To Leap or Not to Leap?

February 29, 2016

Today is Leap Day and so it’s fitting that I tell you about the events of the last five days.

Do you do well with making important decisions? I mean really big ones — beyond how many times to nuke that cup of coffee before giving up and realizing it’s a symbol for how your day will unfold.

Big, important decisions are hard. I am fortunate that I haven’t had to make too many of them in my life. You know who hates decision-making a lot? My husband. Not everyday decisions or business decisions – those are easy for him. But the ones with huge ranges of gray? Yes. He is a man of science who embraces the pragmatics of a solid pro/con list. When a decision transcends these logical parameters, he would really rather take the wait-it-out approach. I would offer you an example, but you probably don’t want to hear about the infamous dating-for-five-years-but-still-not-engaged period of our lives right now.

And so, when he was extended an offer for a new job this past Wednesday, our regular old week  got interesting very quickly. Wow, a new job for him. One that he would love. Wow, it’s all the way in Colorado. That’s sort of far. WOW, he was given five days to make a decision. Whaaaat?

Then he was asked if we wanted to get on a plane and check it out over the weekend.

Uh, yes.

I’ve been to Colorado before, but only for skiing and not in a very long time. If I was going to move my family, we needed to go and spend some time there to make an informed decision.

And so, I assembled a true patchwork of child care from various family members (all of whom are owed huge gestures of thanks spun in gold), rearranged all of our weekend commitments and got on a plane Friday afternoon. This happened to be our wedding anniversary, and so what appeared on Facebook to be a photo of a last-minute romantic getaway was actually us taxiing to a pressure cooker situation and whirlwind tour of our potential future home base.

CO-bound

All weekend long, I felt a lot like I was on a reality show but one where the cameras must have been hidden. The premise of the show was “Hey, spend a weekend only with your spouse, in a city you’ve never visited. Now, find your way around a new area, locate the housing and school possibilities and discuss the entire future of your family before coming home with a decision in 48 hours. Go!” It was somewhere between House Hunters and The Amazing Race. It needs a more concise title and I have a few draft ideas I’m working through before I pitch the whole concept to the cable networks.

And so, my husband and I drove around like it was our job. We met with realtors and with friends of friends who live in the area to give us some perspective and advice. We stared at stunning mountains and bike trails and soaked in 70 degree weather in February. We thought about what it would be like to move our family from its Northeast roots to an area where we have not a single family member.

IMG_9360

 

And we wavered. We took turns saying whether the right thing was to stay or to go.

  • Do we want a new adventure?
  • Could we take the kids so far from their grandparents? 
  • How often would we be able to fly home to visit?
  • Are we happy where we live now?

{In short: yes, ouch, unclear and mostly but not entirely.}

I happen to love the Northeast but I’m also acutely aware of the fact that it’s the only part of the country I’ve ever lived in. I’ve traveled all over the world but my home base and center of gravity have always been in this area. The town where we live now is quaint and lovely and has so much of what I could ever ask for. Sure, I get fed up with some of the social dynamics and of course there are women in my mom orbit who make me crazy, but that would happen anywhere. But, sometimes, there is some appeal to just picking up and starting over somewhere else.

Plenty of people are lifelong movers, maybe for job purposes or perhaps just as wanderers of the world. Lots of folks live far from their extended families. And many stick close to their roots and to those in their tightest circle. Neither way is wrong – but what was right for us? It was truly the first time it had ever come up in a real-life, concrete scenario.

And that scenario drove the course of our weekend. In between getting lost and figuring out maps and school districts and counting how many Whole Foods one can actually put in a ten-mile radius, we sat down to great meals and cocktails and, funnily enough, had a fabulously unexpected getaway weekend. It wasn’t vacation by any stretch, but it was uninterrupted time on a mutual mission. And the question that loomed over us forced us to have some very real conversations about expectations and hopes and challenges for our family.

I was left wondering about leaps of faith and how they differ for people.

Many would go. The adventure, the newness, the sheer opportunity and of course the job.

Many would stay. The proximity to family, eliminating the uncertainty, the comfort what is already known.

Of course, there’s a lot more to all of this, and I won’t bore you with the 6.3 million dynamics and nuances at play. And my intention is not really to have the decision made by committee anyway, but more to bring my cortisol levels down to human levels by writing about it now that we’re back home.

After dissecting and re-dissecting all of the back-and-forth all weekend, I realized that the question was broader than I thought: Was the leap of faith to go or to stay? To face a new place or to pass it up and see what the future brings here at home?

Some people are excellent decision-makers under duress. And some feel like they just survived a reality show as they cross the finish line and hope they did everything they could to make the right choice.

