The Most Magical Place on Earth

Reflections from my time as an unwitting Disney passholder

How do I feel about Disney World? It’s complicated. I would say I enjoy the idea of Disney World. I enjoy the nostalgia I feel for my childhood when I walk into the confectionery and smell those signature Disney smells that bring me straight back to our first family trip to the magical place. (Smells only, though. At this point, I’d be taking my life into my hands if I actually attempted to indulge in anything they have to offer because of an absolute rejection of sugar by my 39-year-old body.)

I also enjoy watching my kids and my husband enjoy themselves. But the reality of a highly sensitive person attending a crowded theme park in the heat of Florida? Not so much.

Last year, my boss and his wife graciously gifted us a week of their Orlando timeshare. Forever the advocate (this time for my children), my boss suggested I take the kids to Disney World during the vacation. My older child hadn’t been in a few years, and my toddler hadn’t been at all (because, I mean. . . why?). Okay, I agreed. Since the timeshare was a spacious three bedroom, I did what I always do in these kinds of situations. I immediately started recruiting my extended family members to join the fun. My middle sister, Bethany, was out. (Lots of summer commitments.) Our brother, Scott, was out. (He cannot stand Orlando. It has to be something special to get him there.) My in laws are always an “absolutely no way in . . .” for theme park trips. My parents were half in. (“We’ll come to lounge by the pool, but we aren’t doing the theme park thing.”) The one I knew I could count on for theme park bliss was my youngest sister, Jenny. She’s always along for the full Orlando ride.

I found some website that saved me $20 off the $1k plus it would cost for three-day passes for the fam and promptly bought them, proud of myself for scoring a deal. I told Jenny about it, but she decided that “Pixie passes” were the better option. For the unfamiliar, these are annual passes for Florida residents that have blackout dates during all convenient times (think spring and holiday school breaks, federal holidays, etc.) and are only good during weekdays. But, according to Jenny, they “are only $100 more than what you paid for each so if we go one more time, we will get our money’s worth.”

So, I did the Disney thing. In July. With a husband, a six-year-old, a one-year-old, and Jenny plus her six-year-old and husband. I know I had some moments, but all in all, I was pretty proud of myself for getting through it relatively unscathed and with everyone else relatively unskathed. Plus, watching my toddler son meeting Mickey by running up, hugging him, and running away on repeat was truly worth the steep price of admission.

On the third and final day of Disney last year, near the end of the day, I noticed that my husband, Tyler, was sort of huddling with Jenny. I also noticed Tyler walk over to the guest services umbrella and strike up a convo with the lovely cast member there to assist/swipe the card. Tyler and Jenny then made the pitch. Having confirmed with the cast member that we could add Pixie passes to our existing passes for just more than $100 each ticket, they hit me up to do it. Jenny’s signature line came out: “If you go at least one more time in the next year, you’ll get your money’s worth!”

You have to understand. I had just endured three full days of Disney. I was exhausted to the point of delirium. I saw the twinkle in Tyler’s eye (to whom I lovingly refer as my third child at a theme park). My older kid was doing the “please, mom, please” thing. So I gave in.

As I watched my credit card being hit with another $300+ and heard Tyler bonding over the realization of the shared last name of Wood with the now-devil cast member (“I always say, it’s a tree, not a forest!”), a cloud of doubt came over me.

I had just sentenced myself to another year of The Most Magical Place on Earth.

It also was not lost on me that, as is typical of our financial decision making, we had really screwed up going about this situation by putting the cart before the proverbial horse. Unlike Jenny, who had bought these passes from the outset, we had missed out on three days of associated free parking (totaling more than $100) and three days of passholder discounts on all the food and crap, I mean, souvenirs, we had accumulated from the parks. Oh well. Live and learn, right?

As the year went on, short Disney trips were taken here and there. Never without my partner in crime, Jenny. We explored different hotels, strategized, and learned the intricacies of the Disney app.

