Because it's all "fire", dude

I told our kids I really was in men's glee in junior high, and then in choir in high school. They wanted proof. High school was easy because, there I was, styling a tux in the yearbook pictures from freshmen through junior years. 

But when I looked in my junior high yearbook, I wasn't in the group picture. Why I don't remember. Maybe I was at a math competition that day. Something else that would've conflicted with the taking of the group picture. Not only I wasn't in the picture, my name wasn't listed either. That was an unfortunate oversight somewhere along the line. Mr. Hannah, our junior high choir teacher, surely would've included my name in the listing.

"Dad, you weren't in men's glee; you're not in the picture," our youngest Bryce.

"Yes, I was," I protested. Why wasn't I in there? I thought.

"You're not in there, Dad," our oldest Beatrice said. 

"C'mon, Dad," my wife Amy said.

"I thought you were an athlete, a brain, and in student government," Bryce said. "You were a nerd, Dad. Except when you were in detention. That was cool."

That's a story our kids love: the fact that when I was student body president, I received lunch detention for too many first period tardies. One of the other kids in detention has said to me, "Dude, aren't you the president?"

Yes. Yes, I was. The kids always laugh at that. 

I continued to defend myself about being in men's glee. Then I had an idea -- I had a cassette recording from men's glee in junior high that Mr. Hannah had recorded and made for all of us and our families. 

"I have proof," I said. "Listen to this."

I pushed play on the only working cassette player we have. Young teenage boys' voices sang an old standard like Erie Canal. 

I stopped the tape. "See?" I said. "I was in men's glee."

The kids laughed. "How do we know you were one of them?"

Sigh. They weren't wrong. I really was in men's glee. No, really. 

Today both our teens are in high school choir and love it -- and we love watching them sing! Bryce has been in choir since middle school and this is Beatrice's first year. Since last fall, they've been excited about their spring trip to a music festival in Anaheim, CA. And so have we. 

Because Disneyland. 

Don't get me wrong -- we really enjoy hearing all the kids sing. They are amazing. But c'mon, it's Disneyland. We've been taking our kids to Disneyland since they were three and five years old. So, we volunteered to be chaperones. Over 50 kids in total and 8 chaperones between two high schools. 

It was wonderful listening to all the high school choirs sing throughout the festival day, especially our two high schools (and especially our kids' choir). There were over 30 choirs from multiple states that participated. Brilliant song choices and inspired singing. These music directors are doing amazing things with these kids who sounded more like professional adult singers than teens. 

As a parent, it's been quite the bumpy joy ride living it all over again through our teens' experiences -- and all the kids on the choir festival trip. Their boisterous energy, anxieties, friendships, camaraderie, teasing, occasional indiscriminate F-bombs, and Gen Z slang flooded the bus on our way to the Anaheim music festival. Our high school choirs performed admirably and won all gold awards. 

Amy and I and all the chaperones powered through with the kids, eating dinner with our hands at Medieval Times, cheering for all the choirs at the awards ceremony (with Mickey, Minnie, Merlin, and friends), finishing off the 10+ mile hike throughout Disney until it closed, and staying up until midnight each night doing room checks. We were all exhausted but elated on the bus ride home. 

"Are you 'locked in', Dad?" Bryce said to me when we left, leveraging some Gen Z slang.

"It's 'fire', dude," I answered. It means something is really good, impressive, or exciting. That always makes our kids smile. 

Because it's all "fire", dude. And that always makes us smile. 

Like Night And Day

It was probably the last time for who knows how long, but it doesn't mean we won't ever go again. Oh, we'll go again, either just my wife Amy and I, or our kids will join us again, but the annual family treks may be over (for now at least). 

We love Disney. When Amy and I went to Disneyland as part of our honeymoon back in 2003, we had a fabulous time. I remember all the families around us with babies and very young children, and we said out loud, "Why would you bring such young ones there?"

But that was four years before we changed our own minds about having our own kids, and five years before we actually had our first daughter Beatrice in 2008. Less than two years later, our other daughter Bryce was born. 

After our kids turned three and five years old, we ate our own words and decided to take them to Disneyland in January of 2014. And we had a blast. Thank goodness for single-rider rides so Mom and me could ride the big-kid rides. Ever since, we've gone nearly every year, except for 2020 and early 2021 due to the pandemic, having many family adventures with related reflections along the way in 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2021, 2023, and now this year in 2024. If we lived closer to LA, then we would've had season passes, but alas, it's a six-hour drive for us. 