Stay tuned for the outcome.

 

CO-mountains

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Family, Places Near and Far 2 Comments

Pimp My Ride (2.0)

February 15, 2016

As parents, we make many important decisions that impact our families.

  • Which foods should we buy organic?
  • How much screen time should our kids get?
  • How many days in a row is too many to wear my favorite yoga pants?
  • Is the Pottery Barn Kids toy kitchen worth the price of a mortgage payment?
  • And which car should I drive?

The car decision is not one to take lightly. Given the amount of time I spend in my vehicle with my kids, it’s practically like buying a second home. One where everyone is forced to share a room while tethered into position.

And so, as my lease is about to expire, I find myself giving some very serious thought to this decision. I’m pretty sure I want to stay in a minivan situation. It feels right, like my formal identification card for living in the suburbs with three kids. I know, it’s not very cool, is it? That’s ok, neither am I. I’ve never been a trendsetter, and I have the mid-80s New Jersey yearbook photos to prove it.  Plus, if I let my cars define me, then what we should really be discussing is that my first vehicle was a 1986 Monte Carlo.

And I like the minivan, truthfully. It’s like my little kingdom on wheels. With three kids under nine, it serves a certain cargo-meets-I-give-up-on-style vibe that really speaks to me. All that’s really missing is one of those stickers with the family stick figures. That, or a bumper sticker that aligns Common Core Math with Satan.

But the question at hand is: Can I find the upgrades I really need?

And that’s where the search gets challenging.  What do you fellow parents think of some of these features I’m hoping for?

car-shopping

The Extending Limb Feature.  Mom, I dropped my {book, shoe, cup, etc}.  Mom, can you hand me my {book, shoe, cup, etc.}?  Mom, I need to put my mittens on. Mom, do you have any snacks? Mom, what kind of snacks? Mommmmmm?  Since my kids think of me as a mobile concierge and grand buffet server, I need to make this easier, and I honestly can’t believe that what has been done with pneumatic tubing in the drive-through banking world can’t be replicated in the domestic driving environment.  In the meantime, I need an extending robotic arm that can retrieve and distribute said items with precision and safety.  Also, when the Crisis Mode button is activated, the Extended Limb Feature can gently swat a misbehaving kid on the head who is seated in the third row — all without me taking my eyes off the road.

 

The Time Suspension Feature.  So, this may be out of our price range but it’s a worthwhile investment. I don’t know about you, but by the time I get my kids and their stuff to school each the morning, I fully expect the entire crew of The Amazing Race to be there greeting me.  And on the rare occasion when we are early for something, my kids immediately suspect that the activity has been canceled – because there is no other plausible explanation in their minds as to why we would be there first. So, on any of the 361 days a year I am running late, I would simply enable the Time Suspension feature, which would set all clocks back to a desired interval in order for me to appear to be on time. It’s like the Flux Capacitor, but without the pesky plutonium component and the Huey Lewis background music.

 

The Music Ban Feature.  Speaking of music, it’s a cruel reality but certain overplayed artists make me want to hit a tree and are, therefore, unsafe for my driving experience.  With this feature, my car will pre-emptively detect and block any and all Kidz Bop music for starters, followed by Adele. (YES, ADELE. I know, you all lovvvvve her but it’s just not safe to weep and drive. If you must listen, at least Uber.) I will add to this list of songs and artists over time as safety dictates. It’s sort reminiscent of the greatest scam I’ve pulled on my kids to date, when I had them believing for a full year that our minivan’s TV screen was actually only for GPS navigation. This was followed by my Best Actress in a Leading Domestic Role nomination, feigning utter shock and delight as they discovered we can watch DVDs on this thing. I’d like to thank the Academy for considering me.

 

The Snack Mold Disintegration Feature.  I noticed that one of the newer minivans now offers a central vacuum system, which is a good start. But still, there’s something about how the kids’ food just finds its way into the car’s nether regions and dies a slow death. You know how you find remnants of old snacks and — ohmygoodgod — sippy cups of milk tucked under the seats, maybe weeks later?  Don’t lie. You know you do. No worries.  My new car will swiftly locate such items and prevent mold from forming. Yes, it seems kind of science-y and, no, I did not technically pass high school Chemistry, but I’m going to leave the details to the experts. Why I’m not working in Vehicular Research & Development is a mystery to me.

