It’s 8 p.m. and my wife and I emerge from the turnstiles marking the threshold of Disneyland. The Twins, on the other hand, have just entered Dreamland back at the hotel with my wife’s grandmother, who graciously volunteered to do so after walking around the park all day with us.
I feel considerably lighter without our progeny in tow and can’t fight the smirk on my face. While experiencing the Happiest Place on Earth with our children for the first time that day had been an absolute blast, we’d been restricted from the fast-moving “big kid” attractions, but now, for a few hours, the Land is our oyster.
As we hurry our way down Main Street, U.S.A. towards the iconic, lit-up Sleeping Beauty Castle, I take my wife’s hand and with the bubbly inflection of a seven-year-old, ask, “What do you want to go on first? Star Tours? Splash Mountain? Big Thunder?”
“All I really want to do right now is go to the bathroom.”