Why I'm Afraid To Fly And Other Nonsense

First, the nonsense:

I was inordinately pleased when our older son pointed out to me a while ago that little brother's most obnoxious toy ever, the Dancing Ford Monster Truck from Hades (thanks a LOT uncle Butch!) has a mute button!

Doh! (And to think that all that needless pain and suffering could have been avoided!)

The good thing is that we no longer have to listen to that hideous song about "Cotton-eyed Joe" echoing off of the walls of our home and giving me a headache, with it's accompanying lights flashing and the horn honking and the truck doing it's ridiculous two-step dance moves!

Although Jericho was amused to find that even in silence mode, the Ford truck still does the moves, but which without the tunes has more or less rendered the monster truck impotent.

For me, it reminded me a little too much of our own Ford truck back before we got it fixed this last time, and how it would start and stall and cough and start and stall again. *shudders*

But how, I ask, did such a ridiculous toy as this manage to pass all the rigorous test marketing toy companies are supposed to shell out mega bucks for at...let me see here, okay... at Toy State Industrial, Ltd.?

I can just picture some redneck flown in from the backwoods of Ohio (and I can say this, because we have relatives kin from there fitting this exact profile), sitting across the drawing room table from the executives of this down-on-it's-luck toy company with his fancy prototype in front of him (which I might add looks good, because if he knows anything at all, it's trucks), and saying, "Not only does it play music and flash it's lights and all, but it two-steps in sync with the music! It's every boy's dream!" Then he proceeds to flash his crooked, billy-bob smile at the gentleman seated around the gleaming table, his enthusiasm contagious.

At that moment, the Chinese man running the company turns to the man next to him and asks, "What did he say?". Those hillbilly drawls can be tricky.

In hushed tones, the man replies, "Well, sir, I believe it was something about a toy truck with flashing lights, which plays music and dances to In Sync."

And the president's eyes light up and he says, "Ahhh, yes. I have heard of them. Very popular. They make us lots of money." Then he comments, "Dancing Monster truck? I have seen these, too. Fordzilla!" he says, laughing and slapping the table, recalling the monster truck rally they'd attended while in the States on business once before.

And so the stupidest toy of the Christmas season is mass-produced, twist-tied semi-permanently inside fancy cardboard boxes, and trotted out at some toy buyer's trade show in China over Thanksgiving weekend.

Which is where some poor soul working for ToysRUs is lonely and thinking of home and Turkey dinners, and wishing he could be there instead of this stupid trade show.

Then, from the booth where Toy State Industrial, Ltd. is peddling their wares, the buyer hears a song he heard played recently by the cheerleaders at his son's football game to bring them in once again for their big pyramid toss-n-turn routine. Cotton Eyed Joe suddenly becomes a little taste of home.

He looks closer, and sees that it's a beautiful gleaming Ford pickup toy, and after pushing a couple of buttons, learns that it makes wonderful sounds and plays that song over and over.

As he longingly strokes the toy, thinking of home, the man at the booth asks, "You interested in buying truck?"

The weary buyer nods, because he's in a mid-life crisis and has been thinking of doing that very thing.

And so the weary buyer, just wanting to get home before all the turkey leftovers are gone, ends up purchasing 3000 units of the Dancing Fords, and has them shipped immediately to the U.S. for the Christmas season...not having a clue how obnoxious they would become to mom's across his country.

At least I'm pretty sure that's how it all happenned.

:: :: :: ::

Today was a great day.

My hubby spent the morning running around town getting a muffler put on our truck, and replacing the headlights in my car.

Woo Hoo! This means the neighbors will no longer look out their doors when he rumbles into the driveway in the evening, thinking that by some strange twist of fate a helicopter is landing in their cul de sac.

You think I jest, but I do not.

In recent weeks, our truck actually woke our toddler up in the mornings when Jeff left for work! I finally figured this one out when Judah pried my eye open a couple of Mondays ago and said, "Daddy go to work, twuck?" No wonder I'm feeling so sleep deprived, considering my hubby leaves a full hour before we need to be up and at 'em.

Anyway, he took Judah with him today, so I bloghopped while waiting for Jericho to wake up.

When he got home, we took a trip to IKEA because I just had to buy this hanger thingie I saw in a magazine (though the idea of Swedish meatballs for lunch was quickly growing on us all) to organize my husband's ties, and an extra one for another project I've dreamed up. Of course, I came home with a few other goodies for the house, too, because it's payday~YAY! Plus we got to go out for dinner. Woot, woot for not having to cook today!

Then, as if the trip to IKEA weren't bliss enough for one day, Jericho and Jeff decided to go to a movie, and at my request chose to go to the theater in our most fab mall, which meant that I got to take a mostly cooperative Judah around in the stroller while he dozed and I window shopped. And after hoofing it around the entirety of the mall, I stopped off in my favorite clothing store, and found myself a couple new pairs of pants, along with a couple of tops for church.

I was ever-so-proud of myself for stepping out of my creature-of-habit comfort zone, and getting a bold, colorful print blouse that would add a little interest to my rather blahse'(sp.?) Sunday wardrobe.

I also got myself some new jewelry on a whim, because I'm a sucker for interesting necklaces, there were many colors available, and they were all on sale.

Plus, they all matched things I already had at home.