 

And finally:

 The Husband Navigation Lock Feature.  It’s true that many cars have navigation systems, but do husbands ever use them?  Notsomuch. Their DNA forces them to resist.  So, what if the navigation was automatically locked in the ON position when the car detects your husband in the driver’s seat?  And, what if that navigation was programmed to a voice he would listen to?  I mean, he will tune out the annoying standard navigation voice – or, mine – but if, say, Bob Costas was giving him directions — he might actually stay on course. I know you want to carpool with me now, don’t you?

 

So that’s what I’m looking for in my next car. Just a few extra conveniences. I’m not sure why every dealership says I’m so picky.

I think, next time, I will take a car salesman out on a little two-hour test drive with my three kids during car pool — and then we’ll see if I’m still being unrealistic in my needs.

—–

 

 

{This is an updated version of an earlier post. The original Pimp My Ride ran the last time I was car shopping. I’ve learned more in the last three years about what I really need.}

 

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Family 5 Comments

Do You Have a Disney World Problem?

February 8, 2016

There are two kinds of people out there: those who have a Disney World problem and those who do not.*

(*and, technically, there is a third kind: those who don’t yet know they have a Disney World problem)

My name is Kim and I have a Disney World problem.

You might know people like me and roll your eyes. You might swear this will never be you (and maybe it won’t — but I’ve won bets with far worse odds before).

Or, you might email me and ask for my help in planning your trip, which I’m happy to do (as long as you aren’t rolling your eyes at me).

How do you know if you have a Disney World problem? It’s a little different for everyone, but for me, it sort of looks like this:

  • It means that I’m booking a hotel about seven to eight months in advance.
  • It means that I’m at my computer at precisely 6am exactly 180 days before arrival to secure dining reservations.
  • It means that, last night, at the stroke of midnight, I was back on the computer to secure my FastPass reservations at my earliest opportunity for rides and attractions, with a priority list and Plan B in hand.
  • And it probably means that I will be thinking about how to plan my next trip there before I leave the WDW property on this year’s trip.

Other tell-tale signs include seeking out and commiserating with other like-minded Disneyphiles — perhaps comparing notes on FastPass selections and meal reservation strategies. I know who my people are. And there is always someone who knows more — like a Yoda of Disney planning.

But let’s just address the real question here: What the hellllllll?

Let me be clear, friends. I do not know what I’m packing in my kids’ lunch bags tomorrow. I have no idea what they will be handing out for Valentine’s Day later this week. And I certainly have not started to think about any of our plans for March.

But, damn it, I’ve known since October where we’re eating one meal a day for an entire week this April.

I know. I knowwwww. It seems insane.

Most people who know me don’t take me for a Disney World person. I can see that. For starters, I don’t sing aloud or dress with animated characters on my shirts. Also, I hate crowds, I have very little patience, require SPF 6 million, and am known to be more than a touch cynical.

At first blush, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

So, how did this happen?

And, (I can hear the fear in your voices) — can it happen to you? *GASP*

Yes. Yes, it can.

disney1

 

The truth is that I wasn’t born this way, and the road to having a legit WDW problem was gradual and almost imperceptible. I’ve been conditioned over time by two things that have gone hand in hand at WDW: experience and failure.

I started off all breezy with my first trip to WDW, when my kids were just three and one (and a non-existent third). It was a little side trip from my mom’s place in Florida while we were visiting her. We had a hotel for two nights and a couple of loose dining ideas. We figured we’d just play it by ear. We’d just see how it goes. We’re not Those Crazy Disney People.

I never say this, but: LOLOLOLOLOL.

The ultimate WDW rookie mistake.

Because you know what doesn’t work? Winging anything at all with young kids in a theme park among tens of thousands of other people.

Here, let me explain.

Raise your hand if your kids are exactly zero of these things in a theme park environment:

  • Breezy
  • Patient
  • Reasonable
  • Well-rested

Raise your hand again if your kids are likely to exhibit most/all of these traits in a theme park environment:

  • Sensory overload
  • Hot
  • Hungry
  • Exhausted

See?! We’re more alike than you thought!

And so, what I quickly figured out was this: The only way to turn a WDW trip from a series of kids’ meltdowns to an actual fun family vacation that’s worth the expense is to plan the absolute shit out of it.

As a result, I have a few guidelines that I live by when planning our trip:

  • I want to stay as close to the Magic Kingdom as possible with minimal bus rides to the parks. Because Disney Magic does not include making your kids behave on public transportation.
  • I want to be able to sit down for dinner. Inside. I don’t need a steak by any means, but please do not make me spend 52 minutes standing in a buffet line with my kids, while balancing 16 trays and knowing that I’m paying $25/kid for them to eat a few grapes and possibly some Mickey-shaped pasta.
  • In the camp of Well, That’s Fucking Obvious: I want to not stand in a 240-minute line for the best rides. It’s such a joy to navigate kids through the zig-zag ropes in the blazing Florida sun. Please don’t climb on that. Please don’t remove the rope from the chain. Please don’t step on that person. Please don’t.step.on.that.person. Yes, just another 127 minutes. Please don’t climb on that. Translation: I can stay at home for free if I want to see my kids totally lose their damn minds.

