by Jennifer Wagner

Created on: January 17, 2009

There we were, all four of us, stuffed into our little Ford Festiva. My two boys, ages 12 and 7, sat high atop a pile of a dozen pillows and blankets. They fired away one question after another. "Which ride is the best?" "How much longer till we're there?" "Is Mickey Mouse married to Minnie Mouse?" The list went on and on. I wondered how they could possibly think up so many things to ask.

It was the middle of summer and the air conditioning was broken, but we were doing it! Finally, after years of saving, we were on our way to Disneyworld! Excitement hung heavily in the air. The children's questions kept coming, and I tried to be patient. At first I answered them all, describing the rides, the lines, and the beauty of the landscaping. But about half way there, I began to tire and loose my patience. My oldest son, Kyle, was the worse, and it was obvious by his questions that he was afraid of the rides.

Twelve long hours later, we pulled into the resort and were whisked away to our room. The cold air blowing from the air conditioning vents felt wonderful. You'd think after such a long trip that the kids would have run out of things to ask. But you would be wrong.

"Mom, will it be hot like this tomorrow?" "How do we get to the park?" "Are you sure we're allowed to wear hats on the rides?"

My head pounded, but I told myself that tomorrow would be a better day.

We arrived at The Magic Kingdom early the next morning. We ran, hand in hand, for our first official ride, The Jungle Cruise. Kyle clutched me nervously as we waited in line. "How fast does the boat go?" he asked. "Will we get wet on this ride?" "Are any of the animals real?" I stressed to him that it was a calm ride and he had nothing to fear. It didn't stop the questions.

I'm convinced that a constant stream of questions would break any hardened criminal. If a non-physical torture technique is ever needed, I think firing question after question at someone could be quite effective. Maybe they could bring in my son as the questioner, because he broke me that day. I lost it. Right there in the middle of the happiest place on earth. After hours of the scorching Floriday heat, and a relentless barrage of questions, I turned into the crazy woman that people stare at in public. I yelled. I cried. I mimicked. I made no sense.

It did no good. We still had four more days in "paradise", and the questions never stopped.

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