The Disney Vomit-Thon: A Tale of Two Car Rides

The Magic Kingdom and the Midnight Malady: A Disney Horror Story

Sometimes, as a parent, you try so hard to manufacture a "core memory" that the universe decides to push back. Hard.

A few years ago, my husband was in Orlando for USPS training. We decided to turn the end of his trip into a grand surprise: the kids and I would drive up, meet him, and spend a magical day at Disney World. The drive there was full of excitement and "We’re going to see Mickey!" energy.

The night we arrived, however, the "magic" took a very dark turn.

The Vomit Horror House

We checked into the hotel around 10 PM, dreaming of rope-dropping the Magic Kingdom the next morning. Then, my four-year-old woke up. And proceed to throw up all over the couch bed.

I got him to the bathroom, stripped the bed, and started the cleanup. I thought we were in the clear. I was wrong. By the time I walked back into the room, he had missed the toilet entirely and covered the floor. This became the rhythm of the night. Wash, rinse, repeat—literally. By 3 AM, we were out of sheets, out of towels, and staring at a stinky mountain of laundry in the corner of the room. I complete apologize and respect those who job is to clean hotel rooms after these type of uncontrollable things happen.

I had already made peace with the "lost cost." I told my husband to take our daughter to the park while I would begin the long, somber drive home with a sick preschooler.

The Disney Miracle

But then, 8 AM rolled around. My son "popped" back to life like nothing had happened. He ate a full breakfast, looked at me with bright eyes, and was ready for the Mouse.

So, we went. We did it all. He rode It’s a Small World approximately a million times. He tackled the Speedway. He even braved the log ride (Splash Mountain), which was a huge deal for a kid who was afraid of his own shadow at that age. Not a single gag. Not a single stomach cramp. It was a Disney miracle.

The Road Trip from Hell

The "miracle" expired exactly fifteen minutes into the car ride home.

Because we had driven separately, my husband got the luxury of a solo, quiet drive. I had both kids. Fifteen minutes out of Orlando, the four-year-old reached for the emergency puke bucket.

We stopped at a McDonald’s. Then another. Then another.

By the third stop, my 14-year-old daughter had joined in on the vomit fun. I found myself standing in a McDonald’s bathroom, bouncing between two stalls, listening to both of my children participate in a synchronized vomiting event. I was sprinting to gas stations for Dramamine, praying for just ten minutes of peace so I could make it another ten miles down the road.

We didn't live far enough away to justify a hotel room for the night and I knew home would be the best place for this to happen. It has medication and my job to clean up not a maid.

The Ultimate "Not Cool" Moment

To really rub salt in the wound, my phone rang. It was my husband. "Hey! I'm almost home," he said cheerfully. "What are we thinking for dinner?"

Dinner? I was 30 miles outside of Orlando, covered in the scent of citrus-flavored stomach acid, with several more miles of travel ahead of me. He was home, probably feet up, thinking about pizza. I was just trying to survive to the next exit.

What should have been a two-hour drive took six hours. My husband got a relaxing commute; I got the road trip from hell.

Closing Thought

They don’t show the puke buckets in the Disney commercials, do they? But honestly, looking back, the fact that he got that one perfect day in the middle of the chaos makes the six-hour drive home almost worth it. Almost. He doesn't remember being sick at all, he remembers the Disney trip.

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What’s the most "un-magical" thing that has happened on your family vacation? Have you ever had to manage a crisis while your partner accidentally enjoyed a peaceful "solo" moment? Commiserate with me in the comments!