It's always a super-fun marathon for us. This year in the last few days of the kids' school winter break, we trekked in and around the Disneyland and California Adventure parks over eight miles a day for four days, staying up late (for us) for the fireworks and the water light show, traversing the crowds (there are always crowds), and having to listen to Christmas/holiday music over and over again two weeks after Christmas (ugh). The walking and standing were brutal on Mom and Dad's legs, hips, backs, and butts, but we still made it farther and longer than our own kids, who took the late afternoons off to hang out in hotel room. 

Our teens still enjoyed Disneyland this year, but because they wanted to take afternoon breaks, it was clear that the Disney magic had rusted over a bit for them, more for Beatrice than Bryce. Both their interests have changed and they're on their way to young adulthood now. Bittersweet for us; they'll always be our little ones ready to embrace Mickey, Minnie, and friends. We're so grateful we've been able to take them for all these years. 

But they're not our little ones anymore, something I'm obviously grappling with. When I look at this year's castle picture compared to the first one in 2014, it's like night and day, with the common horizon line being our family love of togetherness and fun. Will we ever go together again? Of course we will. The magic may be rusty, but it will always shine.

Finding Magic In Every Moment

We'd been on the same rides dozens of times over the years. This one included: The Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, which is converted to the movie theme The Nightmare Before Christmas during the holidays from Thanksgiving through the first week in January. That's when we were there this time after the New Year. 

During the ride, you're taken up above a long dining area with ghosts and goblins dancing and flying around. As I took it all in, I looked at the place settings on the dining room table and thought, That's odd, why does that place setting look so different than the others?

I stared at it for the seconds we had in that part of the ride. What was different?

Then it hit me: That's a hidden Mickey. The place setting configure as the iconic Mickey Mouse face and ears.

Supposedly over 1,000 hidden Mickeys have been recorded throughout the Disney theme parks, properties, media, etc. We've been coming to Disneyland with our daughters nearly every year since 2014. The exceptions were 2019 when we took them to Disney World for the first time, and then of course 2020 during the first year of the pandemic when Disney (and everything was closed). Years before the girls we spent part of our honeymoon in Disneyland. We're grateful for every visit we've had at the Magic Kingdom. Yes, we love going, even with the crush of rude people, long lines, occasional broken-down rides, and overpriced food and drinks.

But we've never seen a hidden Mickey until now, and we actually found three. 

We've heard about the hidden Mickeys over the years, but never found any until now. We never really looked for any either. We just enjoyed our visits as much as possible until we were done. However, every visit prior to this time wasn't without its adult and child angst, frustration, stress, and grumpy bouts with each other. Normal human stuff that happens no matter how well you think you plan and mitigate with your kids. 

This time was different in Disney, though. Yes, our girls are older now, teens, and while you'd think that would've added to the angst, frustration, stress, and the grumps, it really didn't. In fact, it was the most mellow and enjoyable few days in the Magic Kingdom ever. The girls were ready to spend more time on their own for the first time in Disneyland including going back and forth to the hotel on their own when they wanted to take a break. 

Even with the torrential storms happening throughout California and our daily worries about our community, neighborhood, our home, and our dog Jenny back in Santa Cruz (and checking in on all of it each day), we enjoyed our mostly sunny Southern California Disney in between the storms. This trip had been planned over 10 months ago and no one could've predicted getting 700% of average annual rainfall in just a few weeks. I also don't think I'd ever seen a headline before that said, "90% of California Under Severe Weather Watch."

With all that -- going to Disney, finding hidden Mickeys, and traversing the storms -- my wife Amy and I always plan for safety everywhere we go (at least for what we have control over). We've also been working hard at letting go of "things" that we have no control over, and things that no longer serve us, whatever those are, and being open to anything and everything all at once. Our daily meditations have helped us understand that the more you let go, the more new possibilities and ideas can occur; you see connections and opportunities you never saw before. Emotional, psychological, and spiritual connections and opportunities. More than that, the ability to accept whatever happens and whatever we manifest while enjoying the moments we have with one another. 

