Another Day, Another Stroller

Today, I got to play Mr. Mom. Margie’s conference began (complete with her moderating one of the panels, which I’ve no doubt she did smashingly at). So I got to get the Kitten dressed, get the Kitten fed, and take care of the Kitten for the day.

Had a blast. Mostly.

First on the agenda was picking up the rental car. Called them right after Kitten arose, and found out when their shuttle bus hits Port Orleans (Riverside). That let me time breakfast with Kitten. Went over to the front of the resort, stood in the port coche —

— and waited. And waited. And waited.

I had, of course, gotten there fifteen minutes early. Margie will chuckle when she reads this, since it was equally likely I’d get there an hour early. I tend to be … reiterative in the pad time I apply to trips and appointments.

So Katherine and I hung out, looked at flowers, chit-chatted.

Thing is, I could see the bus. It was parked, way out in the parking lot, not really visible from the front door of the resort, but visible from the sidewalk to either side of it, where Kitten and I walked back and forth.

I knew we were the first pick-up of the day. So clearly he had gotten there as early as I, and was just hanging.

As was I.

Finally, at 8:32a (per my wristwatch, its dial barely visible through the water condensed inside the crystal, a result of yesterday’s raininess. Rrg.) he pulled up to the front. Katherine, who was waiting for the “blue and green bus” spotted him, and we piled on.

Off we, and another family from Port Orleans (French Quarter), went, to the fabulous Car Care Center, just inside the ticket booths for Magic Kingdom — the Place Where No Bus Stops.

Except, according to the map that the generally too-cool-but-oddly-surly Euro-type who was driving the shuttle bus had given us, there was another National rental desk.

At the Swan and Dolphin hotels.

Where Margie is conferencing.

*Sigh*

So Joe Euro (who really was only missing an oddly held cigarette to finish the image of disdain-fishing-for-a-tip he had) dropped us off, and I picked up a car. Woo-hoo, a Dodge Neon, yeah. About as manual and basic a car as you can get with automatic transmission. Three-hundred-sixty-degree air conditioning and manual door locks. Not one for frills is our National.

From there, I drove to the Swan. That’s because I had to meet Margie. That’s because we discovered the camera was still in Margie’s purse. Eek.

(Note to self. When going to amusement parks with a 2.5-year-old, you really need two camera-folk, one on video, one on still. Switching back and forth just does not cut it, since you miss the perfectly composed still while you have the video camera out, and the marvelously unexpected activity when you have the still camera out. And, yes, I know I can rip (crappy) stills from my video camera, and make (crappy) movies on my still camera, since both are digital. My note stands.)

Margie had, after my huffing and sighing and general pouting (against Fate, not against her), realized that we could simply meet up between a couple of sessions. And, it so happened, I was pulling into the Swan parking lot at 9a, right after her first session. She had her phone on vibrate, while at the meeting (the only proper thing to do), but had said she would check her messages and turn it back onto ring between sessions.

Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hello, you’ve reached the voice mail of Margie Kleerup …” Damm.

“Turn your phone off vibrate, love. I’m in the parking lot, coming in.”

That was easier said than done, since I managed to park as far from the entrance to the Swan as is physically and topographically and, perhaps, legally possible. Trudge, trudge, trudge, “Come on, Kitten,” “Come on, Kitten,” “Katherine, come on!” The Kyrie Eleison of our vacation.

The Swan and Dolphin were originally built and owned by Disney, but they were sold off, from what I understand, a while back. They still pseudo-carry the Disney name, and they certainly look like Disney hotels (with huge swans and dolphins, not to mention ginormous fountains pouring down the walls), but I understand they’re a bit more institutional than most Disney fare.

I’d discovered the convention registration was, of course, in the Dolphin (another twenty mile walk), and was on my way over when Margie called. Since she was going from the Dolphin to the Swan (about a hundred yard walk), we agreed to meet at the Christmas tree.

Camera was exchanged, kisses likewise, and off she went. If, for some reason, Margie ever had to be the main breadwinner of the family, I’ve no doubt she’d do it with style, panache, and more success than I.

Off, again, to the car, the level of trudgery reduced by Daddy Carry. Back to the hotel, clean diapie, bag over shoulder, and, avante, to the bus depot, Robin!

While waiting to the bus to the Disney/MGM Studios, our park du jour, I called the recommended in-room babysitting service to arrange for Margie and my Fun Night Out, Bwah-ha-ha, tomorrow evening. The lady laughed when I suggested a time when we’d be back. “You only have to give us a time when you’re leaving. Come back whenever you want. We’ve had some couples stay out all night!” Easy to say when they’re charging you $13.50/hour, but, then, there is something to be said for throwing caution and credit rating to the wind.

I expect to be back by 11:30, nonetheless.

The only hang-up was giving my credit card number over the phone for the reservation. Ordinarily not a problem, except I was in a bus depot crowded with park-goers-to-be, and me without my Cone of Silence. I coped.

I also made reservations for dinner. Bwah-ha-ha. This should be fun.

