first time in two years my kids went into their classrooms to breath fresh air, see the faces of their classmates, speak without shouting through a face covering, and reveal their bright smiles. 

With Covid numbers dramatically decreasing and with vaccinations, I was and am in a different position on masking than early on in the pandemic. That is, I had no hesitation letting all three of them go sans mask. And their ease, excitement, and energy to live life unmasked confirmed my decision.  

That same day, I also had the opportunity to volunteer in Mary's classroom, hosting their classroom's Valentine's Day party. It was an easy thing to do - a simple story reading, a craft connected with the narrative, and then a couple games. It went just as expected, except something threw me off. Or rather someone. It was Mary. The Mary I knew from a couple years ago. Smiling, giggling, coming up to her friends and telling them something, giving me a hug halfway through the event. It was sociability, connectedness, and confidence - all things that Mary had said she was concerned about in the past year. 

I left the classroom that day happy that I had carved out some time to volunteer, but happier that I experienced an uptick in Mary's mood.  

That evening, I told Peter about the party and the very different daughter I observed in class. 'You should have seen her,' I said to him. 'I don't think she has any issues socializing.' 

Without pause Peter replied, "it's because she's not wearing a mask."

I stood there in disbelief for a second. How did I not think about that? Of course. If I can trace back the development of Mary feeling more shy, more concerned, more house bound than the rest of my kids, it was the start of the Pandemic. The lockdowns, the distance between one human and another, the face shields we all put up to protect ourselves and others. Not knowing that these precautions could have a detrimental impact on a person's mental well being. 

In the last three weeks, in a world unmasked, I have witnessed Mary become more confident, excited about school, in touch with her friends, willing to go on playdates, and in love with life. As the schools relaxed their mask mandates, so did work, so did businesses, so did cities big and small. With unmasking, other Covid era rules started to relax as well. For instance, I was in Sun Valley a couple weekends ago, and at church there were hymnals. Actual hymnals! I haven't held one and sang from it in two years. We also exchanged the sign of peace - not just a wave from across the aisle, but a true shake of the hand. It's small things, but they make me feel more human.    

Anyway, back to Mary. She turned nine this week. NINE! Nine years since I became a mom for the first time. Nine years since Peter and I became a parental unit. Nine years of Mary growing and learning in this world, becoming the beautiful little lady that she is. And those are three words that really perfectly describe her. 

- Beautiful. Inside and out. She is aware of her image at this age and loves when I let her wear a little bit of make up and do her hair. She loves clothes and shoes, particularly when they are purchased by Nana at Little's. And she loves sharing her trade secrets with her little sister. But her beauty runs deep. She has a kind, compassionate heart. She asks questions and makes comments that show how much she cares.   

- Little. She is petite and still growing into a size 8. Seeing her swim competitively this winter, against girls two times her size, showed just how mighty her petite frame is though. And while she wants to be grown up at times, she still very much loves being a child. She needs hugs, and care, and someone to help her, and isn't afraid to ask for those things. 

- Lady. She is mature for her age, an old soul as our neighbor calls her, and ever my big helper. At 8 and now 9, she's done so much for me around the house; helping with the babies, pitching in with cooking and sometimes cleaning, shepherding her younger siblings, testing out the world before they have to, and coaching them on her experiences. 

And we celebrated her last weekend and into this week, hosting dinner and a sleep under for some of her friends, inviting the family over for her favorite meal (which took hours to make on Sunday), taking her out to Sushi, just me and Peter, just as we did on the day she was born. Sushi and champagne will always be the meal that commemorates not only the day Mary was born, but the day we became a family. 

Happy birthday Mary, I love you so much. 

Mommy / Lo. 

Park City

Last weekend, I wasn't necessarily looking forward to going on a vacation. People kept asking if I was excited, and the only answer I could muster was a hazy, lazy, unconvincing, 'yep.' 

