Storytime. It’s been a wild minute since I’ve been able to share, but one of my resolutions for 2025 is more of what I truly love: authentic shares in my writing. Buckle up. This one’s a doozy.
During the holidays, there are two types of people: those who do ALL the activities because their job is activities and therefore they have an unlimited energy reserve. {I envy these people.} And those who eventually spiral and stay in their pajamas, wondering which time zone they’re in whilst over-stuffed with cheese once they’ve fulfilled all those miserable extracurricular obligations. I always fall into category two. Who invented the holidaisical nightmare timeline from Thanksgiving to Christmas anyway? Absolutely insane. Probably the same pilgrim-man who came up with daylight savings. They also burned women at the stake back then, so I don’t know why we’re still following such antiquated traditions. But I digress: Jamin and I work all the time, so we desperately need that major crash-out over the holidays.
This Christmas, instead of being normal, we went to DISNEY.
Our final day. I think we were all fighting for our lives in wet clothes.
once upon a time, we were young and spry.
How did this happen? At some point, a demon entered Jamin and said, “Let’s DO DISNEY for CHRISTMAS.” Not a tropical vacation. Not Europe. Disney. The place overrun by zombie mobs and stollers. At some point, I, possessed by sweet family memories, time slipping through my fingers, and the idea of teenagers much too quickly leaving our nest, said, “Yes.” If we were ever going to do it again, this would probably be it, and it would be our last time for a very long time. Despite the crowd insanity and the endless nickel-and-diming, we were in. But we weren’t just in. We were driving from Nashville to Orlando and eleven days total in. I mean, if we’re going to die, let’s extend the timeline of suffering, amirite? {Our thought process was that we wouldn’t have to go so hard if we stayed a while.} On the way home, we even hit a basketball game at our beloved Auburn to break up that return road trip. Yay.
When I told a friend my story, she said she pictured me with a lollipop in one hand and a Mickey balloon in another, frolicking in front of the castle. Instead, it was Christmas Eve with Zofran and a wheelchair. I just spent New Year’s Eve when we were finally back home after all of this insanity, until Saturday, the fourth of January, in my bed, recovering. The only things that could heal me were rest, water, and Netflix. I’m pretty sure I have bedsores now. People are organizing and taking down their Christmas in a frenzy on social media. Mine may be staying until mid-January because it will probably snow, so it’s time to hibernate in the bokeh. I knew what I was signing up for; I worked at Disney in college. We’ve been multiple times. As Jim Gaffigan so eloquently puts it, Disney is like Jalapenos. I fully recognize this story is riddled with champagne problems. But I’ll back up a little.
we tried to recreate it, it was the best we could do.
We departed Nashville on the 19th of December at 8:00 am. {Note the time here because it’s important.} It all started with our family optimistically over-packing because if we were driving in our giant SUV and saving money on flights, we might as well pack whatever we wanted. Yes, my daughter and I both have serious issues with editing. Our car handles more than enough luggage, and we were good to go with a snack bar to boot. Two hours later, after we’d stopped at a rest stop in Chattanooga because of my forever mutilated tiny mom-bladder, Emerson noted from the back {via her very own recent trauma in which the new-to-her car had total engine failure after owning it for three weeks, and she was now the proud owner of a very attractive VW shell, so she’s always on high alert} that our ‘check engine’ light was on. After determining that it was not, in fact, a glitch and googling that this specific light could be detrimental to our safety, we headed to the nearest local GMC repair shop.
It. Was. Packed. The guy there told us that due to the holiday rush, it would probably be weeks before they could even get to our car, let alone order the parts. We explained our situation, and he said he “would look at it after lunch.” And thus began our very own Planes, Trains, and Automobiles event, which we’d just oh-so-ironically watched with our kids at Thanksgiving.
