5 Reasons Why I Really Like Disney World ... Now

When Annabelle was born last September, three thoughts raced through my mind:

• "This is one of the best moments of my life."
• "I wonder when I'll sleep for eight straight hours again."
• "This means I have to go to Disney World."

Oddly, the third item created more anxiety than the second. 

I've never liked Disney World. It's too crowded and too happy. Plus, I went when I was 8 and cried most of the trip because I don't like rides. (I was a super fun kid.) So the crippling thought of going again that crept into my mind that beautiful September morning filled me with terror. If you told me our family would be there 15 months later, I would have laughed. Then cried. For at least 15 minutes. But sure enough, this December, last week in fact, Bridget, Belle, and I walked through the gates of the Magic Kingdom. 

I just explained how much I dislike all of this Disney hoopla, so why did we go? Well, most importantly, we thought Belle would like it. Will she remember it? Probably not. But we knew she'd be captivated by the sights and sounds. Secondly, my organization hosts a huge conference down in Orlando every December and we realized it was an opportunity for an affordable vacation. My airfare was covered and we had a discounted hotel room at a nice resort. Why not, right?  

And here's the thing, the turn in my story: I really, really liked Disney. Here are the five reasons why:

1. Belle was mesmerized. Obviously, this is reason No. 1. We spent almost seven hours at the Magic Kingdom and Belle's eyes were pretty darn wide the whole time. (In full disclosure, she slept for an hour.) We went on seven or eight rides (and I survived), participated in plays, saw lots of characters, and some delicious food. This video of a determined Belle on the carousel is pretty adorable.

2. Disney is a good value. I was totally surprised by this. With parking, it cost $227 for two adults and one (free) toddler. That's a nice chunk of change, but we had almost seven hours of memorable fun! And if you get a multi-day pass, the price per day is much cheaper. Yes, it's crowded and yes, you have to wait in lines sometimes, but there's so much to do. One minute, you're on a boat ride and the next you're eating a turkey leg. For comparison, I went to a Patriots game a couple months ago and with (good) seats, parking, food, and booze, my ticket was $250. Both were day-long adventures. Both were fun. But Disney always seems to get unfairly labeled as a ridiculously expensive adventure. 

3. Disney is a well-oiled entertainment machine. Disney knows what it's doing. Everywhere you look, there are great processes in action. The great communication on the tram. The clearly marked wait times for the rides. The spotless streets. The Fast Pass and the intuitive app. The friendly, helpful staff/cast members. Just seeing the dynamic operation in action was worth the price of admission. Nerd rant over.

4. People freakin' love Disney. I'll never wear a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt or a Donald Duck hat. Adults that go nuts over this Disney stuff frankly scare the bejeezus out of me. But it's fun to watch people be incredibly happy. It's like going to a sporting event or a church just to see what it's all about. It's being a part of things that are bigger than yourself. 

5. The feeling you get when you leave Disney. Your legs are tired, your eyes are tired, and your brain is tired. But when you look down at your exhausted kid(s), you know you just made them really, really happy. And I'm not sure there's a better feeling in the world. 

In conclusion, here are eight words I never expected to write: I can't wait to go back to Disney. 

Another Thanksgiving Ailment

Belle has been pretty darn healthy for the first 14+ months of her life. Sure, she's had the typical smattering of daycare colds, a small fever here and there, and a bout of Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease.  Runny noses one week, small coughs a few weeks later. But, knock on wood, she's been a very healthy little gal.

Except on Thanksgiving.

Belle has lived through two Turkey Days -- and has been a drooling, rash-covered, cranky munchkin for both of them. This year, as you can probably see in the photo, she's suffering from Roseola, a viral illness that comes packaged with a widespread rash and a high fever. (Belle got up to 104.7 on Thursday evening.) Last year,  as you can see in the photo at the bottom of the post, her eye was crusty, sore, red, and closed. The culprit? A blocked tear duct. 

And as we sat on our couch Thursday morning deciding whether to make the trip to see family in West Newbury for Thanksgiving 2014 (we ultimately decided to go), it was a good opportunity to reflect on how far we've come as parents in 12 months.

Last year, with a not quite 3-month-old Belle, Bridget and I were a panicked mess. As soon as her eye started to get slightly discolored, we assumed the worst. Pink eye, red eye, purple eye? Blindness? Scurvy? We were Googling everything that came to our mind. It was Thanksgiving eve and we called the doctor, knowing that a trip to office on a holiday would be a colossal inconvenience. "This is the first time we've called and we're really nervous that she has pink eye or something worse," we said. "Her eye is really red. Should we bring her in?" Obviously, we were total amateurs. 

