I have come to the conclusion that I am stupid. Yeah, stupid. I have dreams of grandeur. I am Pollyanna to an extent. I see people like Tarah Sweeney and Lindsey Scholz and think that my life can be picturesque. My kids can be quaffed, well-behaved for 5 minutes and even blissful.
This is where I am dead-ass wrong.
There it is. The holy grail. The ethereal, beautiful, majestic Disneyland castle.
And this is what immediately ensued. The boys had lost their absolute, ever-loving shit on the plane ride. If we hadn't been absolutely and utterly mortified by their high-pitched screams, we would have felt awful for them. They were T E R R I F I E D. Jax has a very sensitive fear of falling, so a plane ride was basically his worst nightmare.
While I sat on the plane, sweating like a hog and willing the plane to just nosedive, I realized that we had just made a terrible mistake: Disneyland with twins who are terrified of being up in the air and getting tummy tickles was, literally, the worst "vacation" we could have planned.
We headed into Disneyland with smiles on our faces. We made a beeline towards Small World because we assumed it would be an easy transition into the rides. All 3 kids immediately lost it. Hysterical crying, yelling, "I don't want to go on this ride." The works. The best part of this photo is that moments later, Jett pissed all down the front of Josh.
We had been inside of Disneyland for 6 minutes.
They cheered up. I mean, it was a long time coming, many scoops of ice cream and lots of being carried, but they managed to have fun. Pssh. "Managed" to have fun at the happiest place on earth.
We had a moment, Josh and I, where it was all worth it. All the tears, the BO, the arguments, the begging kids to pull it together. This moment. Our daredevil 5-year-old-princess-tomboy was ready to try some coasters.
We chose Thunder Mountain Railroad and she was on cloud nine. She nestled in between us, threw her arms up in the air, and squealed the entire duration of the ride. We looked at each other and knew that all the other shit had been completely worth it. Five years old was the perfect age to do this. She was in heaven.
Shortly after, we climbed into the boats for Splash Mountain, where Maddie shoved Josh out of the way and sat in the front. She was in heaven. The picture doesn't capture that, but the moment we hit the bottom of the drop, she screamed, "I WANNA DO THAT AGAIN!"
Worth it.
Once the weeping and gnashing of teeth subsided, we rode rides, we ate copious amounts of ice cream, we giggled, and we got excited about Disney characters.
We also met Gabriel.
Believe it or not, Gabriel is their second cousin, just 3 weeks older than the boys. He loved them.
Like, worshiped them. He couldn't not hug them. He had to touch them, but was reminded by his Mama, "People need space." To which he would quip, "Don't toucha da hair," as he petted my sons on the head.
We survived. They flew home better than they flew to California, and Josh and I swore not to fly with the boys until they were about 10.
Vacations will no longer include children. Sorry, kids. Ball was in your court and you screwed the pooch.