It was time to pivot. But it’s the holidays. There is no rental available anywhere nearby. We called every business around begging for a car until a kind man standing next to Jamin in line noted that he was about to return his rental at the airport and offered him a ride. So, Jamin hitched a ride circa 1960-something when serial killers roamed the earth and openly murdered people, specifically hitchhikers, because DNA wasn’t really a problem for them yet. Only this man was perfectly lovely, and we are so grateful for his help and kindness, as the same thing happened to him the week before. I waited with the kids in the parking lot with our gratuitous, borderline shameful packing skills. Fingers crossed, we weren’t getting murder in our stockings for Christmas.
At some point, I thought the appropriate amount of time had passed for Jamin to die when I checked on him. “I was able to get something,” he replied. “But it’s the apocalypse, so it’s small. Prep the kids.” He then pulled up to our GMC Yukon AT4, with an Outback Subaru. I am not a car snob. I drive what I drive because I had a bad wreck with my kids years ago, and a larger SUV makes me feel safe and capable. Anything with backup cameras, a full sunroof, navigation, and a seat warmer will do. {Okay, maybe a dash of snob.} But if I were to have a collision with a Maserati in traffic, I would immediately exit and apologize for hitting their Mazda. I don’t know the difference. I’m just here for the creature comforts.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with an Outback Subaru until you try to stuff five adult bodies and eleven days’ worth of snacks and luggage into an absolute clown car. Jamin’s knees were vertical, past the steering wheel and dashboard. We were yelling in the parking lot. Our kids were shoulder to shoulder. Items were shoved unceremoniously into the back, and we contemplated what we could discard. We were seriously rethinking our lives. Our kids don’t always fight, but when they do, it’s because the youngest six-foot-tall child was stuffed in the middle, and Emerson declared he was MANSPREADING as if he had any other option. Our pet’s heads were falling off.
Crammed in like sardines with one crash-out and the kids’ friends now placing bets remotely on how many each family member would officially have, {one friend put mine at the highest, and he’s now dead to me} we decided to have lunch while waiting. So we did what any sane person would and ate our feelings at Wendy’s. When we returned, the head of the shop came out to take another look at our sad car. He said he believed they could fix this; we’d have to give them some time. Cue the angel choir and lights. But they would need to check for parts. At this point, the process felt like baby steps. Healthcare, but better because it’s for your car. We were trying to see if we needed a hotel since the Outback would not work for eleven days. {Say it in your best dead girl from The Ring voice}
Then, after waiting a little longer, we received the news that they could make this work. Cue the angel choir voices again, but add some backflips and levitating. {MURICA.} So we sat at the dealership until after 6:00 p.m.—closing time. I don’t know how we lucked out, and I don’t know how these amazing humans did it, but this place and its people rose above and beyond. We gladly jumped into our much-missed and roomy SUV, gratefully thanking the crew, transferring the luggage again, and returning the rental. We were finally on our way.
We tried to recreate this one right before the bottom fell out.
We left Nashville at 8:00 am with high hopes of arriving in Orlando at 6:00 p.m., pending my extravagant bathroom breaks. We, instead, arrived at 4:00 a.m. the next day, dehydrated, exhausted, bedraggled, and swearing never again. We rallied, determined to have a good time, no matter what. After all, this was what we came for. {And as an adult, this is what I paid for.}
After our first day in the Magic Kingdom, we then realized we had a flat tire. At some point, we’d run over a nail. So jamin waited with the car while we had it repaired. We took an Uber, and we all quietly wondered if we should have sacrificed our Chic-fil-A or something before we left because the Christmas vacation gods were not smiling upon us.
The next few days, we proceeded with caution. They went by without a hitch as we hopped parks. “We’re in the clear,” we rejoiced. “We just had to pay our bad luck dues up front.” There were parades, Santa, Mickey, and magic. There was also an inappropriate amount of scooters, crop dusting by toddlers with dirty diapers in crowded lines, and body-checking by people who didn’t care to say “excuse me.” We rolled with it, taking the good and bad with a sense of humor. Everyone shares those insta-worthy moments, but let’s keep it real because Disney is an all-encompassing experience.
