Spewing the Magic

We took the kids to Disney World for the first time when they were 4-years-old. We booked the trip 6 weeks in advance, which our die hard Disney friends told us was, “so last minute,” but we saw Disney was running a 25% off special for trips in Feb, so we decided to go for it. We booked our fast passes, we made our dining reservations, and when the morning came to finally leave for the airport, Sam threw up on the living room floor.

We stood there frozen for a few seconds; we couldn’t not go. For one, the trip was already paid for. Two, we really wanted to go, and three, maybe he won’t throw up anymore. We cleaned up the mess and headed to the airport. We made sure Sam just had water and crackers along the way. Our first flight to ATL was uneventful. Our flight from ATL to Orlando was one of those big planes with three seats on each side of the plane, and three seats in the middle as well. Something went wrong with our seat assignments, and Julie and the kids were together on one side, and instead of being on the aisle of the middle row next to them, I got stuck in the middle seat of the middle row next to them. My plan was to kindly ask the person sitting there if we could switch seats, so I could be close enough to help out with the kids if I needed to. Well, the woman who was assigned that seat wasn’t having it. She said, “This is my seat. I picked this seat, and this is where I’m sitting.” So, to the middle seat I went.

The plane ride went well, even with me stuck over in the middle of the middle. However, once we landed, things took a turn. Just as we finished taxiing into the gate, without warning, Sam threw up again. It went all over his clothes and all over his seat. The smell was, well let’s just say the smell was noticeable throughout the plane. The flight attendants rushed over with paper towels, which were about as useful as you’d expect a few paper towels to be with a load of vomit. The woman in the seat in front of them handed Julie a barf bag from her seat pocket, but Julie politely suggested the time for that may have passed. We were in the back of the plane, and you know how long it takes people to disembark an airplane. The smell seemed to be getting stronger, and no one seemed to be moving. The woman next to me in the aisle seat turned to me and said,”Do you need to switch places with me so you can help?” But I said, “Oh no, this is my seat, so I’m staying here.”

We finally got off the plane and found ourselves in the middle of the Orlando airport. One of the great perks of flying to Disney is they mail you bag tags ahead of time for you checked luggage. Once you check your bags, they “magically” are picked up from the airport for you and appear in your room later that day, which is extremely helpful and luxurious, unless your child is covered in vomit. Since we had no access to our belongings, we were forced to work with whatever was around. The first thing we came across was a kiosk selling various national team soccer uniforms. We rushed up to it and began looking for anything that would fit Sam. The woman running this cart-looking merchant stand asked us which team we were interested in, but we said any team that fits. Julie found Sam’s size in a Colombia uniform, so that is what we bought. I didn’t even check the price. She rushed him into the bathroom, stripped him, disinfected him the best she could, threw his old clothes away, and put on the ole Gold and Blue. I resisted calling him Escobar for the rest of day.

We stayed at the Contemporary that first trip. We hopped off the Magic Express and headed into the Lobby. Our room wasn’t quite ready yet, so we decided to have lunch there while we waited. We cautiously ate, and just as we thought we may be in the clear, Sam spewed again; this time on the shiny lobby floor. On a positive note, he didn’t get any on his new clothes. This being Disney, a very serious yet overly polite man appeared as if out of nowhere and sprang into action. A magical place like this doesn’t want to ruin the ambiance by uttering such unpleasant words as, vomit, throw-up, or puke. No, at Disney, this situation is known as a “protein spill.” The man got on his walkie talkie, called in a protein spill, and then asked us if we needed anything. Just then our room was ready, so we went up (our bags still not there), let Sam wash up some more, and then headed to the Magic Kingdom. Luckily, that was our last protein spill of the trip.