Fast forward to June 2023. I’ve just planned one last Disney bang with Jenny before our annual passes expire. The week before our scheduled trip, a friend who happened to be going that week reached out to me. You see, when people learn you are a pass holder, there’s a sort of stigma attached. Like it or not, you’re now a Disney guru.

This particular friend shares my cynicism and general outlook but also has kids who she dearly loves and wants to show a good time. She’s in need of a Disney crash course to get her through a short trip. I help her through the pregame logistics. She buys passes. She downloads the app. She’s feeling confident. But then, on the first day of her scheduled two-day trip, the following text rolls in:

“I’m so nervous for Disney, Kara.”

I respond immediately. “No. Do not let them win. Do not let your guard down.”  We discuss a few things like preferred parking and monorails. I then make sure she has followed pregame advice. “Have you purchased Genie and made your first res?”

What is Genie, you ask? It’s the modern-day fast pass. For a set amount of money per person per day, you can buy yourself the right to skip the ridiculous lines. You can reserve one ride at a time and Disney gives you a specific time frame to show up and get on or forever hold your ride peace. Of course, just as with all things Disney, there must be strategies employed to make the best use of the service.

My pal responds to the inquiry. “Yes and yes. Space Mountain at 11:55. Because just getting to park now.” (It’s about 10:30. Translation: she’s missed out on a prime one and a half hours and has blown half her Genie service.) I write back: “Best laid plans….”

The next text makes me belly laugh: “And I have. Like a fool. Bought lightening lane for Seven Dwarfs for 5:30.” This is yet another service Disney offers. For an additional fee, you can purchase the right to get on a ride at a specific time. It’s reserved for the most popular rides. The ones you likely aren’t getting on without waiting in line for three hours or forking up the cash. I write back, “Look, you’re not getting on without it. So good for you.” As I secretly wonder what the ride is like.

My friend made it through with minimal further text freak outs and came home without Pixie passes. I also received the most adorable family pic in which everyone—including her—appeared to be having the best time ever.

Fast forward to the following week. Time to “get my money’s worth,” i.e., hand Mickey another $1k plus.

The plan is to go to two different parks in two days. I can handle this. Last July, I did three in three days. By now I’m a pro, so I know to plan Magic Kingdom Thursday. This is the most popular park but it’s typically less crowded than a Friday. Then, because of some special new ride involving Star Wars at Epcot, we will hit that up Friday before making the trek back to Jacksonville to save $250 in further hotel fees.

Not going to lie, I was a touch terrified of Thursday. Because Tyler was attending the last part of a conference that morning and Jenny would be working from her hotel room half the day, my mission was to gather my children and myself, get all of us ready, and meet my nephew and my brother-in-law, Brent, at Magic Kingdom by 9:00 a.m. (opening time). I gave myself a pep talk. “No problem. You can do this. It’ll be easy.”

I felt pretty good that the three of us Kingdom-goers were in the car by 8:30. The problem, though, was Orlando traffic during morning rush hour. For those unfamiliar, I-4 traffic is bad. The worst. I didn’t exactly account for that. So our 15-minute drive turned into 35.

When we arrive at the park, being the pro that I am, I spring for preferred parking because I know this means I will not have to ride a trolley to get to the monorail to get to the entrance of the park. Why does this matter? Because no trolley means no stroller folding alone with two kids. No taking the things and the toddler out of the stroller for said folding. Well worth the extra $20. First swipe of the day.

I also spring for Genie because long lines at Magic Kingdom don’t make for happy kids or parents. Using my patented strategies, I get us on multiple rides sans wait before lunchtime when we are joined by Tyler and Jenny. My toddler informs me that “It’s A Small World” is his favorite ride. The day is going well.

I’m now up to about $200 spent to “get my money’s worth.”

Per usual, Tyler rides the big kid rides and I’m the designated Dumbo/Winnie-the-Pooh rider. This is all fine with me. I’m not exactly a thrill seeker these days. Plus I love seeing the toddler reactions.

We get through a long day of riding and the original Kingdom-goers are worn out by 5:30. The late joiners still have some pep in their step, but they appropriately sense that although the night is young, the fun is over. Especially when we are doing it all over again the next day.