Ah, there he goes waxing philosophical again. What the heck does any of that have to do with going to Disney, hidden Mickeys, and storms? Our teens might think we're nuts sometimes, but hidden Mickeys became the metaphor for letting go and finding magic in every moment, and after all these years, we found them. 

One Grain at a Time

[Spoiler Alert: I don’t give too much away, but I am commenting on changes to Disneyland’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride and one thing that happens in the Ralph Breaks the Internet movie. Just giving you all a head’s up.]

I noticed the female pirate first. Actually, I heard her voice first, then I saw her to my left. She was calling out rivals across the small, man-made river we traversed.

“That’s new,” I told the Mama, what I lovingly call my wife.

“I know,” she said. “And the brides for sale are gone. It’s like a market for selling other goods and food now.”

And so, there we were on our annual holiday Disneyland trip, one we’ve been doing since our girls were little, and the #MeToo movement finally hit the Disney-fied raping and pillaging of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. The original version of Pirates had opened at Disneyland in Anaheim in 1967, and it was the last attraction that Walt Disney oversaw, but he died three months before it opened.

Good for Disney today, though. While the ride originally was a dark-lit but light-hearted caricature of a “pirate’s life” that we know historically was full of harassment, rape, slavery and violence towards women (and other men) in real life, there’s nothing wrong with updating it with a strong female character and editing out the selling of women. Mind you, there was still only one strong female character in the ride that we noticed. Otherwise, it’s still the same classic Disneyland ride I remember growing up (except with the addition of Jack Sparrow and the successful Pirates movie franchise).

Disney seems to keep moving forward with progressive norms, like Ralph Breaks the Internet in 2018 with all the Disney princesses helping to rescue a “big strong man who needs saving.” A funny and refreshing twist indeed.

That doesn’t mean Disney hasn’t had its own share of real-life discrimination and harassment problems, with the latest one being a middle-aged male former labor analyst at Disney Cruise Line claiming his younger female manager created a hostile work environment by bullying him about his age and more. Plus, this past year, there was the Pixar titan John Lasseter on leave from the Walt Disney Company following complaints about unwanted workplace hugging. And then there was actress Kristen Bell publicly expressing concern about “Snow White” and the prince who kissed her without consent.

Which was exactly what I was thinking about as we rode the Snow White ride at Disneyland. It’s really quite creepy and scary, especially for little kids. And yet, when we got to the end of the ride, it went from the Seven Dwarves trying to save Snow White from the evil queen disguised as an old woman giving out poison apples in a dark forest, to heading out the final door into the real light with “They Lived Happily Ever After” painted on the last wall. Where did the nonconsensual prince kiss go?

I don’t know. Anyway, what I’m more excited about is the blurring of gender types from such a media and entertainment powerhouse like Disney. The massive influence they have on our children (and us) is unprecedented and has been for decades, so injecting strong female characters into the greater Disney animation canon has been refreshing for those of us raising strong females with healthy self-identities, especially since The Little Mermaid. I know that it can be argued these characters’ male counterparts still have had the hero-story edge, but that’s been slowly changing.

For the past two years, Bryce has wanted to go to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique at Disneyland, a place where, for a price (always for a price at the Magic Kingdom), kids can be turned into elegant princesses and shining knights. Beatrice wanted to do it too, so this year we conceded and made reservations.

Beatrice had no interest in dressing like a princess; she wanted to be a knight. Bryce has been our traditional princess to date, always dressing like one and enjoying all the related princess accoutrements. We assumed that’s what she wanted. But the day before her appointment, she said she wanted to be a knight.

Usually we encourage the girls to be whatever they want to be. Beatrice identifies as a girl but tends to skew boyish by her own choice, and so it’s no surprise that strangers have called her our “boy” over in the past. Until Bryce got a pixie haircut, cutting her hair really short, that never happened with her. But since the haircut, it has, although both girls seem to roll with it without being offended. This is good and we want them to be comfortable with who they are and how they look, no matter how non-gender specific.

By the way, for those parents who want their girls to dress like princesses and their boys to dress like knights, fantastic. More power to them and no judgement here, as long as their children are not being forced into a stereotypical gender role that they’re not comfortable with, because their parents aren’t comfortable with them being something other than a princess (for a girl) or a knight (for a boy).

We gave Bryce the choice either way the day before her Disney transformation, although now I feel bad as we kept reminding her how much she loved being a princess and how she’s always wanted to get the princess treatment. In the end she chose princess, and she was quite happy with it, which we knew she would be, but we would’ve been fine with two knights.