As I reluctantly answered with an affirmative, there was a list of things that could potentially go wrong tallying in my mind. Swirling and whirling, they were stressing me out, making me consider whether or not right here at home is the place to stay forever.  

Let's see: 

- The flight could be cancelled. Or just delayed for hours ... and hours ... and hours. 

- The babies could get sick, ear infections to be specific. We would fly across the country with wailing piercing through the aisle.

- Worse, we could all get Covid. Or just be directly exposed, forced to quarantine on the ground in pure boredom for the next five days. 

- My parents wouldn't be able to get there in time or at all, siting Covid or winter storms. 

- I would lose my fight for the last remaining mini van at the rental car agency. (well that did happen, and then there was a car with a flat tire offered to us, and then they tried to over charge us for the last remaining car that vaguely resembled my Honda Odyssey.) 

- Peter and I would spontaneously combust from all the schlepping and luggage carrying. 

- Something could go wrong with the house reservation. Or the crib rental. 

- Our ski passes and ski lessons wouldn't register when we hit the mountain, and we would have to recommit another fortune to securing our right to ski. 

In the era of Covid, in a world with 17-month old twins, with unpredictability everywhere I turn, my expectations are at a very unreasonable, but perhaps relatable level. The notion of going on vacation seems almost foreign to me at times and looking forward to one seems like a lost cause. 

I also have a bit of anxiety these days about leaving home in the first place. That is, leaving routine, leaving what's working and fearing that a vacation will throw everything and everyone off. (As my daughter wails in the background, too tired from five days of a lot of activity.)  

But somehow, maybe because of the reason for the vacation, all the things that could go wrong, went right. After arriving and sleeping well on Wednesday night, after saying goodbye to my parents, Caroline and Jacqueline at our rental house the next morning, after dropping Mary and Bobby at their ski lesson, after giving Margaret a hug and wishing her luck at ski school, after the lift attendant checked our ski passes and they did indeed work, Peter and I rose up the mountain. I looked at him and said out loud, 'oh my goodness, we did it.' Whether or not Peter was thinking the same thing the whole time, he gave me a look that confirmed his disbelief.

We were on vacation. We made it happen. After all the looks in the airport signaling how crazy we were as parents, we proved them all wrong. And it felt absolutely amazing. Even better when the wind was beating against me as I flew down the mountain. And better yet when we had a glass of champagne at lunch. Every day we were there brought new memories and new moments that were worth the schlep, that proved that vacations were back and that I needed to take them. We collected photos skiing with the kids, using the hot tub for apres ski, going up and down the mountain with my Dad for the first time in six years, laughing with my Mom and thanking her gratuitously for babysitting the twins, watching the Olympics all together, and not worrying about work. At least not that much. 

As we left Park City on Sunday morning, driving down the mountain, back into Salt Lake City. My eyes welled up a bit. It went too fast. Bobby was asking if we could ski right now. And it would be at least another year until we were skiing out west again. As the four in the back of my car fell asleep - yes, there were two cars - remember, I lost the fight for the minivan - I thought about the images I had from them on vacation, outside of their routine, outside of pandemic life. 

Bobby skiing fiercely down blues and even a black diamond. 

Mary going from deathly afraid of the steep, long pitch of Silver Skis and Payday, to following my turns all the way down the hill, proud as can be as she got back to the base both times. 

Margaret riding the lift up with me, smiling from ear to ear, and then holding on to my hand all the way down the hill. 

The babies getting to play with their Nana and Opa throughout vacation - getting quality time with their grandparents in such a beautiful place. 

And Peter and I getting to share in an activity that we both love so much. Seeing our kids embrace it as well. Plotting and planning when we could go back. 

So that's why we do it - why we waddle through airports, stuff luggage carts to the brim, wrestle babies who won't nap for three and a half hours on the plane, spend the money, say some prayers, and go on adventures. Because the stories we come back with, colored by the effort it took to create them, are what I live for. And what I'm celebrating today. 

Lo.   

