Spring Break 2010 is now in the books for the Cunningham girls. All told we were gone 17 days and covered the Eastern seaboard from PA to FL and back again.

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I don’t just plan relaxing little jaunts where everyone goes with the flow. I plan our trips at least 10 months in advance and I track all of the necessary information on an Excel spreadsheet which shows the day, location, major activities, any reservations, people joining us and yes, the color of the day. A few days before the trip, I print the spreadsheet and laminate it, in duplicate, so that it is waterproof, tear-proof and essentially foolproof. Sometimes I double-book to allow for “flexibility.” My intention is to create FUN AND MAGICAL MEMORIES TO LAST A LIFETIME. The subtitle for every vacation is “This will be amazing and we will all have fun, dammit.”

There was not one ounce of exaggeration in the foregoing paragraph. My parents witnessed it last year (with both horror and amusement) when they joined us for nine days at Disney though my father refused to participate in the color of the day. Darling Hubby is no longer alarmed by my extreme OCD vacation planning tendencies. He now shrugs, calls it my “Mommy Porn” and just asks the color of the day as he staggers into the shower.

This year, we planned the trip to coincide with Cat’s 8th birthday and Spring Break at school. Thus I felt extra pressure to make sure everything was perfect. Disney? Check. Special cake on her special day? Check. Pre-vacation birthday/launch party with the grandparents? Check.

Because of Cat’s love of animals, we decided to add a trip to swim with the dolphins into the mix. For six months we talked about dolphins, took extra swimming lessons, bought snorkels and an underwater camera and chattered incessantly about what an amazing time we would have. All hail Mommy, planner of the MOST AMAZING BIRTHDAY EXTRAVAGANZA EVER. No applause necessary, a simple glass of wine will do.

And mostly, during the first week of vacation leading up to the dolphin swim, things went smoothly. We had one bad weather day and a minor snafu at the hotel but all was going pretty much according to plan.

On the morning of the big swim everyone was up on time and very excited. The girls did not bicker at all and everyone followed the spreadsheet to the letter, rising early, enjoying a character breakfast, hustling for a quick change and then hopping in to the car for the drive to Discovery Cove. And everything continued to go well for the most part, until it was time to get into the water.

The girls loved the lazy river, which was, in essence, a very upscale swimming pool, heated to perfection with nary a fin in sight. They liked the IDEA of swimming with the rays and fish in the saltwater pool. But when we attempted to actually jump in and swim, my intrepid adventurers aged 6 and newly 8, bravely turned tail and fled after less than five minutes. Apparently salt water “tastes salty,” water that fish can live in is “too cold” even with a wetsuit in Florida, rocks and coral are “rocky” and fish are “icky” unless served fried, in nugget style, with honey mustard sauce.

I was monumentally irritated and frustrated but since time for a tantrum was not on the spreadsheet, we regrouped, had a pleasant lunch and then spent the time until our dolphin swim in the warm lazy river. “It’s okay,” I told myself. “The dolphin swim is the big event and they are really psyched for it. Stingrays and tropical fish don’t have the same kid appeal but the dolphin event will be magical and they will remember it for years.”

Did I mention that in addition to OCD tendencies I can also be highly delusional?

As we lined up on the beach for our turn, we were grouped with two other couples for our experience. The trainer led us into the water to meet Rose, our dolphin, and to start our magical dolphin interaction.

It went a little something like this:

“Mommy, the water is cold.”

“Mommy, I think a rock scraped my toe, carry me.”

“Mommy, I am scared of rocks and fish and I don’t want to swim anymore.”

Two minutes into the presentation:

“Mommy, I have to go potty. I am getting out.”

“You are most certainly not getting out because by the time we get out, hike to the bathroom, peal you in and out of the wetsuit, you pee and we return, our time with the dolphin will be over. Stand here and think dry thoughts because we did not spend a boatload of money for you to hang out in the potty.”

“Mommy, I don’t want to swim with the dolphin. Can I just go hang out on the beach?”

Four minutes in (and at this point we have touched the dolphin and been properly introduced):

“Mommy, when are we going back to the pool at the hotel?”

“Mommy, I don’t want to swim with the dolphin. I want to go get ice cream.”

So, with Tate clinging to me like a drowning howler monkey and me muttering quiet but clear threats to my off-spring which will likely cause long-term damage and send them into therapy, we somehow survived the interaction right up to the moment of the swim itself. Darling Hubby went in the first group to demonstrate how easy and fun it was. I went with the second group and smiled maniacally to reinforce “THIS IS FUN AND MAGICAL DAMMIT. SOON IT WILL BE YOUR TIME TO HAVE MAGICAL FUN SO BE READY. MAGICAL FUN COMING YOUR WAY ANY MINUTE NOW.”

Cat, bless her mommy-pleasing heart, could see that I was about to seriously lose it. And so when her turn came, she timidly stepped up to the ledge to start her swim with Rose the calm, gentle dolphin, with Cat looking a little like she was being served as dinner to sharks.

And then Iggy happened.

Iggy, we later learned, was a young dolphin, still in training, who had not yet mastered the art of gentle, non-threatening visitor interaction. Iggy, was not supposed to be part of our fun and magical interaction. Iggy also clearly had not consulted my spreadsheet.

Iggy, swam at light speed across the lagoon and just as Cat was stepping timidly toward Rose, swam under Cat and knocked her on her ass in the water, scaring her and causing great confusion amongst our group and the trainers.

Thus ended all hopes of Cat and Tate swimming with the dolphin. Tate hung on to my neck with such force that I started to see spots and agreed to pose beside Rose, only if she didn’t have to look and only when she was assured that the errant Iggy had been put in time out.  In the pictures, Tate is smiling but carefully managing her contact with Rose and I look like I have been in a bar fight. Cat, shaking like a leaf and teary-eyed, refused a chance to swim with Rose, but instead walked alongside her, all the time scanning the lagoon for Iggy or other miscreant mammals with red eyes and snot running down her face.

Back at the hotel that night, I called my Dad and told him my tale of woe. I was lamenting the fact that all of my planning and efforts had been for naught and that despite my frenzied efforts magical fun had alluded us. “It sounds to me like you guys had a lot of fun,” he said. “It didn’t go EXACTLY as YOU wanted it to, but I bet by the time the girls get home and start to talk about it, they will remember it as a good time. YOU need to remember it as a good time too because I promise you they will.” He then went on to list all of the positive experiences the girls had garnered that day in the way someone who did not watch their dreams of MAGICAL FUN get mowed over by a deranged dolphin can do. Calmly. Rationally. Without evil thoughts in support of the Japanese fishing industry.

“Sure,” I sighed. “We will just sprinkle fairy dust on their heads tonight before bed.”

But remarkably, even before they went to bed, the girls started chattering about “impish Iggy” and “our Rose” and their “swim” with the dolphins. And every day since the encounter, they have told family and strangers alike about petting and kissing Rose and feeding her (all of which we did) and how great it was. I joked with Cat that she received an extra-special close-up interaction with Iggy for no extra charge, a line she now repeats to everyone. Dozens of people from Florida to Virginia have seen our family photo with Rose, “who is now a member of our family.” In short, in their fairy-dust coated retelling of the tale, we ACTUALLY HAD magical fun with a little bit of unexpected excitement thrown in for good measure.

Almost as the spreadsheet predicted.