Oh God, am I a pushy parent?

Should you push children? That thorny old question. Gloom has descended upon the Bonkers House because the end of the holidays is looming and with the new term comes entrance exams. James has been set a pile of practice papers and getting him to tackle them has been akin to making a terrier avoid rats.

Part of me thinks, oh for heaven’s sake, he’s eleven. Surely it’s an eleven-year old’s god-given right to lounge around during the holidays, watching TV; hanging out with his mates; lobbing snowballs and so on. But another part of me thinks, shit, I’m working my socks off to keep you at this school and I’d like just a tad of commitment in return.

Aha, I hear you say, clambering onto the moral high ground and gazing down disapprovingly – well, if you will send your child to independent (ie fat fee-paying) school, then it’s your lookout. And, yes, it is. But let’s not go into that one right now – I seriously haven’t the energy.

James will pass his exams, of that I have no doubt. It’s the scholarship thing that bugs me. Let’s be honest, anything that would help with fees would be a blessing from on high. The annoying thing is that he could do it. He’s a bright lad but, by heck, he’s lazy.

‘I’ve finished my English paper,’ he says.
‘But you’ve only done half an hour.’
‘But I finished.’
‘Well, write more.’
‘My hand hurts.’

Ah, it is a sad thing for two writers when their offspring finds writing a story a chore. But such is the sheer nastiness of fate.
‘But isn’t it fabulous, making up stories, letting your imagination go wild?’
He just looks at me as if I am a complete imbecile.

So I figured I’ll resort to bribery.
‘Look, no pressure okay, but just saying...if you were to get a scholarship, we’d save so much money that maybe we could afford to go on a really great holiday.’
‘Portugal?’
Why he is fixated on Portugal, I have no idea. He hates seafood. Maybe it’s the golf. He caught the quizzical look.
‘Okay, not Portugal. DisneyWorld. Florida.’
Gulp. Disney was fabulous but, having tasted the high life there, I don’t think I could bear to do it budget fashion. This time he caught the look of sheer panic-stricken rabbit in headlights and, bless him, took pity on me.
‘Disney Paris then. With a friend.’

So it was agreed. Has it worked? Nope. Not even the charms of Mickey and the thrill of the roller coaster has lured him away from the Xbox and the snow. The papers sit, gathering dust, and wistful dreams of skinnier fees have been put sadly to one side.

Because maybe, just maybe, my heart isn’t really in it either.

Desperate in the House of Mouse

The whole thing is surreal. I am so tired I can barely think straight and my body is complaining that it’s 4am so what the puck am I doing wandering around a lake mingling with people Having A Good Time? Why are all these children up and running around (OK, so it’s 10.30pm on Florida time but still……)? And, while I’m at it, this is term-time even here and these aren’t all toddlers so…. Oh stop being so darn judgemental, Jane. This is Walt Disney World. It’s Magical.

Trouble is it’s hard to feel magical when you’ve got a thudding headache and are still feeling slightly bilious after being force-fed food by Virgin Atlantic. An eight-hour flight and we never seemed to stop eating. Not that I’m complaining – it staves off the boredom. I watched Twilight, which was rather fabulous in a somewhat inane way (miles of footage of meaningful looks and yearning stares – but then, hey, it’s a teen movie). Then caught half of Vicky Cristina Barcelona which was perplexing until Laura told me it was Woody Allen at which point I stopped quite liking it and became irritated. Then endured Revolutionary Road which, while madly intelligent and subtle, was just vein-openingly grim.

At Orlando airport we were met by Sarah, the Disney PR (did I mention that this is a trip for UK ‘mummy’ bloggers – something that perplexed all my fellow bloggers as much as it did me) and sidekick Eddie (who has possibly the scariest smile I’ve ever encountered – flashed on and off like a light switch).
‘Anyone need help with their bags?’ asked Sarah.
‘Yes, please,’ I yelled with fervant gratitude, having stupidly brought the kit bag without the wheels which was digging a two inch trench into my shoulder.
I was expecting Eddie to dash forward but no – he hung back and clutched his folder. Sarah, bless her, offered but that hardly seemed fair. So I lugged it up stair and down escalator, huffing and puffing, with scary spooky Eddie blithely unaware of the concept of gentlemanly behaviour. Either that or he was thinking, evily, ‘ha ha, stupid fat English cow….let her carry her own bag. I shouldn’t be here…..I should be in LA being Discovered.’

As we drove to Disney, Sarah explained why Disney were funding this all-expenses paid trip. ‘While print media is great, a piece appears in a paper and is read once and that’s it. But a blog sends out ripples, it develops a life of its own and spreads through the web.’
Why mothers? ‘Women are the ones who usually pick out the family holiday.’ Fair point.
But aren’t they taking a bit of a chance? While journalists can and often do write glowing reports (on magazines, travel freebies are considered perks and so half the time you’re not getting the opinion of a travel journalist, but of the picture researcher, the sub-editor, the receptionist). Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but they’re so darn grateful to be away from the office that anything looks good. But bloggers are pretty anarchic. We can say what we want and the consensus amongst our group is that as a blogger you have a duty to your readers to cut the bullshit.

Anyhow, we drove through bland flat central Florida and gradually the signs started becoming dominated by Disney. The complex is huge – about the size of Manchester, according to Erica (littlemummy) and I started feeling a bit queasy. This is an entirely fake city – built for nothing but pleasure. As we drove through the famous gates I wasn’t sure if I was heading for paradise or voluntarily incarcerating myself in a cult complex, albeit ‘magical’.

Walking alongside the lake the feeling became compounded. People were smiley, happy, having fun, being magical. One couple wandered by in matching Mouse baseball caps with ears – his plain black; hers white with a diddy veil.

‘Ahhh, wedding mice.’

What?? Oh God, people actually come here to get MARRIED. And, even worse, are happy to advertise the fact by wearing his n’ hers mouse hats. I don’t get it, I really don’t.

My room is fabulous. The food was gorgeous (and I’d forgotten how gargantuan American portions are). The people seem great. But, but, but…..can I enjoy this unreal world? Ah well, time to find out.