We just returned from Disney World. (Yes, again.) This time we were there celebrating Sam’s fifth birthday.

(After I had planned the trip, and made all of the arrangements, and pretty much took care of everything up to and including packing for all of us, George turned to me half-way to Orlando, and said, “Since we’re taking Sam to Disney World for his birthday, doesn’t that pretty much make us the BEST PARENTS EVER!?!” Hmph.)

Sam has suddenly developed an affinity for roller coasters and pretty much any ride that goes really fast, or spins, or preferably does both at the same time.
He doesn’t get this from me. When it comes to amusement park rides, I’m a puker. Always have been, and, if this weekend is any indication, always will be. I nearly lost it on the Teacup-and-Saucers ride, and had to sit quietly sipping a Coke for twenty minutes after.

But Sam is fearless. So he gleefully went off with George to ride the roller coasters, while I waited at the exit with all the other wimps.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say that Sam is fearless when it comes to the rides. When it comes to meeting the characters . . . not so much.
We have now taken Sam to Disney World four times. Each time, I go with one goal – to take a photo of Sam standing next to Mickey Mouse. And each time, this has been a complete failure.

I march him up to Mickey Mouse; he cowers in terror. Sam doesn’t just refuse to pose for a photo . . . he refuses to get anywhere near the Mouse. I’ve tried various techniques, including picking him up, dropping him next to Mickey, and then trying to run out of the way fast enough for George to snap a photo. But it’s never worked. Sam just gloms on to one of my legs with a truly impressive vice-like grip.

But this time, I thought he’d be able to do it. After all, he had no problem with the fifty-foot drop on Splash Mountain. What’s a big stuffed mouse compared to that?

“Let’s go see Mickey Mouse!” I said, hoping to trick him into thinking this is something he actually wanted to do.

“NO!” Sam bellowed.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” I chirped.

“No, no, NO!”

“You’re not scared of a mouse, are you?” I asked. Yes, I admit it, in the pursuit of this goal, I resorted to taunting my five-year old.

“Yes, I’m scared,” Sam retorted. “And I don’t want to see Mickey.”

But despite his protestations, I insisted on getting my photo . . .

. . . and here it is.

Sigh. Maybe next year.