With the knowledge that The Husband wanted a separation, I couldn’t face my family for Thanksgiving. I didn’t want to answer questions. I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to be honest and bare my heart. So did what any sane person does. I organized a trip to California to take my family to Disneyland.
It was a crazy little trip. The night before Thanksgiving, I demanded to go to our favorite sushi bar. Not that it took a demand to convince The Husband, and afterwards I took the boys to yet another Target to buy more pants for Tornado E because he failed to the bathroom once a day. I also stalked up on treats and such for the next day.
On Thanksgiving, we woke early, packed and excited. Luckily the day before I had met with The Violinist and her adorable daughter. Since the Violinist still worked at Disneyland, as she had when she was my college roommate, she graciously bought our park passes to use her discount (and yes, I gave her the money. I’m not a user.). She even told me that the family could walk across the street from our hotel and just take the parking lot tram. (Thank you, Violinist!!!)
We actually arrived at the park a half hour after the gates opened, which is a record for us. We proceed to Fantasyland to scare our children to never want to ride another ride without lots of coaxing, pleading, and bribing. (Snow White will do that to you.) But after a trip to the Pirate Island, the boys were more than ready to taste their courage on The Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Captain Jack awaited them. After that, it was one adventure after another. Even though Star Tours was closed (the one ride we couldn’t wait to take the boys on), we had a great time riding rides.
I was packed to the gills with the double stroller. Tornado A did fine, though he was a little grumpy over the fact he had no rolling around time. While Disneyland has a wonderful Mothers and Babies room, with changing tables, high chairs with feeding seats, and even a breastfeeding room with gliders, Tornado A just fed all over the park, like Tornado E did when he was a babe. I only wish I had bundled Tornado A up in a sleep ‘n’ play rather than pants that rode up on his legs to expose a little bit of leg to the cooling air.
At Tornado A’s last feeding, The Husband encouraged us to seek shelter in one of the few indoor restaurants. It was getting pretty chilly, and I had packed only light jackets. The Husband bought hot chocolates, a brownie, and a rice krispie treat. The boys ate gleefully (all of them), but they were fading fast (all of them).
The Husband: Maybe we should go.
Me: It’s not even eight yet.
The Husband: Maybe we should find a warm place to watch the fireworks.
Me: But we told the boys we would ride on Pirates again after that.
We looked at our tired boys.
The Husband: They look really tired.
Me: Who wants to go on Pirates?
Tornado E and Tornado S: MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
I cocked an eyebrow.
The Husband: Fine. But then we’ll find some place warm to watch the fireworks, AND THEN we’ll go back to the hotel.
Me: You’re getting to be no fun in your old age.
The Husband: Responsible. I’m getting to be responsible in my old age.
Then I looked over at the boys. To find Tornado S with his head on the table, right hand curled around his brownie, and fast asleep.
I looked under the blanket. To see Tornado A fast asleep, snuggling against my warm breast.
Me: Ok, Mr. Responsible. Does this mean we go back to the hotel now?