"It's likely just a blocked tear duct. It's very common," the on-call provider said cooly. "Massage her eye and just monitor it to make sure it doesn't get any worse."

It didn't. And we had a nice Thanksgiving, albeit with a family photo that isn't going to win any beauty awards. 

Fast forward to two days ago. Belle was fussy, uninterested in food, crying, and warm to the touch. "Should we call the doctor?" I asked Bridget. 

"What are they going to say? They'll just tell us to keep an eye on her," she said. "I'm sure she'll be fine." 

We considered staying home, but decided we really like stuffing and that Belle would be fine for a few hours. She mostly just laid on us and didn't eat a thing, but we were able to spend a few nice hours celebrating the Pilgrims' landing on Plymouth Rock. Belle is feeling a bit better today and we're eating leftovers. 

We're still amateurs, of course, but we're getting better. And we'll know what to expect next Thanksgiving. 

Under the Spell of Serial

This week, I realized that Thursdays are great. Thursdays mean the work week is winding down. Thursdays -- well every other Thursday -- mean a paycheck. Thursdays turn into Fridays.

But there's something else about Thursdays, something new, something exciting: Thursday means a new episode of Serial. 

What's Serial? Well, I imagine most people know by now. But if you don't: Serial is a new podcast from the creators of This American Life. Serial is different from most other podcasts, though, because it focuses on a single story -- a true-life murder mystery -- released in 40-minute segments every week. It is, in a word, engaging. No, that's not quite enough. Serial is engrossing, gripping, and captivating. Serial is awesome.

The story follows Adnan Syed, an imprisoned man in his 30s who may or may not have killed his ex-girlfriend in Baltimore 15 years ago. Each week, host Sarah Koenig introduces us to a new character (like Asia, Nisha, and Don) and a new plot twist (like how long it takes to get from the high school to Best Buy or the location of a certain cell phone call). We listeners, of which there are millions, try to solve the crime along with Koenig, an expert storyteller, who weaves the twists and turns into a highway of aural delight. (<-- Worst line of my writing career.)

Anyway, Serial, now nine weeks old, has become a phenomenon. It's typically listed No. 1 on the iTunes podcast chart and has created more water cooler chatter at the office than anything I can remember in the past decade. (Game of Thrones is a somewhat close second.) Every Thursday or Friday, depending on when people finish the episode, several colleagues on my team at work trade ideas, theories, and favorite characters. Some of us think Adnan is guilty and the story won't lead anywhere. Some of us think Adnan is innocent and will be a free man when the podcast reaches its dramatic conclusion.

And it's not just my office. Serial has captured the attention of millions around the world. There's a Reddit page dedicated to Serial. There's a Twitter account. There's even an entire Slate podcast about the podcast. Yes, a podcast about a podcast. Crazy. The New Yorker called it the podcast we've been waiting for. 

Whether it's the dawn of a new Golden Age of radio is up for debate, but it has certainly started the trend of binge listening. I kept trying to convince sometimes stubborn Bridget to give Serial a listen and, finally, after five weeks, she gave in. She was caught up on all the episodes 48 hours later. Another colleague at work had the same experience. Once you start, it's pretty damn hard to put the earbuds down. 

As a former journalist, I'm thrilled about the attention Serial is getting. It's like we've gone back 100 years and people are crowding around their clunky living room radio to hear a boxing match. It's fantastic storytelling and serious reporting, and people are hooked.

If you aren't, what are you waiting for? Here's episode 1. I promise you won't be disappointed.

A Change of Scenery

Without question, my iPhone is my most important possession. I look at it somewhere between 100 - 150 times every day, and, without it, I'd be lost. It contains my virtual social network, my financial information, and my photos and memories. Put another way, I'd rather lose my wallet 10 times than lose my iPhone once.

So, first, way to go, Apple. You pretty much own me.

Secondly, because the iPhone captures so much of my attention every morning, afternoon, and night, I've become pretty obsessed with changing the wallpaper on a weekly basis. Novelty, after all, unfolds time. If I had the same background image on my phone all the time, I'd get bored.

Because I look at my iPhone so damn much, it's important to keep it fresh and interesting. It's sad, but it's the thing I see more than anything in the world -- more than my wife, more than my daughter, more than my reflection. (It would be really, really odd if I looked at my reflection 150 times every day.)

