Three Kids and a Hurricane

We had only halfway been tracking it in the week leading up to our trip to Disney World for Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween. In fact, when I called my husband and said we should really keep our eye on Hurricane Matthew, he had the response one would expect from a man who thinks his significant other is a slight bit paranoid. Which I’m not. Really. (Am I? Maybe I am? What if I am? But I’m not. Totally not.) As the days dripped on though, it became clear. We needed to discuss Hurricane Matthew. It seemed it (he?) would be headed toward Florida some time around Friday morning, perfectly timed with our Friday morning flight into FL. We weighed options: Go later? Cancel? What about school? Finally we settled on earlier. And so our mad rush began.

With three little people tearing through the house, it can be a wee bit hard to pack. I tend to do a handful at a time in the week leading up to our trip (my free time is usually when the two smallest littles are napping, and the clothes I need to pack are in the napping kids’ rooms. Go figure). There it was Tuesday night and I had to have it finished by Wednesday night. So I did a frantic pack. This is my least favorite type of packing. I can’t even manage it for a trip to the grocery store, let alone a rainy, hot, cold, sunny, windy, stuffy trip to Florida. But. I did it. Then when it hit me that we’d be in hotel rooms with the littles for an extended period of time, I had to pack more (I seriously hate bringing more). So I took more. More coloring books, more stickers, more cars, more dolls, more books, more puzzles, more rattling things, more rolling things, more wiggling things, more noisemaking things. More. Every. Little. Thing. And then some time in the middle of the night, I was done.

4:30 am and I hear it. Even though my husband has chosen the most gentle, soothing, sweetest alarm to wake up with, it still brings a solid cold sweat and a shock of denial every time it happens. I managed to pull myself like molasses from bed and started the task of starting the day. The last minute gather, the waking of children. The car ride. The security line. The airport. The airplane. And finally, the arrival.

There we were, tired, hungry, and, after a check in so long it was almost time for our flight home, roomless. Sure we were early, so we understood. The hurricane had travelers coming early, leaving late, not showing up at all, so we really understood (I mean, we were some of those travelers). Some smiles, some nods, and we were finally ready to get ready for the park (and food…there’s no way I was taking the little people anywhere hangry–even a Disney World park).

While frantically inhaling our first meal of the day we were texted: one of our connecting rooms was ready. It was nearly two pm and perfectly timed so we could prep for the heat and the rain, head to Epcot, take the littles on a Nemo ride in a clam shell, and try to ride Elsa and Anna’s new ride before it closed for the hurricane at five (we had fast passes for 5:15…seriously?!?!?!?!). Our connected room would be ready for us by the time we got back. No big deal, or so we thought. We’d still get back in time to set up the littles’ room; unpack; and let them get some of their wiggles out, feel the lay of the land, throw their clothes around, strategically place all their stuffed animals, and evaluate the condition of the room (the five year old fancies herself a hotel connoisseur).

As we made our way through the back entrance to Epcot, the rain slowly started, and since TSA lost one of our stroller rain covers (thankfully meant for the single, not the double), we had to buy an extra poncho and rig a special cover for the five year old sitting alone. It was actually kind of perfect. She rode sitting criss cross apple sauce with the sun visor over her and stuck her sweet little face out of the poncho hood. She stayed dry, and it seemed like there was no barrier between her and the rest of us grown ups.

But that novelty wore off as we reached the Nemo ride and she had to be coaxed to go on (Bruce the shark is not that friendly of a guy in actuality). By the time we emerged, the rain had picked up and the five year old felt hot to the touch. She begged to put the stroller back and lay down with the rain cover over her, barring her from the world. We made our way, at her behest, to the Frozen ride in the hopes that the line was short since the park would close in 10 minutes. It wasn’t bad. But the knowledge of those lost fast passes ate at us while we waited with a sad little person who desperately wanted to go on the ride but was too sick to stand on her own. So my husband asked. He told them we have fast passes for after the park’s closing. And they let us in. Imagine that. We just needed to ask.

When the ride was over, the wind had started. We managed to stay dry to this point, but with the rain coming at us sideways, we knew this walk would mean we would get drenched. At least the littles would stay dry. And the five year old slept. Within minutes of being in the stroller, she slept. All the way back to the hotel, she slept. Through the wind and the rain, she slept. In the lobby while we waited to get the key to our other room, she slept. When the concierge realized that someone else was in the room we had been given, she slept. As my husband showed them the text with our new room number on it, she slept. And as we waited, she slept. As they grew more and more apologetic and more and more confused as to what to do with us, she slept. As my momma bear instinct began to wake, she slept. Through my mother in law and I deciding to take the kids up to the room we currently did have, she slept. The ten month old little though? Oh, he didn’t sleep. He hadn’t all day. And neither did the two year old. It was the perfect potion for a toxic night.

My husband appeared at our door much later, defeated. They could offer us rooms across the hall from one another right now or we could wait longer to see what connecting rooms they could put together. With littles as little as ours, we needed the connecting rooms. So we waited and went in search of some dinner, the little people hanging on by barely a thread, overcome with exhaustion from an early morning, a rainy day, a late dinner, the beginnings of an illness, and the knowledge that a hurricane was lurking in the dark. Then it hit me.

I understood when the rooms weren’t ready at first. I understood that it would take them time to get them cleaned. I understood that Hurricane Matthew caused some chaos with people coming early, leaving late, or not showing up at all. But the airports were closed. People weren’t looking to check out and head straight into the heart of a hurricane. The rooms were set. It was eight o’clock. My ten month old was sleeping at the table. My five year old was becoming feverish again. My two year old was about to scale walls from sheer exhaustion. They needed their beds, their stuffed animals, their sanctuary, their place away from all the stimulation. And my momma bear stirred again. And I left.

I spoke with the front desk for perhaps five minutes and made my way back to my table. I turned to my husband and said calmly, “Go up to our room and meet the bellmen there. They are on the way to get our things and move us to a two bedroom suite.”

I can’t tell you exactly what happened in those five minutes. I know I did not raise my voice. I was not angry. I was protective. I explained my situation-my little people, my loves. I did not leave room for thought. I explained what I needed. I explained what I expected. And that is what I received.

While it often pays to be flexible when traveling, there are also those moments when you have to be an advocate for your little people, your family, yourself. I wasn’t going to leave with promises that vanish into the air. I wanted action. I requested action. And I got action. (And it totally helped that we had a spacious, calming, three room suite to whittle the day away in while the hurricane swirled around us.)