We never took a family trip to Disneyland, Disney World, Busch Gardens, or any of the massive complexes that offer sausages the size of Buicks and rides with names like the Terminator and Tower of Terror. I missed integral childhood experiences like watching my vomit fly backward on a ride that swoops in upside-down loops. That said, I do know how to churn butter and am a skilled farrier (a person specializing in the preparation and fitting of a metal horseshoe). I was too busy climbing Mayan temples in 100-degree heat while my friends snapped photos at faux safari game parks, sucking on cherry snow cones. And, as with most things, when you’re deprived of them as a child, you yearn for them even more as an adult. My personal list of forbidden fruit includes Disneyland, TV, and prom (I went to an all-girls school). Secretly I hope that every time we go to a bar mitzvah my husband will hand me a corsage. Then I became a mother. Maybe it was the food I consumed while I was pregnant, but my daughters were born with Princess Barbie blood.
