Father Time is a weekly column dedicated to the concept of time in a parent’s life, particularly a father’s life. The point of view comes from a father of two young sons, both under three-years-old, and how time really is just that: a concept.
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We were going to eat one-of-a-kind, cinnamon-y churros with abandon, feast on legendary corn dogs, watch character parades with twinkling light floats, and take our little guys for their very first ride on Peter Pan’s Flight, King Arthur’s Carousel, It’s a Small World, and Dumbo. It would have been our first visit to Disneyland as a family.
We’d gone back and forth about when to introduce our sons to the Magic Kingdom. In a way, they seemed too young, however kids under two get in free, so it made some sense to go now. We certainly weren’t going to go in the middle of summer, and so we picked this quiet corner or winter, when the crowds are at record lows, the park calm and quiet after the hubbub of the holidays.
But then something happened. Saturday night, before our drive to Anaheim the next day, our eight-month-old started running a fever.
“Let’s watch it,” we said. “It might be teething. He’s in a great mood and will probably be fine in the morning.”
Next morning, almost all bags packed, we checked his temperature. Broken, though still warm, but now the start of a productive cough.
I felt his forehead, just to check. Sure enough, a warm little noggin. Bust out the thermometer and there it was: 100.6 degrees.
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“Let’s get them out for a walk, get some fresh air,” we said. “We’ll get them down for a nap, and drive up in the afternoon. Check in’s not ‘til four. What’s the rush?”
Off my wife went with the boys under gray skies. But no worry, because it was forecast for sun both Monday and Tuesday, the two days we would be in the park. I continued to load up the big stuff in the car: stroller, travel crib, the bag of snacks and cooler of food for the hotel room. Our bags were at the top of stairs waiting to be zipped up.
They returned from the walk, and then our two-year-old suddenly became cranky and uncooperative. I’d noticed he’d been fussy at breakfast that morning. I put on a video for him to watch, then saw he had a little white patch on the tip of his tongue. I felt his forehead, just to check. Sure enough, a warm little noggin. Bust out the thermometer and there it was: 100.6 degrees.
My wife came down after putting the baby to nap, and we assessed our two-year-old. We knew right away that it wasn’t your garden-variety winter cold. He’d had these symptoms before, when he was nine-months-old, and we learned then that it was the dreaded herpangina, a coxsackievirus that causes mouth ulcers and blisters.
Note: it was a lot like handling pieces of raw chicken that you must also cuddle and love in their time of need.
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We put him down for a nap, then sat on the couch and had very little debate. We would not be going to Disneyland. Not for their health, or the safety of a thousands of other visitors to the theme park. We called the hotel, begged for an appeal not to be charged so close to check in, and then spent the rest of the afternoon tending to the rapidly declining state of health of our boys, snacking on the crackers and cheese and grapes from the would-be hotel room food stash, and pouting—just a little—since we wouldn’t be going to the Happiest Place on Earth. It was simply the wrong time.
I’ll spare the details of the remainder of the week, but leave you with the impression that it wasn’t the Dumbo ride. Note: it was a lot like handling pieces of raw chicken that you must also cuddle and love in their time of need. Oh, and did I mention my wife came down with the chest cold?
What we saved by not going was a ton of money (at least $1,000 after you calculate three nights in a hotel, embroidered mouse ear hats and other obligatory magical swag, churros, corn dogs, and all other meals and drinks), and what we gained was family time we would never forget, albeit a time we would have rather not had. We relearned the importance of simply staying home when the times are tough, and the foresight of knowing that one day would be our time. And maybe it’s better to wait any way to take them to Disneyland. It’ll make the time we do go worth the wait. Besides, there’s no need to rush it. Disneyland’s not going anywhere.
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Photo credit: Robert Couse-Baker.