Last Updated on March 31, 2019

I bet someone could make a bazillion dollars selling a book on how to kill time on theme park lines. For me, the saving grace for these hours in the sun has been that I’ve been rereading Edith Hamilton’s Mythology and regurgitating the tales while we queue up behind 40,000 other park visitors. Who knew that stories 2,000 years old could keep kids entertained? Since I used up most of the stories at Raging Waters, I had to fall back on the Trojan war. So yesterday, Las Super Chicas (they’ve been upgraded from the pedestrian “Las Chicas”) learned about Ulysses and the great wooden horse and, when those stories were over, the great wooden rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (When they get back, ask them what the three most common sources for literal allusions are. I don’t think they’ve realized they’re actually begging to hear stories that they’re going to complain about reading in school.)

In the mornings, the Super-Slow Chicas take their sweet time writing in their journals (they’re currently two days behind), showering (my whole home smells like eau de theme park), and marrying their Tamagotchis. When we finally get moving a few hours later, they look at me as if I’m the cause for our tardiness. Since I’m not big on repeating myself, I’ll stand near the door without opening it while they gaze up at me with eyes that say, “I know we’re forgetting something. But we can’t remember what!” Then Jessica will remember that the butter is still out or Micaela will run back to scoop a wet towel off the couch. After a few more minutes of my silent game, we’re finally ready to leave.

Yesterday’s culinary adventure was Thai, which Micaela still calls “thigh” but which she now loves. (They both still beg me to take them to “raymon,” aka ramen.) First course: chicken-stuffed wontons with semi-spicy Thai sweet sauce. Verdict: Empty plate in less than four minutes. Second course: LSC shared their own concoction of glass noodles, broccoli, and chicken, having balked at the crazy Thai veggies listed on the menu. They knocked all this back with a shared Thai iced tea, which Jessica declared “smoke in a glass.” Third course: coconut sticky rice and fresh mango. Overall verdict on Thai: “I don’t think they have this in Connecticut,” said Jessica. I assured them there was indeed Thai in the Constitution State, but the mango might not be as fresh.

Then we were off for the glorious kingdom of Anaheim. Las Super-Slow Chicas made insinuations that we weren’t going to have enough time at the park, since it was after three. But seeing how tired they’d been the day before after only five hours at Raging Waters, I thought this would be the best course of action, now that the hottest part of the day was over and we’d be safely out of the triple digits on the thermometer.

On Disneyland’s Main Street, I pointed out the only permanent religious object in the whole park: a mezzuzah. Stories vary as to why it’s there, but I thought the kids would get a kick out of it.

After waiting in line for our 200th ride, Micaela commented that “people are looking at us.” No kidding. It may have been something to do with the fact I was quite probably the only person in the park entertaining her charges with ancient mythology. Or perhaps it was because those around us had overheard my decree that any chica who does acrobatics inline or who bumps into a stranger gets flicked in the forehead. I could see total strangers mentally willing the chicas to forget their surroundings so they would bump into the disaffected emo boy behind us or the super-cute surfer boy in front — everyone wanted to see some flickin’ action. And guess who finally gave them the satisfaction. Yup, none other than Super-Chica Haas, who ran head-on into the stringbean surfer, who in turn looked both excited to see what would happen and embarrassed that he’d been part of the cause. When Micaela ducked her head to keep from getting flicked, she instead received two sharp pinches to the gluteus maximus (or “glucius maximus,” as she calls it).

Micaela’s look of disdain is legendary, perhaps even more so than the story of the Trojan horse. But one way to wipe it from her smarmy face is to threaten to record it forever with a camera. Presto! Instant giggles.

After just three days, Las Super Chicas are already speaking like me (prepare yourselves, parents). They’ve taken my habit of switching around words (e.g., “muffins of English”) to create their own sayings, my favorite being Jessica’s “pul of ap” for “apples.” They’ve also taken up singing songs about my cats, using “fluffy” as a synonym for “great,” and talking like Pee-Wee Herman (sorry for that last one).

Oh, and we had more than enough time. An hour before the park closed, LSC didn’t even want to go on a final ride they were so tired. They were conked out before Eartha Kitt had even left the parking lot.

Screaming on the Maliboomer

Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They’re Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio