Wednesday night we kidnapped The Kid. Before adrenaline rushes through your body -- we took her to Harry Potter land.
Yes, I flew to Orlando.
I am not a theme park opposed person in general. But Orlando? Honestly scared me. SCARED me. Parks crushing with families, in supreme heat, tremendous lack of gluten-free options, hyper imposed "FUN" everywhere. So when The Kid asked a year ago to go to the Harry Potter park (technically part of Universal Orlando ) I said, "Not ever in my lifetime, my love."
But Wednesday night we turned to her, told her to grab her favorite stuffed animal and hauled pre-packed suitcases from the closet. We wouldn't tell her where we were going but (here's where us as reporters kicks in) : she could ask anyone she wanted. Her first query? The TSA agent -- Did he knew where she was going? Quick second of me wondering if The Prince and I would be swept into closed rooms. He flicked her an eye, me an eye, and handed our passports without answering her.
So after a subway ride, train ride, tram ride, flight and car ride, The Kid, lying on the bed at the hotel at 12:30 am figured out she was about to meet her literary hero. (Yes, that makes me happy to write. Nerd to you too.) And 6 hours later (don't ask me what time the park opens. Don't.) she did.
And so did I. I loved Harry Potter land. From Hogwarts, the roller coasters, Ollivander's shop, the snot flavored beans, just the design and look of it. Maybe it was in contrast to the rest of Universal. But I also loved the enthusiasts. Wearing Gryffidorf scarves in 90 degree heat who traveled to Florida to experience a hyper-realized snapshot of their favorite book. So many Brits too just ignoring their language mangled. I even loved being called a Muggle. (Although note to Universal: I may be one. But it's an insult...right?)Don't worry -- the rest of Universal lived up to all my worst fears. But at 9 am, snuggled next to The Kid nursing a Butterbeer while she practiced her Wingardium Leviosa on my purse with her Harry Potter wand, I didn't want to be anywhere else.
Well, a spiked butterbeer would have been nice. Just saying. For mama.
Comments
And queenmonkey, I understand the fear.