Yes, things are slowly changing, the sands of patriarchy draining one grain at a time from the happiest place on earth’s golden hourglass. Amen.

A New Hope of Grit and Growth

"Beatrice G. and Bryce G.," called the Jedi training coordinator.

Music to my Force-filled ears. We had missed the regular reservation times and could only sign the girls up as alternates. No guarantees. Come back at least 15 minutes before one of these times later today. Thank you and good luck. And now they were being called to participate!

"I don't know if I want to do it," said Beatrice.

"It'll be fun, Bea. Don't worry," I said.

"I want to do it!" said Bryce.

"Don't worry," said the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife).

"Okay," said Beatrice.

This was the part where many parents come to in the lives of their beloved children: making them do something whether they want to or not -- so we can experience the experiences they need to have that we never experienced otherwise and live these experiences anew vicariously through said beloved children.

Thank you and good luck.

"Do you both want to do it?" asked the coordinator.

I'm not sure if they both said yes or not, but we ushered them to the gated entrance where all the Padawans were corralled, being dressed in robes and prepped.

Bryce beamed when I took her picture in her training robe. Beatrice had that look of constipated anxiety she gets when she's nervous about something, the same look I've had since I was a child and even into adulthood.

I gave Bea a big thumbs up and then we smiled and waved at them both. One of the Jedi training coordinators called for the parents to follow her and led us to the open quad stage where the performance/training would take place.

"I didn't realize we'd be leaving them up there alone," said the Mama.

"I know. They'll be all right, though."

"I'd better go check on them," she said.

"Okay, I'll be right here. Love you."

"Love you."

But then I worried that, by going up there to where the Padawans were being prepped, one or both girls would have a out with the Mama not to do the training exercise. I didn't want that to happen, although I did feel a little guilty about pushing them, Bea especially, out of their comfort zone. I remembered how painfully shy I was at her age, and how tentative I was to try new things like this, to try anything for that matter. Thankfully both girls already have more grit than I did at their ages, more like their Mama in that regard, so I thought they could handle it. It wasn't like we were sending them out to fight for the lives in The Hunger Games.

Right?

I mean, I wanted them to handle it; I would've paid money, begged, may even cry a little if Disneyland would've let me participate in the Jedi training. Even the Mama would've loved to do it.

I waited for the training to start and kept looking in the direction where the Mama went to check on the girls, half-expecting to see her return with one or both of the girls at any moment. I hoped they'd persevere and enjoy the experience. For me. And for them too, of course.

The Star Wars theme music launched and my heart lept back to the summer of 1977. John Williams composes a mean crescendo and diminuendo, that's for sure. The Mama joined me back near the stage, no girls in tow, as a line of Padawans filled the quad, Jedi trainers guiding them to their starting positions.

"Were they all right?" I asked.

"Yep, just fine."

The performance itself was quite entertaining, with all the Jedi trainees collectively controlling and channeling the Force to vanquish the dark side and the Seventh Sister, Darth Vader and Kylo Ren. Each Padawan had an opportunity to battle the Seventh Sister and Darth Vader, showing off the newly acquired light saber skills.

Because the Force real. Really. No judging, please.

Our girls made us proud, washing away any guilt of pushing them into Jedi training. Pushing Beatrice more than Bryce that is. Which, with all due respect to our beloved children, was pretty minimal in the first place. After the performance ended, the girls ran to us all aglow and confident.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes, I want to do it again! It was exciting for me," Bea exclaimed.

"Yes! It was awesome" said Bryce.

We want them to get excited like this after trying new things, to experience the unexperienced, and to always see them through. Not all of what's learned will stick long-term, nor will they even like everything they try, but that doesn't matter. What's matters is in their becoming of something better, smarter, stronger and resilient for whatever life throws their way -- and throw things it will, lots of things (damn all those things). What will matter the most is for them (and us) to always be a new hope of grit and growth.

When Empathy and Faith Aren't Enough

Three days later, the bus stop benches had been removed. I noticed them missing before we even crossed Harbor Boulevard to head back to our hotel. After four consecutive years of coming to Disneyland in and around the Holidays, the two benches near our hotel that we passed by a few times each day going back and forth to the park, had vanished.

