I know you are, but what am I?

I swore that I wouldn’t blog while on vacation. Then, I got an email from an anonymous fan.


Doesn’t that just warm your heart? His anger is either the direct result of (A.) living in his parent’s basement well beyond his 30th birthday, (B.) because the elastic on his tube socks has given up the fight (C.) he was trying a little reverse psychology on yours truly. I get it fella, you want a new blog post and you want it now. Hike up those socks and put down the comic book. I hear you loud and clear. I need a break from our vacation anyway. Writing is cathartic for dumb b****es.

I am about to share something in invaluable I learned at Walt Disney World. “Quit your damn complaining!” sounds the same in every language. Even a vacation at the happiest place on earth goes like this when you have children: excitement, whine, giddy, whine, pure joy, whine, fun, whine, laughter, fight, whine about the person you are fighting with, “This is the greatest day ever!”, whine, sleep. Rinse, repeat.


There is nothing greater than making your child smile or laugh even if only for a fleeting moment. I will never forget the look on my daughter’s face when Cinderella shook her hand. My 14-year-old, the best big brother ever, was grinning ear to ear as he watched his sister’s dream come true. It made me proud. He loves her enough to wait in a long line at a princess castle, a castle that doesn’t have Netflix, PS4 or Wi-fi. My youngest son’s giggle during the “Finding Nemo” musical has been echoing in my ears all day. It drowns out the tantrums. Unfortunately, it can’t block email from idiots.

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