We hadn’t even stepped on the first ride when my eldest son eyed the stroller/scooter rental kiosk, where 35 years ago I had rented a stroller for him. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to puncture my Disney bubble. We wedged our way through a family of four bellowing “M-I-C K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E” young mothers and fathers, with faces painted in various shades of exhaustion and a middle-aged couple wearing coordinating T-shirts: Hers read, “Best Day Ever.” His, “Most Expensive Day Ever.” Cinderella’s castle beckoned from afar as throngs of tourists propelled us down Main Street. Which is why rather than an intimate vacation to an ocean of turquoise water, mountains capped with snow-white peaks or a city oozing with history and culture, we were schlepping three adult kids, spouses and grandchildren to Orlando, Fla.Īfter researching hotels, flights and restaurants, and holding summit-level discussions with our kids to refine the itinerary and decode the Fast Pass system, we arrived at the gates of the Magic Kingdom. We upped the ante and plotted to hit the jackpot. Ice cream topped with rainbow sprinkles, M&M’s and whipped cream evoked a “This is the best.” Soon, we learned that Pokémon trading cards, LOL Surprise!, visits to aquariums, zoos and laser tag secured full-faced smiles and a jubilation that spilled into euphoria. At first, it was uncalculated - a tummy tickle brought a smile and gurgle. Since becoming Bubbie and Zaydie, Charles and I have developed an addictive avocation: indulging our grandchildren and reveling in their joy. The kids tore off the wrapping paper as we shouted, “We’re going to Disney World!” Mickey Mouse luggage tags hung from the handles. Last Chanukah, my husband and I bought four-wheeled rolling suitcases for our then-11-year-old, curly-headed granddaughter and 8-year-old, cherub-faced twin grandsons.
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