One of my favorite parts was that I thought we’d be dragging our college freshman around, but our oldest {Aiden}, woke excited each morning, leading the charge downstairs while we waited for everyone to gather and rally. Seeing the smiles and excitement on their faces, “This is why we did this,” We mused. “Totally worth it.”
Memories. Triumph. Happy birthday, baby Jesus.
Record screech. Remember that whole bit about bad things happening in threes? It was Christmas Eve, and we were at Epcot. I stay proactive with workouts and general health, so I was here for the whole marathon part. But I’m officially at I-slept-wrong, perimenopause years old. Sometimes, it feels like this is the beginning of the end. Acid reflux is, therefore, a regular on-and-off occurrence I’m lucky enough to experience. This condition was exacerbated by riding all the things because I thought I was twelve and could handle the roller coasters with my teens four days in a row. It was a steady decline because a few hours later, my sinuses started to bother me, with the early onset of a mild cold that the rest of the family was experiencing. I thought this post-nasal drip would only add to my reflux issues, and I should probably nip my symptoms in the bud so I could carry on.
me, fighting for my actual life on rocki ‘n’ roller coaster round 2
Full disclosure so that this story makes sense and so maybe sharing this may save someone my anguish: I am on a medication {for multiple reasons} called Welbutrin. {Everyone’s different, and I am not a medical expert.} But from caffeine to cold meds and everything in between, I’m always cautious when mixing anything with said medication. I also never leave without a little go-to medicine reserve for the entire fam, which I had in my bag. {Also see: My kiddo’s first aid kit for college.} The only thing I had on hand that day for my symptoms was DayQuil. I double-checked my doctor’s notes on file via an app on my phone. Per their notes on my last cold, I had been cleared to take DayQuil as an option. I’d never taken it before with this combo. Therefore, after some debate and finding contradicting info online, I defaulted to what I had on hand and decided it must be okay. It was best to prevent this from getting worse, right? What did the Welbutrin subreddit know anyway? I needed to trudge on and be the fun mom. I took the DayQuil.
I really wish I hadn’t taken that DayQuil. Fun moms are totally overrated. Reddit was right.
At first, I was great. My symptoms cleared right up and everything was fabulous. Then, about an hour later, exiting Nemo, I realized something was very wrong. It’s hard to write about it even now. My hands were shaking, my heart was racing, and my blood pressure was high. I was losing muscle control, and I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was fighting nausea and a general feeling of sickness all around.
And I couldn’t find a bathroom.
Pause. Because the only thing worse than feeling awful and out of control is being surrounded by oversaturated crowds of strangers and not having a safe bathroom space—my worst fear. Also, while they clean the bathrooms in the park, it’s not somewhere you want to be sick. And I was lie-down on the cool tile, sick. {Trust me, I didn’t.} Most days in the parks, there were lines out the door for a simple bathroom stall, and I was losing control of my body. Cue the anxiety. I genuinely thought for a bit, this is it. This is how I go out. If you’re curious, google ‘Serotonin Syndrome’. I was not winning at life at the moment, and all I could think about was the headlines and sheer embarrassment when they hauled my lifeless body out of the bathroom on a stretcher. “Tennessee Woman Panics and Dies in Epcot Bathroom.” By then, we’d sent the kids onward to explore the park, and I was battling the crippling feeling of actual death with violent illness.
Worst. Ride. Ever.
Jamin tried his best to be what I fondly refer to as my emotional support animal. I would text unhelpful things like “HELP ME” from the bathroom stall whilst dying like I expected him to run in and start an IV. He was googling and keeping me in check. “You’re having a reaction, and you’re just going to have to ride this out,” he said. He stayed calm. I would come outside for fresh air to sit next to him and then haul it right back to the ladies in sheer panic.