 

Extra Effort

Bobby is an all-sport athlete. Meaning, whatever sport his friends are playing, he plays too. While he is naturally athletic, built like a little line backer, and very fast. The rationale for his love of sport (if I'm to psycho analyze my kid) is not so much the joy and mastery of skill of whatever sport he is playing. Instead, it's for the love of any activity that allows him to a) run not walk, b) play with his friends, c) use an outside voice, and d) take off his mask.     

In the spring, he plays baseball and soccer. 

In the summer, he plays tennis and he will be on the swim team this year. 

In the fall, he plays soccer again. 

And currently, in the dead of winter, he plays basketball. There is a league in town, and his friend's dad, a former Notre Dame basketball player, is the coach, so I figured it was a must to sign him up.

He plays two times a week: one practice, one game. And looks forward to both. 

The one thing about the basketball program that makes it unique from the other sports Bobby plays, is that the league organizer gives out an 'Extra Effort' award every week. The award is a pack of Extra branded bubble gum. And each week, the kids listen intently to see if they have been deemed as someone who gave a little more oomph than the rest. Qualifiers for this tasty trophy are things like, 'sweating harder than the other kids on the court.' 'Listening the whole time.' 'Consistently doing a lay up with perfect form.' 

Basically, it's an award for discipline, and if you reflect on the reasons why Bobby loves sports right now, it's not for the mechanics, mastery and discipline of the game. 

So, in the weeks that he has played basketball in the fall and winter, he has yet to receive an Extra Effort award. Wun wun. 

Last Thursday, as I waited to pick him up, I listened as the latest award winners were rattled off, breath bated for if Bobby would be called. Literally, the stage mom in me, was making my heart race. A couple names and descriptions of A+ students later, Bobby walked away disappointed again. 

As we left the building, he told me his one friend had gotten the Extra Effort award four times. 'Four time! I can't believe it!' 

Seeking to understand if he could pinpoint the theme, I asked, 'why do you think he got it that many times?' 

'I don't know ... this time the coach said it was because he sweat a lot ... and that wasn't even real sweat. He poured water on himself at the end of practice!' 

I tried not to laugh. I asked, 'did you listen well, did you work as hard as you could?' 

'Yeah, I did, I did, I did.' 

But I can tell when he knows I've made a point. We walked the rest of the way to the car, breaking into a run about halfway there to keep from freezing. We got in, I started up the car and heat, and then opened up my glove compartment where I had a pack of Orbitz gum. I gave him a piece and some encouragement. 'Maybe next time buddy. Just keep working hard.' 

And as I reflected on that moment, I wrote my own participation award for Bobby. 

- For a kid (and parent), who finds a way to show up to practice every week. That first and foremost is an extra amount of effort in our household. 

- For a kid that brings out a critical component of being on a team: comradery, friendship, and a desire to bring people together 

- For a kid who always has a positive attitude and smile on the court  

- Who has endless energy. 

- Who will always stick up for his teammates if the other team is getting a little rough.  

- Who has the best dance moves, jokes and stories - aka distractions to the discipline they are likely coaching on the court 

- Who is sweet, thoughtful, and kind - if he got that pack of gum, I bet the first thing he would do is share it with the team. 

- Who loves the game - just as he loves all games that enable him to play with a group of kids his age. 

So with that, I give him the Orbitz Oward - for being an out of this world kind of kid. Ta da! Problem solved. One stick of gum and Mommy's 'Oward' should make him feel like the king of the court. 

The thing is, he was never not okay. Life went on for Bobby every time another name was called out. It was me, thinking he needed the nod from the coach as motivation, recognition, or another superlative in his life. But that's not Bobby. He's a team player at home, at school, and on the court. He values his connections and relationships with people over everything else. His award is just time out of the house with his pals. 

There will be a day when you get the icing on the cake though, Bobby. An Extra Effort or even an All Star award is bound to come your way. But for now, just know how much your Mom values the unique, awesome, and inspiring little boy that you are. 