And this simple change, this photo swap, makes me feel different. Like a new toy or a new discovery, it makes me smile when I'm losing energy on a Tuesday afternoon or I'm walking home from work on a rainy Thursday. It brightens my day. It brings me joy. (And yes, it typically includes the two beautiful gals at the top of the post.)

Facebook photos work the same way. When we change our profile picture or our cover photo, we're presenting ourselves to the world in a different way. We're tweaking our image. It says a lot about who we are. If I post a picture of myself after a race, it means running is a big part of my life. If I post a picture of me with my wife, it's because I want to show her that I love her or maybe that it's an anniversary of some kind. A picture of myself? I may be a family man, but I'm independent and I do whatever I want on Saturday afternoons. (Not true. Ever.)

This week, as I changed my photo to the one you see above, it made me realize just how powerful these images really are. A simple change of scenery can change how the world views you and, more importantly, how you view your life.

How often do you change the background image on your phone? Or on your Facebook page? Have you thought what that says about you? Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Or maybe it makes you smile on a rainy Thursday afternoon.

Goodnight, Goodnight Moon

Our sweet little Annabelle changes every day. (She's changed an awful lot since August 30, the last time we posted to this blog. I blame the hiatus on house hunting, which is exhausting. More on that in an upcoming post.) Anyway, Annabelle. Sweet, sweet, sunshine and light Annabelle. Now 14 months old, she's close to taking her first step, close to saying her first few words, and, yes, our gummy darling is (finally!) even growing teeth.

One change, though, has been a little surprising: She's, well, how to say it delicately … opinionated. She's very, very opinionated.

Now, if you know me, this probably isn't surprising. I have strong thoughts on everything from fantasy football and the decline of journalism, to the taste of mayonnaise (awful) and Breaking Bad. Annabelle, along with being the lucky recipient of my eyebrows, seems to have acquired my opinionated gene. (Bridget, on the other hand, is pretty cool with whatever.)

This whole "Annabelle is super opinionated" reality hit me the other night. We were reading together, as we always do before bed. Lately, we've started to pick the books together. She'll shake her head to say no (which is the cutest damn thing ever) if she's not in the mood for The Very Hungry Caterpillar or Oh, the Thinks You Can Think. We usually read four or five of these literary gems before I put Annabelle in her crib. And the final book is always Goodnight Moon.  

Until one night last week.

Annabelle had started to rub her eyes, so I knew it was almost time. We closed a book about shapes and I reached for Goodnight Moon. She shook her head. "But this one is your favorite, Annabelle." She shook her head again. "Let's just give it a try."

I opened the book, turned the first page, and then Annabelle closed it. Aggressively. I opened it again. She closed it again. Because I love routine and tradition, I gave it one more try. She slammed it shut, then slapped the front of the book several times and yelled. "Okay," I said. "Let's not read this tonight." I put her down and she slept, as the saying goes, like a baby.

The next night, I tried again. The same thing happened. And then again. And again. And again. For some reason, Annabelle has decided that Goodnight Moon will no longer be part of her reading rotation. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever. Why? I'll probably never know.

But I do know that Goodnight Moon is just a sign of things to come. Sweet little Annabelle will soon be telling us what she thinks of this book, that food, and everything else she comes across.

And while I'm really sorry about the eyebrow thing, I couldn't be happier about this.

Podcast Fever

Now that I've been a Dad for almost a year, I have a little bit of perspective. I realize how lucky I am to be married to someone I love. I realize how fortunate I am to have a happy, healthy, growing baby girl. I realize how wonderful it is to read to my daughter, hang out with my dog, and spend some quiet time with my wife.

And I realize how rare and precious alone time really is.

The reality of the situation is that, after you start a small family (a wonderful, beautiful small family), you don't get much time to yourself. At least not as much as you're used to getting. Maybe a quick hour here and a 15-minute block there. And it's usually later at night or early (like, really early) in the morning.

That, of course, means that you want to make the most of these rare minutes to yourself. And for me, in the past year, that has meant podcasts.

I've never really liked talk radio. I'm not sure why, but it never really appealed to me. Then, about a year ago, as I was walking to work listening to some song I'd heard 800 times, I realized how incredibly stupid I was being. What value did it have? Now, don't get me wrong; music is amazing and has this unique power to bring back memories, relax you, or get you going -- depending on your mood. But the same songs over and over and over? It's like watching the same episode of a TV show or the same movie day after day after day. The same lines. Nothing new. No surprises. No, thanks.

