Evidence that the Trip Wasn't a Total Disaster

It wasn't all bad. 

There was this:

 Watching the candle light processional at Epcot.  He's strapped to Frank here too.

 

  With his name on the back and everything.

Watching the fireworks at Epcot.  We were worried that the noise was going to be too much, since the vacuum is the most evil invention ever at home, but he fell asleep halfway through. 

  The half a guy you see over Franks shoulder had a B.O.B double that he tried to use to box me out.  It was a demolition derby.  He did not prevail.  My City Mini carried the day.  Jerk.

Everything was decorated at the Osborne lightshow.  Also, they sold beer and it magically snowed every few minutes. 

There's an old fashioned barbershop in the Majerk Kingdom.  They do a special "baby's first haircut".  They gave him a certificate and ears that were embroidered with "First Haircut" and they saved all of his hair for us.  His curls were starting to tangle up and lock at the ends so it was coming eventually.  I only cried a little, at the end.  This shot is in the airport the day we went home.  We were delayed 4 hours.   Because of course we were.

(Still) Recovering

We went to Disney World for Christmas.  We left on Christmas Day and came back on New Year's Eve.

Oh shut up, I know it was bad idea.  I mean, I know it NOW.

We were warned not to go during that particular week.  All of our guide books* and websites** said DO NOT GO and gave tips only IF YOU MUST GO.  We blew them off though, because we are experts.  They don't mean us.  Those warnings are for amateurs.  We're seasoned veterans!  We go every year!  We have a plan! And fail safe routes!  Crowds don't bother us! We're used to it!

Dude.  Do not go during the week between Christmas and New Year.  It's not worth it.  Everything that makes Disney special and magical is lost during this week.  Lost to the endless throngs of rapacious people trying to get there first.  There were women, mothers with small children by the hand, kicking my stroller out of the way to get in front of me.  And we weren't even trying to ride anything!  Bo spent most of the time in the carrier strapped to Frank's chest because he didn't enjoy being surrounded by so many people that towered over him.

The poor employees, who are usually so happy and helpful that I secretly wonder if they're all robots, were visibly frazzled and stressed out, trying to direct the masses with - I'm not even kidding - the wands normally used for waving in airplanes.  In addition to the whole damn world being there to celebrate the holidays, there were at least three bowl games taking place in Orlando on New Year's day.  So of course people were like, "let's go early and go to the parks before the game".  There were mothereffing marching bands in the middle of the Ma-jerk Kingdom, as if foot traffic could have gotten more congested.  I swear the entire state of Louisiana was there.  Geaux Tigers.  Puke. I was even ready to punch my fellow Penn Staters because really, get the hell out of my way.

In short.  I don't care if your last name is Disney.  DO NOT GO the week between Christmas and New Year.

* if you ever plan a trip to Disney, this book is invaluable.  We buy the current edition every year.  It's full of genuinely helpful tips and info.  It has restaurant reviews, hotel reviews, ride recommendations for different age groups.  It's incredibly comprehensive.  It also has touring plans in the back that you can cut out and take with you.
** as valuable as the book, this website will tell you which parks to visit or avoid on particular days according to crowd levels.  He uses a red light, yellow light, green light system and following his advice always ensures a comfortable and fun day at the park. 

Haunted

Ever since Bo was born, I've had a hard time with the news.  Specifically, news stories that involve terrible things happening to small children and babies.  Before, I could just shake my head and make tsking noises and go on with my day unscathed.  Now, unbidden visuals of suffering children and audio of screaming babies run in an endless loop in my head if I dare read a story about anything worse than Baby Plays with Kitten.

Like everyone else, I'm horrified by the devastation of the Haiti earthquake.  Until today though, it was a general sympathy for the people on the ground - the people who died and the families who can't find them.  Haiti was keeping the wolves away with a whip and a chair before the quake, so my heart was already breaking for the people who are being swallowed by despair.  Still though, I managed to send my donation texts and still drink my morning coffee.

Then today I read an email from a lady I know whose husband does mission work with an orphanage in a village just outside Port au Prince.  The email included the following (bold type mine):

"Barbara, the woman who runs the orphanage, is overwhelmed. The entire village surrounding her is relying on her for their needs. Most of her food supply has been destroyed by the earthquake (babies without formula is sad and scary).  The food depot where her essentials were stored has collapsed, so the food is now buried in rubble.  They are not sure how much they can salvage at this point."

They don't have formula. Babies who are already orphans in a real life orphanage do not have formula.  I'm  haunted by this.  The image of children who already had nothing now have even less.  They're sleeping the street.  What are they feeding the babies?  Can you imagine what it must sound like?  Can you imagine not being able to feed a screaming baby because you don't have anything to give him? I don't want to imagine it but I can't help myself. 

When I get home from work today I'm going to try and not suffocate my boy with squeezes and hugs while sobbing.  Then I'm going to find more than $10 to donate and offer up silent thanks for everything that I have.

How to help

I may also pray for Pat Robertson to burn in hell.  Feel free to join me.