Happy #7 birthday, Bobby - and what a snow, bowling, Lego building, new basketball hoop playing, partying kind of birthday it was.   

Love, 

Mommy 

Christmas Present

This Christmas, as I lovingly and exhaustedly smiled on my kids opening their treasures from Santa, I wondered how long it had been since I ran down the stairs on Christmas Day to open my own presents. I wondered how long it had been since there was a pile under the tree, just for me. Since there was a strategy of opening and cataloguing and plotting playtime. That last Christmas was later than college graduation, earlier than Mary's first Christmas. But I can't recall with precision. Regardless, it seemed far away. 

I hate when I can't place a memory. Especially when the memory was a last in life. I don't remember cherishing the effortlessness and bliss of that morning - the cozy comforts of it all - the gratitude I should have felt for all that others had done for me. I didn't comprehend that there would be a vast divide between my lack of responsibility in a Christmas outcome back then and my current role as the ultimate orchestrator and conductor of Christmas today. As my Mom would say, 'it all goes too fast.'    

*** 

This year, in contrast to the feeling of a coddled childhood Christmas, I felt like I was hobbling out of the holiday and of 2021, in totality. Perhaps because I was literally limping around the house on New Year's Eve. 

See, I had racked up a couple injuries in the days that followed our festivities. Boo boo #1: a fist size bulging bruise on my thigh from a slip and fall in my kids' bathroom. Boo boo #2: a sore back from carrying big babies around town. And boo boo #3: a bloody and bruised left knee and a pummeled right foot from a ridiculous scurry to and from the garage in bare feet, which resulted in a crash landing on the stairs leading up to our back door. 

My body ached, but with a couple Motrin and two glasses of good Champagne, the pain faded away. This vision of minor injuries, a quick patching up, and a stringent focus on rapid recovery to exceed full speed again, is what characterized a lot of this year. To get everything done - it's a hustle (never a hassle) and typically, despite a set back and bandage here and there, I'm pretty good at keeping a lightening pace. 

This holiday season, I was able to decorate, shop, set tables, fill them with good food, bake, wrap, yada, yada, yada, all of it at warp speed. And despite the more frantic moments, I loved it. 

But doing that all year long ... all. year. long. translates to why I fell twice in one week. I've been on turbo speed since January and I think my mind and body are trying to tell me to slow down, putter along perhaps, or maybe just stop entirely for a minute or two.

We did a lot last year and if I were to reflect on a top ten list, I might call out our trips to Martha's Vineyard and Sea Island, Peter and I celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary in Sonoma, playing tennis at our Country Club all summer long, seeing Mary learn to swim so well and then compete in meets, my job that afforded me some successes and recognition that exceeded expectations, our new kitchen, the twins turning one and all the milestones they've accomplished this year, Bobby playing a different sport every season - soccer, basketball, baseball, and now skiing so well, Margaret dancing, playing make believe in her room, lighting up a room with her smile, and snuggling with me as I work in bed every night, and getting vaccinated and boosted, giving me more comfort in being together with family and friends in a more normal way. 

But there was no stopping. Even our vacations weren't really moments to relax and reset. It was a year of go, go, go, of hard work, of crashing into my pillow every night, of waking up and going again. And as I reflect on falling, perhaps there is an opportunity to think about 2022 a little differently. That is, could I manage life at a little slower pace? Could I be a little smarter in my approach? 

So in that spirit, there are a couple things I'm holding myself to in this new year.

1. Communication. I want to be better at it: More direct, but also more patient. Clearer, but kinder in my approach. 

2. Carved out time: There should be blanks in my calendar - personally and professionally. And the three things I will prioritize placing there are quality playtime with my kids, a good book, and a weekday Mass. 

3. Being more of a leader, less of a doer: While I have always been a busy bee, I need to build my competency of coaching and building those that can help.  

4. Walk more, run less: This applies to getting from point A to point B, not running as exercise. The goal here is to crash less. To get through 2022 with more bravado, less boo boos.

To 2022.  

Lo.