"Look, they're gone," my wife said as we crossed the street, all of us bathed in Southern California sunshine and blue sky.

"I know," I said.

But although that's what we fixated on in that moment, it wasn't what bothered us. Three days earlier when we first got to Disneyland, we passed an old obese white woman, seemingly homeless, sitting on one of the benches, eyes closed, wrapped in what looked like a old blanket, empty food containers stacked next to her. That wasn't completely out of the ordinary because every year there are homeless camped out at that bus stop.

This time though the smell was horrible. Her smell. The fat woman wrapped in a dirty blanket. And it followed us in either direction after we passed her. It wasn't just the smell of body odor, urine and feces either. There was another underlying sulfurous smell of decay, something we didn't want to imagine. But she was still breathing, so it wasn't the unimaginable. The girls smelled it too and we treaded lightly on the subject when asked why she was sitting there like that. We told them the poor woman didn't have anywhere else to go.

That's where the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and I diverged, because while forgetting about the homeless woman after each time we passed was easier for me, it wasn't for her.

"Maybe we should call social services or something," she said. "Thousands of people are walking by her every day and no one's doing anything. And neither are we."

I empathized, but didn't comment further, and we never called anyone. Two days after passing her multiple times, we were on our way into the park yet again when the Mama tapped my shoulder.

"What?"

"Did you see that?" she whispered, making sure our girls didn't hear.

"No, what."

"The homeless women was gone."

"I didn't notice."

"You didn't see the yellow tape blocking off where she was?"

"No, I didn't," I said, although the sulfurous decay smell had been stronger this time.

"There was a big human waste stain on the bench and on the concrete under where she sat. So sad."

That image floored me. We crossed Harbor Boulevard and I couldn't get it out of my head.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. You didn't see it?"

I didn't want to turn around to look. "No, but now I do. Thank you."

My faint attempt at humor was lost on her. "She's gone. The homeless woman. "

"Wow. I wonder if she --"

"I know. We've should've done something. I should've called someone. I feel horrible," the Mama whispered, her voice trailing off.

Later on our way back to the hotel room, we passed the benches again, which at this point had been hosed down along with the sidewalk underneath them. No one sat on them and the stench still hung in the air. The few people who seemed to be waiting for an actual bus stood away from the benches.

My wife struggled with everyone's inaction to this homeless woman's plight, especially her own. It had all been washed away. Literally. And then completely removed, only the footprints of the benches remained like scars in the sidewalk concrete. Again, I empathized, but moved on to worrying about battling the dense crowds and getting our return on investment with the rides and the character sightings and signatures.

Eventually my worrying turned a little broader and darker as I thought about what the coming New Year would bring -- global conflict, another recession, civil unrest, maybe a zombie apocalypse and God knows what else. I worried about my wife marching in the local Women's March on Washington next month. All of us are marching in it actually, and so I worried about all of our safety, even in this still peaceful bastion of progressiveness called Santa Cruz. The march mission across the country is to stand together in solidarity with our partners and children for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health, and our families.

But what about the homeless woman's safety and health? Why did her family and community fail her? If this was a test from God, then I failed miserably. I didn't even feel committed to Kidpower's commitment to integrity and safety for everyone. Not my problem. Somebody else's. I have my own first world kind to deal with here in New Pottersville. That much I thought about while we waited in line for the Storybook Land ride.

That, and the fact that on the night before we left for our Disneyland trip, Christmas Day, a young white guy with a scraggly beard wearing a hoodie sweatshirt rang our doorbell. I answered the door and although he looked to be well-dressed with a new knapsack, and not homeless, he proceeded to tell me he was trying to make his way up north to somewhere undecipherable and wanted to know if we had any fresh "tasties" we could give to him -- food that is -- and he kept asking me for different kinds of food, although I kept saying no.

After less than a minute, I shut the door on him. Maybe he was legit, maybe he wasn't, maybe it was another test from God. I'll never know. I did tell our neighbors to keep an eye out just in case. I should've never answered the door anyway. It wasn't that late, but unless we know who it is, we don't answer the door after 7:00, and we've lived in a relatively safe neighborhood for over 10 years now. And who the hell knocks on your door at 7:30 at night on Christmas Day anyway?

And who the hell lets an obviously "sick" elderly woman become homeless and possibly die in a pile of her own feces at a bus stop in Anaheim across the street from Disneyland during the holidays?