After repeated episodes, I knew I needed to go to First Aid, but I also needed a secured route to get there. I was not leaving the stall again until it was safe, with a game plan. After a while of this back and forth, I heard what sounded like two cast members in the bathroom, and when I exited, they were standing there like angels. God bless them. More lights. More chorus. At that point, I just needed those aliens the government is definitely hiding to beam me up and put me out of my misery. When I explained to her that I was having a weird drug interaction and needed a safe space, one of them was immediately at my side. I had to carefully time my walk across the park for fear of my next episode since sickness was coming in waves. She told me to let her know – she would remove the trash can covers as we walked so that I could be sick if needed. I can’t tell you how stupid I felt, but how kind she was. I hate that I didn’t get her name; I was too disoriented to note it.
One of the worst parts about any of the parks is that once you decide you’re done, you have to calculate your energy level with the trudge, which is an absolute journey back to the car. Lordt help anyone with melting toddlers. It feels like traveling through a minefield of trollies, strollers, trams, and more. It’s certainly not Code-V friendly when waiting in line just to get back to your car. After being checked in for first aid and being sick a little more while they checked all my vitals, I knew I couldn’t make that walk back. I opted for the ride of shame in a wheelchair out of the park with a sick bag in hand. {Sad but true: I’ll never take another trip without being stocked up on those.} My one regret? Not taking a selfie with Jamin, who was dutifully navigating the rabid crowds. I was too sick for that. Jamin said he thought about it, but I was not in a place.
A friend noted the comedic part after the fact: this is Epcot. People probably thought I had too much fun drinking around the world. I would surely have felt better than this. The kids now fondly say, “Remember the time mom got high at Disney?”
actual footage of my family waiting for me {pre-sickness- this is just for my mutilated bladder that they all ruined}
Christmas day resulted in the most horrible hangover I have ever experienced in my life. The days following felt like the flu or morning sickness combined while I tried my very best to rally. I pushed all the fluids and Pedialyte with zero results. We spent Christmas in the Airbnb we’d rented, with Popeye’s for Christmas dinner since we didn’t plan for this; my saving grace was their mashed potatoes + the fact that everyone else was pretty worn out, too. The doctor called in Zofran, but I didn’t trust it since when googling, I also found the words ‘serotonin syndrome’ under that description for more possible drug interactions, and the experience was so horrific that I didn’t want anything else in my body. I questioned two doctors and a pharmacist, but my trust level was now zero. Basically, I fought for my life for the remainder of the trip and survived on Pepto, which I also paid for in another fun way later. I will never be the same again. After seven days of intermittent nausea, I took the Zofran just to get home. This time, I was fine.
It took seven days and zero roller coasters, but the good news is I finally got better at the end of our trip. The irony isn’t lost on me.
And that’s the time I almost died at Disney. I am very aware that a. I did this to myself, and b. I paid money to feel this way. Yes, I’m probably a little harsh on myself. But it did feel a little like an experiment in confirmation bias: THIS IS WHY I NEVER TRAVEL. Pajamas and cheese might have been the winning alternate combo here.
“Vacationing” at Christmas time is always a risk, as all vacations have pros and cons. If we’re not staying home to eat cheese at Christmas, the only kind of trip I will ever be taking at the most exhausting time of the year is the kind where I arrive at a tropical resort and rot away on a lounge chair, staring at the sunset, whilst people bring me food and beverages thankyouverymuch. At least I can hide in a room if I get Montezuma’s Revenge, and I won’t be expected to rally and walk 20,000 steps daily just to keep up. A gal can dream. Also, I probably just jinxed myself…
The plot took a turn from Planes, Trains, and Automobiles to the Griswolds barreling down the highway with Aunt Edna on top of the station wagon.
I am Aunt Edna on top of the station wagon.
All joking aside, we made sweet memories—the kind we’ll laugh about for the rest of our lives. I’d still do it all over again for some of those expressions, as happy souvenirs now live forever in my mind. And to the amazing people who helped us, from the kind man who gave Jamin a ride, to the people at the car repair place, and the sweet cast member who helped me, we said it in person, but thank you again. Cheers to adventures, the unexpected moments, and keeping up those Christmas lights up through January.