We arrived at Disney/MGM in short order. This is the one park that we’d never been to, and, as a general evaluation, I’d say it’s a lot of fun. It is reminiscent of Universal Studios, not surprisingly, mixed with Main Street USA from the Magic Kingdoms, only translated to a Bizarro Hollywood. It’s rather disturbing, having seen the real thing, but still much fun. Much more in the way of “shows” than “rides,” understandably, but good stuff nonetheless.

Passing up Hollywood Boulevard, we were accosted by a park employee — er, cast member — offering to take our picture in front of the giant Mickey’s Wizard’s Hat, which is the symbol for Disney/MGM. Odd, for a pair of Hollywood entertainment conglomerates to take on as a symbol a hat emblematic of power that runs away from its vain and immature wielder, nearly destroying everything before being barely brought back under control. Or maybe not.

Anyway, I blew off the photo op, and I regret it now, since there’s no record of Daddy & Kitten’s Day Out, except many pictures of Kitten (natch). I visited her on our way back out, but not only was Kitten sullen and tired (it does happen), but there’s a hour-and-a-half delay between photo being taken and prints/proofs being available. A startling encounter with non-instant gratification.

We had about an hour before the Big Show We Had to Visit, the Playhouse Disney Show. So we went on the studio tour. Pretty standard fare of its sort — streets of faux housefronts which look disturbingly familiar if you watched certain shows, views into workshops where folks are sewing, constructing, or otherwise fabricating Movie Studio Stuff, the required Tourist Bus Encounters Horrible Earthquake, Fire, & Flood schtick (which was actually quite well done, and curse me for not noticing that the video camera was on Pause), and, most fascinating (as always), the dead storage area of Props & Vehicles Too Big To Store Elsewhere, including aircraft from The Rocketeer, a Sail Barge and Snow Speeder from Star Wars, the Judge’s Toon Destroying Truck from Roger Rabbit, the tank from Last Crusade, etc.

I want them. Badly.

By the time we were done, we had missed the next Playhouse Disney show, so we killed some time in a fun kid’s playground based on A Bug’s Life, and getting something to drink. Then off to the Playhouse Disney show, where we stood in line for twenty minutes.

It was, for kids or the parents who they make watch it, a pretty decent kiddy show, featuring Bear in the Big Blue House, Stanley, Rolie Polie Olie, and The Book of Pooh. The theater was just a big flat expanse of carpet. Everyone sat down, and about every five minutes the kinder were given an excuse to stand up and shout, dance, catch bubbles, etc. Lots of fun. It was odd seeing some of the bits (the traditionally, if abstractly, animated Stanley and the computer generated images of Rolie) done as 3-D solids and puppetry, but it wasn’t bad, all told. And since I recognized most of the songs (having the Playhouse Disney CD, of course), it was good, leg-falling-to-sleep enjoyment. Pictures to, of course, follow.

Off, after that, to find something to eat. That ushered in about an hour of Cranky Girl. There was nothing she wanted to eat. What she wanted to do was push the stroller. She did not want Daddy touching the stroller in this process. Her pushing the stroller involved moving at 1/8 normal speed, running into a lot of people, and not knowing which direction she should go because she couldn’t see her way.

At last, we compromised. I put her back into the stroller, she sniffled a lot, I looked for some place to eat, I went into the Disney Villains Store, she poited at a four foot long Kaa, and I bought it for her to carry along. Thus were we both mollified.

We finally ate, after much further looking about, at the Backstage Express. The food she’d eschewed before became what she wanted then. There is a lesson to be learned here.

Just as we were finishing up, sirens began to wail. It was the (inevitable) parade. But, hey, the gate they opened up from backstage to start the parade from was right next to the backdoor of the Backstage Express (coincidentally enough), so we could just step out and be the first folks to see anything.

The current Disney/MGM parade consists of various costumed characters on foot — some Disney characters, other just thematic window dressing — escorting various modified classic cars holding some Disney/MGM characters. Sort of. In fact, they were all Disney characters, except for Luke/Leia/Vader/R2D2, which is a 20th Century Fox/Lucasfilm property. Though there’s a Star Tours right there in Disney/MGM, so I guess they’ve figured out how to make it work.

It was actually a cute parade, and Katherine was picked out for special waves and wanders-over by various characters, being the first cute kid on the parade route, literally. And I have to say, it was probably the most fun she had the whole time, since she suddenly was waking up and Seeing All Those Characters She Recognized, like the Playhouse Disney folks, or Snow White, or Ariel.

There was a Monsters, Inc. car, too. Amazingly, but not surprisingly, a real, furred Sully costume looks a lot faker than the CGI version.

After that, I ducked across the way with Katherine into the vacant Star Tours ride. They let her ride, even though the seatbelt being fastened hardly provided real restraint for her, and I think she had fun. We hit the gift shop afterwards and bought Too Much Stuff, including one shirt she won’t be able to wear for two years. (This is a problem with letting me go off someplace where (a) there are cute things to buy for Katherine, let alone fun things for me to buy for myself, and (b) Margie’s not around.)

By this time it was getting around three or so, I thought I could see through the rain forest in my wrist watch, and it was beginning to rain a bit again (the day had been sprinkling when Margie left, and a bit when we were picking up the car, but had been pretty dry since then). Over Kitten’s loud protests, we departed, got back here, set her down for a nap (which, protests aside, she dove into with a passion), and set myself down in front of the keyboard …