I am not a huge fan of amusement parks.
But I agreed to visit Universal Studios' theme park – home to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter — on our spring break.
I knew my children would love it. What I didn’t realize was that it would cast a spell over my husband. He morphed into General Gryffindor. All because he’d come across a website with tips for avoiding the lines.
He devised a battle plan. He used military lingo. He drove me crazy.
I got an inkling that things were going downhill as I stood, mildly carsick, in the enormous lobby of the Hard Rock Hotel in Orlando. (Yes, we’d driven to Florida. Another questionable decision.)
The lobby was pulsating with loud rock music. Loud, bad rock music. I immediately felt 85 years old. I immediately regretted ever agreeing to this idea.
Through the din, I heard my son speaking. I peered at him, trying to read his lips. He was saying, “I’m never leaving.”
Next, my husband bounded in. “Isn’t this awesome? I picked this hotel because we get early admission to the park in the morning.” And then he and my son ran off to check out the giant water fountain made out of guitars.
“Early admission?”
When I caught up with my husband, a blonde, tanned, and deeply friendly bellboy was pointing out the path to the park.
“It’s just a five minutes’ walk, dude,” he told my son, who gave him a high-five.
When we got to our room, my husband pulled out a map of Universal.
“I know the bellboy said we were a five minutes’ walk, but that’s just to the park gates,” he announced, jabbing the map with his forefinger. “Harry Potter World is up here, on the bluffs. We’ll have to run for it.”
“Run for it?!” I laughed blithely.
I looked at everyone else. My laughter trailed off.
My children were busy committing the map to memory.
My husband was looking at me sternly.
“The park opens to the public at 0800 hours. We can get in at 0700, because we’re staying at a Universal hotel.”
My jaw dropped.
“Please stop using military time,” I said.
He was unrelenting: “You’ll need to wear your sneakers.”
“C’mon, “ I pleaded. “We’re all exhausted. Do you really expect us all to get up at 6 a.m.? And . . . run? You want ME to run to get on a ride.”
My husband had no patience for raw recruits.
“This is one of the most popular amusement park attractions in the world right now. It’s spring break. The waits can be up to three hours. Do you really want to stand in line for hours? With. . . them?” He pointed at our children.
The 12-hour drive had left them with bloodshot eyes and speaking in tongues.
Oh.
“Understood,” I said weakly.
“Good. Also — don’t even think of bringing a bag. Wear something with pockets.”
He half-smiled at me. For a second, I was afraid he was going to salute.
There are times in a marriage when you just bite your tongue. I realized that this was one of those times. I laid out my outfit for the next day, cramming my iPhone and a credit card into my shorts pocket. I sighed.
AC/DC blasted from the vicinity of the pool.
I shut the window. The silence was lovely. We fell asleep early.
I was not looking forward to the morning.
Will the Minivan Diaries family successfully navigate the theme park? Will the Minivan Dad allow them to eat breakfast? Will they lose a child? Will they manage to actually enjoy themselves?
To read Part II, click here.