By the end of the day, strategy goes out the window. You’re exhausted and in survival mode. When you sense an opportunity to leave, you SEIZE. But when you get in the car and it’s 5:45, you scream on the inside. When you plug your hotel into the map and you see nothing but red (literally and figuratively) the entire route, you want to lose your ever-loving mind. But you hold it together with the hotel bed carrot dangling.

When I arrive back at the hotel an hour later, I decide to take a short one-mile run. Everything inside of me screams no. My legs especially. But I am going to have to run either that day or the next to keep my running streak alive, so I decide to gut it out and get it over with. I never would have guessed it, but those twelve minutes (yes, twelve—did I mention I was exhausted?) provide the solitude and reset that I didn’t even realize I’d get. And even better, the running somehow stretches out my legs some and makes the aching almost disappear. I have come back around.

The next day, I will have Tyler joining me from the outset at a much less crowded Epcot park. I wake up at 7:00 on the dot to join some virtual queue from the app so that Tyler and our oldest will have a shot at getting on the new Guardians of the Galaxy ride without having to bribe Disney. To my surprise, Jenny (whose passes are linked to ours—strategy) has already done it for everyone. Things are looking up.

When we get to Epcot, again to my surprise and delight, the park is celebrating the International Flower and Garden Festival. With each new character sculpted from greenery and florals, my cynicism escapes a little more and my inner child comes out. I love a good presentation. This is a dream.

Of course, no one else shares my floral enjoyment. That’s okay. To each is own, right? But they are remarkably patient as I snap pictures and squeal and say, “Isn’t it magical, Jenny?” on repeat. We also get to ride my favorite ride: Remy’s Ratatouille Adventure. Jenny, a first timer, loves it too. Awesome.

The day wears on, and despite a small hiccup over lunch, it is going quite well. That’s the thing about Disney. They can stir up your inner magic while simultaneously punching you in the gut.

It then comes almost time to go to the Guardians ride to cash in on our online queue reservation. Because my youngest cannot ride, and because Tyler is practically desperate to ride, I naturally assume my role as stroller pusher/nap whisperer and tell the rest of the group I’ll see them on the other side.

But then I get a curveball.

Jenny tells me she’ll stay with the toddler and I should ride. “No, no,” I say, “I’m good. Really.” I can sense Jenny is good too. This is going to turn into a sister solidarity situation. But then Tyler—having been patient as can be through dozens of floral freak outs—turns to me and says something he really hasn’t said before: “I’d really love if you would ride this with us.”

How does one say no to that? So, with Jenny’s assurances and a rare “time to pivot” mentality, off I go. I don’t even know what type of ride it is. I just know that I can’t say no. (Spoiler: it’s a very fast roller coaster with crazy lights and all the things to make a non-thrill seeker squirm.)

When we get to the ride, our Disney app tells us to hold tight. In approximately 10 minutes, our group will be called. Sure. No problem. We’ll stand outside in the sun and wait it out. But instead of going down, the call back time is inching up by the moment. Then I notice a commotion at the entrance to the ride. Tyler goes over to check it out. The ride is temporarily closed. Hearts (not mine) are broken. We decide to give it 20 minutes and see what happens. Naturally, as we are standing there waiting, dark clouds roll in. Thunder is heard. And then, DOWN. POUR.

We try to take cover, but there is nowhere to go. Tyler even pleads with the ride people to let us in just to avoid the rain, as are the next group. No luck. Just as we are sufficiently drenched and my mood is sufficiently soured, they call group 95. Perfect.

So then it is time to enter the air conditioned waiting zone while wearing a soaked tank top and shorts. We are freezing to the point of teeth chattering. Tyler takes his drenched t-shirt and tries to wipe off my daughter and me as best he can.

About 45 minutes into the wait, I determine that the queue is a joke. All it does is guarantee you the right to wait for an unspecified amount of time to get on the ride. I harken back to my friend buying the lightening lane passes for Seven Dwarves and wish I had done the same for this. Of course, it is way too late by now. Who is the real fool?

