My family just crawled in from Disneyland, where the four of us had a jam packed, two-day whirlwind of bonding, screeching and shuttle riding. It was a memorable trip, and I couldn't help but think of Disneyland trips past, and the impression they left on me growing up.

When I was six, my dad took my twin stepbrothers, my stepsister, and me to Disneyland. We were broke, and what I remember about that trip is lying in the hatchback of the car so the guy who ran the motel couldn't see us. We couldn't afford to pay the fee for extra people in the room. We could not keep still, and the hotel manager saw the car moving and our heads poking up. I remember I had to pee. My dad came out and said we may as well sit up. That's the only thing I remember about my first rip to Disneyland.

At eighteen, I took a trip to hell, also known as Disneyland with my recently separated parents. We had planned the trip for ages, and my then 5-year-old sister was so excited my parents decided to go on with it despite being separated only a couple of months. As you would expect, it was traumatizing. My sister had fun, which is what counts. She was still too little to sense the madness that emanated from my parents the whole trip. I, on the other hand, hated them and their drama to a level so acute I still feel tense thinking of it 18 years later.

On this trip, as in the 20 years that have followed, my parents alternated between acting depressed and morose, still married, and bitterly angry. They shared a room and made no attempt to hide the fact they were still sleeping together. (They did this frequently while visiting me all through college, and after while I was living with a boyfriend who justified my disturbance at their habits by being utterly appalled).

My sharpest memory of this trip was passing Harris Ranch on highway 5, and seeing two cows having sex. My sister was delighted and yelled out, "Look, they're humping!"

In my early 20s, I succeeded in enjoying Disneyland as it should be celebrated. I went with three good friends, and took a hit of acid. We stayed the night before at my friend Shell's house in Manhattan Beach, after driving all the way from Chico where we were attending college. Shell was Jewish (probably still is—we lost touch) as is my step-dad, so I've had some exposure. She was happy to see me settle into her Jewish family home and partake of the gefilte fish in her fridge like I was an honorary Jew myself.

In the morning, well rested and fed, we ate acid and entered the park. By the time we hit the newly constructed Toon Town I was buying into Disney's vision head over heels. All I remember is beautiful, bright, ecstatic visions and the best rides ever. In every picture of me that day, I am laughing so hard I'm red, snotty, and drooling. It was the only time at Disneyland I can remember feeling like a child.

This most recent trip was not really intended. It was a "what the hell" plan, kind of like having a second child. My husband's uncle invited us to his daughter's graduation from USC. I expected my husband to ignore the invitation, but with his usual mysterious motivations he said he really wanted us all to go. I insisted that if he was going to make us all go to the netherworld that is L.A., we may as well stop by the Magic Kingdom.

I'm still sorting out my emotions about the trip. It was glorious, in that my 4-year-old had the time of her life. It was frightening, in the parallels I saw between my husband and myself and my parents 18 years ago. It was frustrating, because it was no vacation. No matter where I go with my family, I am mommy-slave. It was confusing because I personally had a rotten time, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat to see the look on my daughter's face.

My husband and I aren't getting along. We are caught in a horrible cycle of bitterness with each other and our predicament and I don't know how to break it. I don't know if I can break it. It seems for an eternity I have been trying to change it, try to turn the tide to get us back to where we were before the kids came, but sometimes it feels like we've traveled a bad road too far. It is a complex, multifaceted discontent, but I can unfairly simplify it as easy as this: ever since out first daughter Isabella was born my husband has been pissed. I tried so hard to cheer him up, but after a few years of trying, I got pissed too.

I'm so sad because I've lost my way, and no longer can hear my inner voice on this issue. I want us to be a family in our home in our nice, safe neighborhood. I want to co-parent and share our lives and watch our kids grow up together. Unfortunately, the reality is we have made each other miserable much of the time since I was pregnant with Ruby, and I fear this is the impression we make on our kids. My biggest fear is it's not the home, the neighborhood, the parents in the same house they'll remember—it's the anger, the unhappiness, and the discontent.

We did manage to make it to Disneyland together. Baby Ruby, she was pretty unimpressed with the glorified playground that kept her from her nap. Me and my husband, exhausted and over-stimulated, attacked it like another chore. Isabella, my first born, was a princess in her kingdom. She is usually the hyper one, and the baby a study in quiet contemplation. At Disneyland, they flipped: Isabella was a little blessing, and Ruby turned into Satan's spawn.

Ruby doesn't like crowds, won't sleep in her stroller, and was generally condescending about the whole thing. My husband had to take her out of the restaurant at our princess lunch in Ariel's Grotto because her shrieks were going to break the plate glass restaurant windows. It turned out to be the highlight of the trip, and one of the nicest memories I'll ever have. My daughter and I ate a nice, quiet meal together, chatting and munching with she in her princess dress, while five different princesses took turns visiting our table. Every time Ariel, Pocahontas, Belle, Cinderella, or Snow White came by, I was as dazzled by their beauty and perfect makeup as Izzy was, and the look on her face literally made me tear up. She was so happy.

Over two days she went on countless rides, saw two parades, ate cotton candy, got her face painted, and generally had the best time ever. In retrospect, I'm glad that she has this happy memory even if the rest are of me and my husband fighting. If she ever says her dad and I ruined her life, I'll remind her of the time we took her to Disneyland, and I took tons of pictures for proof.