Pamela Tracy here.
Okay, so it's dark outside and I'm sitting in front of my computer after a three day Internet absence. Christmas is sooooo fun.
Friday night we loaded up Grandpa, Grandma, hubby, four-year-old, me, and headed for Williams, Arizona, and the Polar Express. It's great fun. They take the Grand Canyon Railroad train, stick a wreath on the nose of the engine, and make magic for kids. We were on car J.
Our train was supposed to leave at 8:00, but for some reason, there was delay. I overheard one of the elves (train employee dressed up) on his walkie talkie: Clean up on car M. The mom in me thought, "Oh, no. Some kid drank too much hot chocolate." The worrier in me thought, "Oh, no. Someone is hurt." The suspense writer in me thought "There's been a murder!"
In real life, the engine broke. Nothing magical like Caribu on the track. After an hour wait (we spent it freezing, getting Mikey's picture taken with Santa, and freezing some more), we got on the train. It's about a fourty minute ride to the North Pole. The waiter and elve serve cookies and hot chocolate, and over the loud speaker they read the book (we brought ours so Mikey had the pictures). Then, it's the North Pole! It's about a block long and Santa is outside on his sleigh waving. The train then heads back to the station and Santa is on board. He gives all the kids a hug and a bell and asks them to believe.