My fourteen year old son, Casey has gone to Disneyland this weekend for the second time in his life and I’m not with him. I learned from our first trip seven years ago that I’ve become a full-fledged, no-holds-barred grown up. And there’s no escaping this reality no matter how hard I try.
Understand that I’ve always been one of those Moms. By “one of those,” I mean the kind of Mom who tries to participate 100 percent in the lives of her children. I kick off my shoes, roll up my sleeves, and experience life as they experience it (therapist-speak for: I still see myself as twelve years old.)
I’ve always loved good roller coasters; ones with sharp drops or corkscrews or full-on loop de loops. And in my mind, that was still true. However, in the physical reality of my post childbirth life ... not so much. The pathetic fact is this: It doesn’t matter if it’s the Matterhorn or your basic, no frills merry-go-round, I’m woozy within seconds of the safety bar being secured...suddenly bearing a striking resemblance to Mr. Toad of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
On our last trip, I was transformed into the kind of Mom I’d hoped I never would become: the observer Mom. The Mom that says to her family: “You go on and have fun. I’ll meet you at the exit.” Now, the politically correct ... or should I say, parentally correct ... rationalization of my chagrin is actually also the truth. I will treasure the looks of sheer delight on their faces every time they came off a thrilling ride. But when I divided the number of delighted looks into the cost of four “three-day park-hopper” tickets, I couldn’t help feeling a little bit short changed.
It was then and there that I decided Disney needed to borrow a page from its own history. Remember the famous E ticket? Well I think it’s high time Disney established the M ticket. “M” ostensibly stands for “Moms” ... but it really stands for Manicures, Massages, and Margaritas. The M ticket would be issued ever so discreetly as Moms walk into the park.
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