Lights

In spite of the infant travel snafus, we had a wonderful time in Williamsburg, VA. Robby and his Daddy had a blast on the rides and, although Timmy was squirmy, I did enjoy the time spent strolling with my littlest guy. When he was awake, he loved looking at the people and taking in the sights.  After having dinner with Santa (solidifying Robby's belief for at least one more year), we knew it was time to head back to the hotel.  Timmy was fast asleep in his stroller, the temperature was starting to drop, and the crowds were increasing. On our way out of the park, we answered Robby's pleas and agreed to "just one more ride."

I'm so glad that we decided to stay. Seeing the long and meandering line for the sky ride, Robby asked that I accompany him on his final ride. Although I would like to think he wanted to spend time with me, in my heart I know he wanted to jump the line with my disability access band. Taking my hand, he led me up the exit so that we could avoid the wait.  Scott (and sleeping Timmy) sat next to a large snowman and waited for us to return.

Robby may have only wanted me on the ride because of my fast-pass access, but I am not going to complain. It turns out that we were able to forge a memory that I will always cherish. Thinking about those few minutes spent together in the sky ride still brings me to tears. (Of course, I'm also menopausal so that may be partially to blame.)

Drifting over the park we were able to fully absorb the illuminated beauty below. It is difficult to fathom four million lights, but seeing them from above certainly put the enormity into perspective. About three minutes into the ride Robby scooted closer to me and clasped my arm. I looked at my little Koopa and saw that tears were streaming down his pink cheeks.

"Momom, this is the most beautifullest thing I've ever seen. I mean look around, it is all so pretty. I think we are seeing what the streets of heaven must look like."

Wow! How do I respond to that? I decided to simply agree that it was indeed beautiful and soak up the precious moment with my son.

As the ride continued Robby oohed and ahhed over the lights below. About halfway through the ride he blurted out, "I am sad now. You know I'm a sensitive little Koopa." When I asked him why he was sad, he continued to explain. "Momom, next year I will be nine years old. And then I'll be ten. Before you know it, I'll be grown up and in college. I don't want to grow up. I want to stay your kid forever. I love you so much and I don't want to leave. That's why I'm sad  because I will never ever see this again when I am eight years old."

So, in addition to the appreciation of Christmas lights, I discovered that Robby also inherited my aversion to change. I promised him that he would be a kid for as long as he needed, and that he shouldn't worry. I think he must have believed me because he returned his attention to providing commentary on the lights below. 

Needless to say, by the time we disembarked from the ride we both had tear stained cheeks.