Enter podcasts and, for me, podcast fever. Free, funny, interesting, engaging, educational, entertaining -- what's not to love? I started listening to them every day on my commute to work and now find myself sneaking them in whenever I have a spare chunk of time away from Belle and Bridget. (Overcast is my favorite podcast app, in case you're curious.) And since I've been listening religiously for about a year, I thought I'd quickly share my five favorite podcasts:

1. This American Life. No surprise here. If you listen to podcasts, you know this is pretty much the gold standard. Ira Glass's storytelling is as good as it gets.
2. Freakonomics Radio. These two authors -- Dubner and Levitt -- are smart, funny, and thought-provoking. I hadn't thought of it until just now, but I can't think of any two famous people with whom I'd rather have a beer. Is that depressing? This episode is my favorite. 
3. Planet Money. This one is from NPR, which really sets the quality bar for podcasts. Fascinating stories, a great mix of talent, and short shows that are perfect for a quick break at lunch or a quick commute. NPR's Ted Radio Hour and Wait Wait … Don't Tell Me (even without Carl Kasell) are fantastic, too.
4. Slate's The Gist. I was really skeptical about this at first -- it seemed like one dude's typically angry rants -- but this daily show is incredibly entertaining. Mike Pesca, known for NPR sports, is damn funny. One line from a recent show, which was also featured on This American Life: "I should answer Donald Trump's take on science as soon as Donald Trump is asked to comment on my opinion that he is a pompous, overbearing, ignorant windbag who lusts for attention the way a meth-addicted prostitute lusts for his next fix." Great stuff.
5. ESPN: Fantasy Focus: Football. It's that time of the year and, as much as I hate to admit it, I can't get enough of hearing Matthew Berry explain what he's buying or selling this season. It's like a weird drug.  Oh, and speaking of fantasy football, here's a podcast about the only league I'm in this season. It is, by about five galaxies, the worst podcast on this list. But whatever. At least we're putting ourselves out there.

One bonus podcast: The Memory Palace with Nate DiMeo. These are incredibly short, but incredibly engaging. I just wish there were more of them.

The Best 10 Minutes of Every Day

Like most people, I look forward to a few things every day. An invigorating morning workout. A refreshing drink at Starbucks. A kiss from Bridget before she and Belle head out for the day. These things are part of my daily routine, but I do a pretty good job of not taking them for granted. I try my best to stop and realize how lucky I am to experience these fantastic moments and minutes.

This week, I added something to the list, something that, with apologies to Bridget about the scintillating kiss, may darn well be the best part of every day. What, you might wonder, could possibly be better than those tender, rosy lips? Reading to my daughter.

We've read to Belle since the day she was born. In fact, like most parents who do too much research, we read to her when she was still in the womb. (I'm sure we'll point to those moments when she gets an "A" on her first book report.) But Belle, mostly, hasn't really been so into it. In the first six months of her life, she would either cry, fall asleep, or look off in other directions when we tried to share a book with her. And as she's entered the crawling phase in the last couple months, trying to get her to sit still for five minutes is like asking a hungry Oscar to savor each bite of his kibble.

But this week, something changed. All of a sudden, Belle, just before bed, has decided she loves to sit on my lap while I read her two or three books. It's become a habit, a ritual, and it makes me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. More than that, the whole experience, which lasts from about 6:30-6:40 every night, makes me feel like I'm in a Norman Rockwell painting.

We sit in an old rocking chair in the corner of her room. The soft glow of the lamp in the corner gives off just enough light. A cool evening breeze blows in from the street where older kids are yelling and playing. We open one of her favorites, On the Night You Were Born:

On the night you were born, the moon shone with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, "Life will never be the same ..." 

Belle, sucking away at her pacifier, looks down at the pages and reaches out with her hands. She touches the pictures. I continue and she starts to rub her eyes. Then, we change up the pace and open something a bit lighter, like the literary masterpiece, Yummy, Yucky:

Blueberries are yummy. Blue crayons are yucky. Soup is yummy. Soap is yucky. Ice cream is yummy. Too much ice cream is yucky.

Belle helps turn the pages and occasionally looks up at me while I change my voice depending on whether something is indeed yummy or yucky. Then she yawns and I know it's about that time. We open the final book, Goodnight Moon:

In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon ...

Belle starts to cry a bit and I know my 10 minutes are nearly over. We get as far as we can and then I kiss her for the last time and put her down in her crib. With any luck, she's fast asleep five minutes later. Meanwhile, I leave the room and think about what she and I will read the next night.

And I wonder, as I get on with my evening by cooking dinner and getting ready for another day at work, if she likes the experience even half as much as I do ...