Disney and the Beach

Hands down, the best time we had on vacation was rolling through Disney: Animal Kingdom, Epcot, and the Magic Kingdom. And there was magic. Lots of it, but most of it was shining through a child’s eye. The biggest thing we learned at Disney World is that we need a kid to properly enjoy Disney. We need that moment of excitement that shines from tiny irises and blooms on the tip of a tiny child’s nose. Is it bad that we now have moved this up to the top of our list for why we want a child?

Number one reason to have a kid: so that we can really, really, really enjoy Disney.

That can’t be a bad thing, right? We want to spill all over the Magic Kingdom with kids pushing and pulling us and begging us for mouse ears hats with their names on it. We want to eat cotton candy for breakfast and race through Fantasy Land—stopping to ride the carousel and pointing out Cinderella’s story as it goes round. We want whiny kids crying around 5:00 only to be pacified by a dancing Minnie, Mickey, and Peter Pan. We want to dry tears as our kids stand in line for their very first Space Mountain. We want to live the fear, excitement, joy, and overwhelming happiness that comes from a six-year-old visiting Disney for the very first time.

As it was, we were giddy enough for a couple of kids. We raced into the park, Animal Kingdom on the first day and the Magic Kingdom on the second day, to see the park opened by pixie dust and a parade. It was blazing hot at the end of July, so we were lucky to have little to no lines for the first three hours of each day. We rode every ride we wanted to and then coasted for the remainder of the day.

We bounced over to Epcot and did the polka while drinking beer at the German
Biergärten. We rode the underwhelming Norway ride that Gary warned us against. We added that to the catalog of “Gary was right’s” that we echoed all day. We learned that Norwegians are oil-loving trolls who enjoy driving backwards. We’re still scratching our heads over that one. We got to the safari early in the morning and still didn’t see that many animals. The lions, it seems, are incredibly anti-social animals. Who knew? You’d figure with prides and all they’d be more bombastic and outgoing. The phony safari that we took on the Jungle Cruise surpassed the live animals—how can that be? I can never get enough animatronics. Never.

After two full days of Disney, two magical days that brought a new sense of kid-yearning to our hearts, we high-tailed it down to Vero Beach where we proceeded to visit our very first beach together. Stupid storm. Stupid, silly, annoying storm ran up behind us and washed seaweed up on the shore. Ew. It was three feet thick. That’s gross. And the water was cold. We definitely deserve a redo.

But we suffered. We pulled it out—we stayed for nearly five hours. We built sand castles and kingdoms and aqueducts. We farmed tiny little civilizations out of sand and saw them destroyed by Poseidon. We carved a Wasteland and saw a father and son carrying their last sole belongings across the rim. We lived with our butts firmly buried in sand and our feet digging to China. We drank in the ocean water and tasted salt on our lips. We swam in the waves on cheap plastic rafts and watched each other go up and down with moon’s watery caress. We relaxed that day.

Perhaps a bit too much. Mr. Husband, my sweet Irish-Scottish-big-headed-pale-skinned man failed to cover his feet with sunscreen. He didn’t lose the feet, but he came damn near close. I became crispy brown like an Indian princess of yesterday while he glowed all red and brilliant and covered in aloe. Poor man. He suffered for my sun. His feet are now pleasantly peeling and I see scraps of them littered throughout the house. I guess that’s my penance. I sweep them up and remember the day that we had nothing whatsoever to do at all.