So, guess how many of those things you can do by winging it? You get the idea.

Wait, let’s address the naysaying for a sec.

Oh, but that’s no fun to have everything planned. It’s sooooo stressfullllll.

That doesn’t sound like a vacation at allllll.

How can anyone even enjoy that?

I’ve heard it all. Haters gonna hate. That’s because they’re on the 45-minute line for the buffet while I’m sitting down with kids’ menus in one hand and a glass of cold white wine in the other.

If you think this sounds miserable and distinctly un-vacation-y, let me reassure you that flexibility has not gone off to die while we’re on this trip. Nobody is running a stopwatch or issuing a fun quota — I promise. In fact, apart from some of the must-do items, we invariably move a bunch of plans around once we’re there to accommodate whichever unexpected and inevitable situation arises with kids.

The plan is actually just a framework of which parks we’ll visit on which days, with our top choices for rides FastPassed and a place to have dinner. You can only get three FastPasses upfront per day, so we’re not talking about a regimented minute-by-minute walking path for the day here. Yes, we make unexpected stops and unscheduled decisions. Yes, there’s room for ice cream. Yes, there are many hours spent just swimming in the hotel pool, which means many pretty cocktails with little umbrellas for me.

But I’m not giving up my dining reservations unless some serious shit has gone down or I’ve made some unforeseen scheduling error.

Do I love sit-down meals with three kids under nine? Not especially. Some days, there’s a clear element of OMG-we-should-not-eat-in-public. And it’s not about wanting to eat anything particularly fancy. It’s more about needing the oasis of a reserved table in the air conditioning once a day to break from the crowds and madness. It’s a great re-charge.

Also, there’s an odd environmental phenomenon that occurs within WDW. The whole of Central Florida experiences a synchronized ravenous hunger spell at about 4:45 every day. All of the people on WDW property. Everyone around you. So, in that moment, go ahead and have a look at the spontaneous dining options and then at the hordes of the famished — and then do the math (fun fact: the average number of people in the Magic Kingdom on a single day is 53,000). If you decided, in the name of being breezy, to just wing it, I applaud you and sincerely hope your number of buffet line minutes is less than your age times 12, or that maybe the street-side turkey leg the size of your skull has enough sauce on it. Hopefully, as our kids get older, we’ll have more flexibility with this and less “we will die if we don’t eat within everyone’s picky specifications right this second.”

Outside of where we want to eat, there are considerations to make about which parks to hit on which days. Average crowd levels, Extra Magic Hours (when the park opens early/closes late for those staying on WDW property — translation: way more crowded) and can we make it in time for Rope Drop?

(Rope Drop: The moment the park opens its gates first thing in the morning. Also known as the only thing my family is ever early for in the history of everything. The later you are after Rope Drop, the bigger the lines.)

Ok, and if I’m being honest, there is some sick satisfaction that people like me get from knowing the system, getting the reservations we want and working every possible cog in the WDW machine (What? The Child Ride Swap? This is legit? Yes, it is.) Every year, there’s something I didn’t know before and I add it to my grand planning insanity. I’ve come too far now to go back to winging it. And it’s silly not to pay this information forward. As I type, I’m helping two friends plan their inaugural WDW trips and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have their initial itineraries mentally planned out for later this year.

I wouldn’t even call my Disney Problem that severe. I’m more in the moderate-to-intense camp. There are many true WDW ninjas who vacation among us, and you probably wouldn’t know just by looking at them. In everyday life, they might be doctors, yoga instructors, stay-at-home parents  or waitresses. But once they start planning that trip, it’s a whole other gig. Plenty of folks have a walking plan optimized for the day and know the exact order of the rides they’ll pursue. They stuff enough snacks and well-packed coolers under their strollers to be able to avoid the sit-down meal. They have children who pass out in said strollers (mine never have). They know where to stand for the parades and which side of Main Street, USA to walk along to get to Cinderella’s Castle more quickly.

And others wing it, either knowing or not knowing the consequences. It’s true that once your kids get older, there’s a lot more give in the plan. I’m not there yet. But even when that day comes, I think old habits will die hard. You’ll still find me on my laptop 180 days beforehand at 6am.

OK, maybe 6:15.

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Holidays, Places Near and Far 8 Comments