Monday, April 7, 2014

Doing Disney (and How to Get Someone Else to Plan It)

Disney World. We went, we saw, we rode, we laughed, we cried, we survived. And it was awesome. And stressful. But mostly awesome.

Let me start by saying that when I planned our trip I was 8ish months pregnant, getting ready for baby, getting ready for Christmas, keeping an almost four year old alive, and working. It was a busy time. I turned to my favorite information source, Facebook, and crowd sourced the best way to plan. Half the people said do it yourself, half the people said use an agent. Some said stay on site, others said never stay in the park. There were votes for using the meal plan and just as many said you don't need it. See my problem? You didn't make it easier people, you made it much more confusing. Then one day at the office my boss gave me the name of a woman who plans Disney vacations. The clouds parted and angels started singing and the sun shone down right where I was standing. Corby Cook. (Can you hear the angels? I can totally hear them.) I wrote her an email of when we wanted to go, what our family was like, and that I needed help. She wrote me back, and was so sweet, and told me exactly what I wanted to hear: "I can take care of everything." Bam. Yes, please.

And she did, y'all. She took care of it all. Sister has been to Disney over 20 times in the last six years, so this isn't like getting advice from your friend's aunt who has a time share. She knows things. And more importantly, she knows how to make them happen. Like booking the hotel (even after we changed our minds like three different times of where we wanted), reservations for meals, fastpasses, and itineraries for each day.  She was even nice when she would tell me to look at something and make a decision, and I would promise to do it, and then I would look at it and have a panic attack, and just ask her to decide for me. She didn't even hate me after that.  She sent us a packet of organized information with pages and pages of things I would never think of, like the best place to get certain snacks or where to stand for the parade. See? She knows things. And the most amazing part? The part I still can't believe? We didn't even have to pay her. She gets commission for bookings. I can't imagine how that covered the emotional cost of putting up with my rambley emails and indecisiveness. I haven't gotten a bill, so I think we're good. Still, I won't be surprised if I get one for pain and suffering.

So our plan was drive to Savannah to my parents' and spend the night. Then we all drive to Disney World (they came too). We'd do Disney for three days, then leave and drive back to Savannah, then home. Perfect. A week of no work (which I almost never do since I can take my work anywhere), of all playing and enjoying family time. Stay tuned for the next few posts, where I will talk about our trip. Like how I almost ruined the trip before it even started, the many emotional breakdowns of LadyB, the highs, the lows, and a special edition of Stareitis: Disney Style. It is impossible to put the whole trip into one post. I mean I could, but I would be leaving out things like Baby Bear barfing in the middle of a photo op, the insanity of paying money to turn your child into an emotionally exhausted princess, and why I was partially topless on at least two rides. I will also give pointers on traveling to Disney with a family where no one has any inkling of what is going on and they have left you, the person who hates being in charge, in charge. It will be an education, my people. And please, for the love of Walt Disney and all things Mouse, if you are thinking about going to Disney World, hit my girl Corby up. You will not be sorry. You will be the opposite of sorry. I am thinking about asking her to just take the reins and plan the rest of my life. She is that good.
Is it too much to ask for my kids to get it together in family pics? HoneyB looks like she
has just been hit with an electric cattle prod and Baby Bear looks like he is very angry at
something on the ground. Gah.


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