The Most Magical Place on Earth

I had parked the stroller right near Cinderella’s castle. Grandma and my four-year-old were in a nearby rest room going potty before we left the The Magic Kingdom, a.k.a. “The Most Magical Place on Earth,” for the day. I was trying to keep my eye on my six-year-old, who was twirling around a nearby post. Because I had schlepped a heavy backpack, as well as my nine-month old in a front pack, my back and shoulders were tired. I had shrugged the backpack off and the baby was ensconced in the stroller, having a nap. 

“Oh, not again!” I moaned as I bent over to retrieve something out of the huge carry-almost-all pack. Groping blindly, I felt that the contents were slimy. 

I withdrew my hand and examined it. It was covered with an orange-ish ooze, which meant that not only had the little tub of cheese crackers opened up inside the pack, but somehow there was liquid involved. 

It was ninety-something degrees: we were in the middle of a Florida heat wave in April. This ooze was smeared all over the contents of the pack, which was nearly everything we’d brought into the park, which is significant when you have to carry supplies for three children. “Oh, gross!” I shuddered, as I realized this was no doubt a contributing factor to the clammy feeling on my back. My son came trotting over, drawn as a moth to a flame to anything yucky.

A woman in a wheel chair nearby asked me, “Are we having fun yet?” I realized she had been watching me fumble, and probably witnessed my expression morph from surprise to disgust to annoyance.

Not feeling very “magical” at that moment, I replied, “It’s been a long day. I’m just ready to go home.” I didn’t want to say anything snippy in front of my son, who had attached himself to me, peering at the woman cautiously.  

“That’s why I don’t have kids,” she scowled, and proceeded to sit there and watch me taking stock of the mess in the backpack, removing items one by one.

I gasped, and turned to my son. “Honey, do you need a drink?” I gave his water bottle a quick clean up with a baby wipe before I handed it to him. 

“Thank you, mama.” He was now holding on to the stroller where the baby slept, protectively. 

She continued, “How many more days do you have?” as if it were a prison sentence. 

I told her, “Two more days,” and didn’t reciprocate the question to her. I didn’t really want to be having a conversation with her at all. I knew that there was no way I’d be able to explain to her why I had come to Disney World with my children, if she was of the ilk that chose not to have children.

Raising kids is not a predictable or tidy thing to do, and it was unfortunate that this woman had seen one of the more challenging moments involved in parenting, for it only served to validate her opinion that having kids was a job, not a joy. What she didn’t get to see was that there are a lot of fun parts, too – that I get to sing and play and rediscover the world through new eyes. And ultimately I get to experience the true meaning of unconditional love, to feel the love of God pouring through me to my children, and then reflected back from them. The “Most Magical Place on Earth” is wherever my kids are. 

I had been planning to surprise the boys with the trip for months – mostly so I did not have to endure weeks of them asking “how many more days until….” (We can barely get through the morning of a birthday party day without them asking every ten or fifteen minutes, “how much longer to so-and-so’s party.”).

On Easter, Grandma and I put clues in some of the big boys’ Easter eggs – pictures of the entrance to the Magic Kingdom and of Mickey Mouse. Watching them as they realized that we were actually going to Disney World and that we were leaving that very day was a joy in itself. “Pack your bags, boys!” I told them, and we were on the plane five hours later, headed for eight jam-packed days full of excitement with just a touch of vomit, potty accidents, bickering, and overtired children who for some reason can’t get to sleep at night.

Of course I was ready for a vacation after we returned from our family vacation. But it’s all worthwhile when I hear the kids tell God, even now, nearly a year later, “and thank you for the time we went to Disney World” when they say their prayers.

The mother of three sons, Caroline Poser lives with her family in Groton. She works full-time as a software marketing professional and moonlights as an author. For more information: www.CarolinePoser.com