My Not-So-Disney Moment

We just got done with the birthdaypalooza at our house: three kids with birthdays all in twelve days. I only give my kids a friend party every other year, and this was the year. My six-year-old decided to do a Disneyland birthday celebration. Being the Disney freaks that we are, this was, of course, perfect.

We spent well over a month discussing how to recreate Disney rides, Disney characters, Disney souvenirs, etc, in our backyard. We invited fourteen other six-year-olds and prayed for a sunny evening.

Luckily, the weather was gorgeous, the nieces were happy to dress up as Cinderella and Rapunzel, and my hubs donned his Captain Jack costume. The kids loved getting their own set of Mickey ears to personalize with felt bows or safari hats and some plastic bling.

The games started out great, even if everything was a little crazy. First, we had to pin Tinkerbell on the castle. We did the tea cup spin with our two office chairs then ran around like crazy with Elsa Freeze Tag.

We sunk the Jolly Roger with some water balloons and juice box ships; we pulled a wagon and had ball pit balls to knock down the Z cups in a Buzz Lightyear Astroblasters mimic.

Even the Tiana restaurant relay went well.

Each game was, of course, preceded by a trip on the “train” to go from land to land.
And every game had its own soundtrack. Yeah, we don’t know how to do a party unless it is big!
Then, we got to the Indiana Jones “ride”. Too bad I didn’t get the gift of prophecy the last time I went on it. Then, I would have known how things would turn out.

We had the kids run one at a time between two lines of the other kids, all of whom were either blowing straw wrappers (darts) at the running child or throwing soft beach balls (boulders) at the victim, er, participant. The kids were supposed to dodge them the best they could and come out the other side.

A few kids went without incident. Then, one adorable boy decided on his turn to run completely around the two lines instead of through the middle of them. I invited him to come back and do it again, only going between the lines this time. I told him, “Don’t worry, you won’t get hurt. I promise. It will be fun.”

Never promise what you have no control over. He was two-thirds of the way down the line when one other cute guy ran right up to him and pegged him in the lips with a ball. It was unfortunately one of harder balls. He started to cry; I got him a popsicle and had him suck on it to numb everything. Luckily, nothing was bleeding, and he joined in the games again soon after.

But I am afraid that I have lost all credibility with the six-year-old set for a while. Never trust someone over thirty. Especially me, when I’m telling you to run the six-year-old gauntlet. Those little rugrats can be brutal. Some Disney cast member I’d make.


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