After this year, it just feels like we're all a long way from the happiest place on earth. Maybe it's just me and my clouded perception. I don't really know. A good friend of mine who was an amazing artist and who volunteered for marine mammal rescue locally passed away suddenly earlier this month, and he wasn't too much older than me. Feeling the road as I already do, it just added to my angry yet impotent introspection of late.

Maybe it's not all so bad after all, though. I mean, our family is healthy and our girls have grit and we have a home and employment and causes we believe in and we love and care for one another, our families, our friends. And we do live in a community that mostly embodies similar spirits. Even when I doubt a little, or a lot, I still have faith we'll be strong and persevere, and that our girls will as well.

Someone reminded me recently that everything that happens is God's will and we're just living His plan for us all. I grew up in the Christian faith hearing that every single Sunday bloody Sunday. But I've always struggled with it, and I don't believe that's how life works, because our will is God's will is our will.

There are no divine tests as referenced above, only our lives, our wills and the decisions we make, the actions or inactions we take. We should've called for that homeless woman on the bench, but we didn't. That won't happen again. (The jury's still out for the guy at our door, though.)

Today, when empathy and faith aren't enough, our complex collective wills need to take progressive actions. The kind that will make a difference in the years to come for ourselves and our children. Mostly positive and peaceful actions, but also a throat punch or two delivered to indifference and incivility as needed.

We know how incrementally complex our lives can become, how vitality and happiness are relative spectrums we try really hard to stay centered in. The Mama and I pledge to stay centered and fight the good fight together to protect our rights, our safety, our health, our family, our community and our country. Because no other wills will do.

What Be Coming Next And What Becoming's Like

We smuggled the girls into the boat. More accurately -- we smuggled their fears into the boat. We knew the journey wasn't for the faint of heart, but it's an experience we wanted to share as a family. We left under the faux of night, fireflies pierced the darkness around us as the river carried us towards underground caverns that eventually led to the open sea. We passed a ramshackle river shack with an old man rocking slowly on his porch. He didn't say a word, just watched us float on by.

We'd debated it off and on all morning, whether or not we should make them take the journey into pirate infested waters and the visceral booty beyond. We knew it might be quite overwhelming for them, maybe leaving a mental scar or two, and yet we figured it was time to take the trip from our port of call to New Orleans to the Caribbean and back again.

To Anaheim, that is.

"There will be a few drops down the river, girls," the Mama told Beatrice and Bryce. "But only a few."

Bea huddled closely to me in the boat and pressed her ear muffs tightly to her ears.

"When's it going to be over?" she asked, before we even got to the first fall.

Although Bryce wore her ear muffs as well, she sat up straight and took it all in, a huge smile lighting up the darkness.

After the boat trip was over, "yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me" still ringing in our ears, Bea was happy to be done with it.

"What did you think?" we asked.

"It was a little scary, but maybe we can go on again next year," Bea said.

"Did you like it, Bryce?"

"Yes!"

And so ended the first B-hive family ride through the Pirates of the Caribbean. Mercy, what a difference a year makes. Last year we took the girls for the first time to Disneyland and we definitely thought that was a win. But this year? Wow. Much bigger win.

Disneyland really isn't for the faint of heart (or easy on the pocketbook), especially when you have children easily startled and especially sensitive to auditory and visual stimuli. Lots and lots of auditory and visual stimuli. And lots and lots of people. Tens of thousands every day, and those are the slow days.

But the girls stepped up their game this year, that's for sure, experiencing exponentially more than the last. And that meant that the Mama and Daddy had to step up their "endurance" game as well. Even with the stimuli and the crowds, their collective imaginations negated any and all adulthood demons projected along their paths. Instead, they looked ahead with brave anticipation on wanting to know what be coming next and what becoming's like, willing to take risks for the greater good of personal discovery and confidence building. That's something the Mama and I really want them to embrace now and never let go of.

And to see their very souls light up with sheer joy when they met their favorite characters, especially those super-charged with positive girl power, and especially the sisters Elsa and Anna from Frozen, that made every moment the most happiest place on earth.

Crossing the Disney Pearly Gates

From Daddy then...

...to Mommy and Daddy on their honeymoon...

...to Daddy after a recent conference...

...to the B-hive crossing the Disney Pearly Gates for the first time very soon...

...stay tuned....