Mainly because I’m a chickenshit who won’t go on anything that moves faster than a carousel, Disneyland split-ups tend to fall along the lines of Amy/Sophie and Ray/Annabelle.

Really, I’m insufferable, even at the happiest place on earth. I’m not crazy about Pinocchio’s daring adventure, and I get scared on the Peter Pan ride. (For the record, I did both on this last trip.)

And I’m not a fan of anything haunted, even pretend haunted. But when Ray offered to stand in line with Sophie at both Mickey and Minnie’s houses, I happily agreed to do the haunted mansion ride with Annabelle.

I try hard not to look worried in front of either kid, ever, but it doesn’t really work. Annabelle’s onto me.

“Don’t worry, Mommy, I’ll protect you,” she said with a big grin, as the line moved along much more quickly than I’d hoped. (Documented in the photo above.)

She wasn’t grinning the whole trip. Oh, she was delighted to go on Space Mountain and Big Thunder Railroad and Splash Mountain (once the weather warmed up a bit). She found the Matterhorn boring and balked only at Screaming Over California. She’s a roller coaster kid, for sure, but she’s not all Ray — there’s still some worrywart in my little girl.

Actually, a lot. She was in tears even before we left for Disneyland because the trip was almost over, which meant Christmas vacation was almost over. She’s concerned that math is too hard, that she’ll sit by kids she doesn’t like in reading, that ballet class is stressful. And she’s really worried about what will happen next year, when she might be at a new school.

She’s me. Truth be told, she’s not me, which is lucky for all of us. If Prozac had been available when I was in the fourth grade, I’m quite sure it would have been recommended. I was a mess. I had this habit of gently poking my teacher (a lot) to get her attention. She finally had to tell me to stop, and I’ve been traumatized over it ever since. They put me in the gifted program that year — a big mistake. Not because I wasn’t smart, but because I got so stressed out by the projects we had to do that I could barely get out of bed. And yet I completed more “independent studies” than any other kid that year.

But by sixth grade, no one thought I was too smart anymore, particularly me. My grades dropped and never did come up again, at least not in the classes I didn’t care much about. I can remember turning a somersault with ease when I was a little kid, but somewhere along the way, I got too afraid to even try.

How do I keep this from happening to Annabelle? How do I keep her from letting the world — from letting her own self — scare her off?

Roller coasters. I really think that’s the key. She’s already the adventurer I never was and never will be, thanks to Ray. He pushes her the way no one ever pushed me. It’s a little painful to watch, sometimes, but never too much. He pushes Sophie in good directions, too, but Annabelle’s really the one who needs it. Particularly now.

The other day I got frustrated and complained to Ray that Annabelle can’t just be happy in the moment. She has to keep asking what’s next.

He commented that Sophie’s the same. And it’s true that she never appears content, either — must always know “what’s after this?” and “what’s after that?” And that, and that, and that.

But I think Sophie’s just making conversation. Whether it’s bedtime or time to go to Chuck E. Cheese, she’s generally pretty pleased about the answer.

Not sweet Annabelle, my worrier. And I’m sure that our real roller coaster ride is still ahead.