As we are waiting, freezing, trying to make the best of things, I hear the words no parent ever wants to hear in these situations:

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Immediate reactions are not good. Phrases like, “Are you kidding? Why didn’t you go with mom before this?” are uttered. Phrases like, “Well, sorry. You’ll have to wait it out” are uttered. But when she starts dancing, we know it is over.

Tyler decides he will take her. What?? This makes no sense to me. I clearly am the preferred candidate for this job. Whoever takes her is not getting on that ride, nor is she. But he won’t have it. He is amazed at himself for getting me to this point and determined to make it work. He says he will figure out a way to get back. And he clearly doesn’t trust me to even try. He leaves as I am still pleading.

As I watch the two of them shimmy through the deep crowd, I think, “how did I get here?”

Do you ever find yourself in a situation that you never imagined you’d be in, wondering how you got there? I find myself in this place far too often.

I joke with my nephew and brother-in-law, trying to pass the time. But then we realize. The line has not moved in ten minutes. Broken again.

At this point, Brent has had enough. He says, “let’s just leave.” But I know better. I know if I leave that line before confirmation that Tyler isn’t coming back, I’ll be into divorce territory. I know I cannot let my guard down. Disney cannot win. So I say to him, “You go. I’m going to stay until I hear from them.” But of course, in theme-park solidarity, he refuses to leave me there alone. Now we are both frustrated, wondering why we are where we are.

I then see my tall husbo emerge from the crowd with my daughter. He looks like he has just fought a great battle. They have talked a cast member into letting them back in. And because everyone in line has taken to sitting down and entertaining themselves while at a standstill, no one seems to mind the two of them regaining their previous spot. Nothing short of a Disney miracle. In perfect timing, as soon as they show back up, the line starts moving again.

How many times will we be so close to giving up but persist? How many more obstacles will be thrown our way? Will we, in fact, make it?

After some more time (I lose count), we finally get placed in a room with 50 other excited riders. Then there is another room. And then another. I think the third room is when I learn that this is a roller coaster. Probably better that way. Less time to get physically sick before getting on.

As we decide riding arrangements, my daughter, who pretty much ignores me at a theme park, says, “I want to ride with mommy.” Wow. Okay, great. She then assures me that she will hold my hand the entire time and keep me safe. I am going to need it.

The time finally comes to board, and true to her word, my daughter holds my hand tight. She keeps assuring me, “It’s okay mommy, it’s okay.” And off we go.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t amazing. In every way. Even for a person who has never seen Guardians of the Galaxy. It was smooth and exciting and visually stimulating and the list goes on. I had a terrible stomach ache for hours afterwards due to over clinching, but it was probably worth the ache. What struck me the most was how my daughter went to raise both hands multiple times (she’s a real thrill seeker, even more so than I was at her age) but realized she could only do the one because she had an obligation to me.

Afterwards, everyone was spent, including poor Jenny who had to seek shelter from the rain with a sleeping toddler. The decision was made to start the 2.5 hour trek back to Jacksonville. It felt right.

We walked to the parking lot, put all the things away, buckled the kids, and started the engine.

It was 5:55 p.m.

In the end, I feel robbed and alive at the same time. I spent an obscene amount of money over the year to “get my money’s worth,” a genius tactic for Disney. But my family and I enjoyed ourselves more so than I thought possible. With each new trip came new experiences. We were never bored.

I also feel smart and dumb at the same time. I strategized for optimal riding but also made the same mistakes far too often.

You can have fun at Disney regardless of your personality if you accept that even when you strategize, you have to be flexible and realize that not everything will work out the way you intend. If you ditch fashion and embrace the mom fanny packs and Magic bands and tennis shoes and tank tops, you will set yourself up for success. And if Disney gives you the option to pay a fee to avoid a crowd, take it. Sure, your wallet will be a little thinner, but with each buck spent, you’ll preserve your inner magic a little more.