Might I interject that this never happens for me?

I almost never go clothes shopping, mostly because I'm a frumpmama who could care less about Jimmy Choos and Vera Wang, and partially because I still have my baby weight (nevermind that Judah is past 2 years old now), and stuff just doesn't fit on me like it does on the mannequins.

But lo and behold, I hit the jackpot! Everything I tried on I actually liked!

I was all excited about my new clothes, and when we got home, and I went in and tried everything on, complete with matching jewelry.

I felt like million bucks, and came out for the big reveal of outfit number one...

...and my older son laughed.

Laughed at my choice of clothing!

He has some nerve, that boy.

I am the one who has on numerous occasions has prevented him from committing grave fashion faux pas, and have quite often picked out great clothes that kept him from looking like a total doofus...and he dares laughs at my choice?

Needless to say, I'm not feeling too excited about the one choice of blouse right now. Or the other one in a different, equally loud fabric in the exact same style.

*sigh*

:: :: :: ::

So my blog-buddy SUE over at Navel Gazing At It's Finest wrote a great post today that had me cracking up.

Mostly because I can so identify with her in some of the fears she wrote about, as well as some of the, um, dramatics associated with fears (so I'm shamelessly leap-blogging off of her idea to add a little interest to an otherwise dry posting of my own).

You see, I, too am afraid of flying. For mostly the same reasons as Sue.

Except that my fear of flying stems from the Alaska Airlines incident of '99.

Not the incident where the plane actually crashed (because for obvious reasons, I wouldn't be here to blog about that), but am, in fact, referring to another flight.

The one that has caused me to swear off flying for life. (Well, unless my hubby plans some exotic vacation for our 15th anniversary, that is.)

Anyway, this one was a trip that I didn't really want to take to begin with, only because I'm not wild about flying and mostly because I would be traveling solo with my then 3 year old toddler son Jericho, as my hubby had just begun a new job, and couldn't get away.

You mom's all know how difficult it is to go on a trip with a toddler in your own car, hauling all the junk that you need along with you, but this is doubly, yea, even triply hard, taking all that same baby paraphanalia on an airplane.

Plus there is the little thing about the "weight limit".

This is compounded for me by the fact that I notoriously overpack for trips am one of those ultra-prepared types.

I had packed all our gear into my hubby's college football duffel bag because it's purple and gold and therefore easy to spot on the luggage carousel, but also because it's big enough to bring everything I could possibly need for one week's time all in one bag. Which meant that all I needed to take into the cabin with Jericho and I was his car seat and my backpack diaper bag (with my purse buried deep inside where nobody could get to it without my notice).

My husband had already complained as he carried said duffel to the check-in at the airport earlier, saying, "What in the world do you have in this thing?", then kissed and hugged us goodbye and left as it was early in the morning, and he needed to leave to get to work on time.

And there I was, flyin' solo with our toddler.

And shaking in my boots.

Because I'd worked myself into a fine frenzy, just sure that something was wrong with this plane, in spite of the numerous prayers for traveling mercies and peace and protection, Alaska Airline's impressive safety record (relatively speaking), and the fact that the food trays always have little brochures with comforting scriptures on them.

So we get into the airplane, and because there was an empty seat beside me (no doubt because the gentleman sitting there had asked to move as soon as he spotted my cranky son), they allowed me to put Jericho's car-seat in there rather than send it below, which was my hope. So Jericho was strapped safely inside, and after the intial excitement of the takeoff, and after some general fussiness due to the pressure in his ears, he nodded off to finish his usual morning sleep.

My backpack stowed securely beneath my feet, I felt almost confident enough to let down a bit and rest, though I would never do so, because someone might kidnap him and hide him in their luggage while I was sleeping he might need me.

So I'm peacefully reading my Prevention magazine as we are flying across country, when we run into a storm system.

What made this particularly ominous was that the pilot came over the loudspeaker and told us to "remain in our seats and fasten our safety belts if we hadn't already done so", as we were "experiencing some turbulence from a violent storm system" and "that we should be through it in a half hour or so."

Let me get this straight, I'm going to have to deal with this anxiety inducing storm for a full half hour?! Yikes!

Anxiety prickled at the back of my neck, and I checked my son to be sure he was securely fastened in his seat. He still was.

I prayed for a moment to calm my fears, and finally went back to reading my magazine while bumpity-bumping along.

Suddenly, we plummeted downward.

I glanced immediately at my toddler, and his head was hanging forward from the angle we were pointing downward, seemingly falling, and at a frighteningly dizzying speed.

I'm not big on roller coasters, but I'm quite sure that even even the most die-hard adrenaline junkie would have been a little frightened by this particular flight.

From the back of the plane, I hear an adult screaming in terror, and a couple of childish voices rising in panic, "Are we gonna DIIIIIIIE?"

The plane continued to plummet, and I was pretty sure that we were rapidly approaching earth and would soon hit with tremendous force, and be identified only by my dental records, if at all.

I began to tear up, thinking that poor little Jericho hadn't even lost a tooth yet, and that now he would never grow to play little league, and to graduate Kindergarten and high school and college. And that my husband would be left a young, childless widower that would go on to marry and have a family with some other woman.

Though only about 15 seconds had elapsed, thousands of thoughts had jumped my synapses gaps, my life flashing before my eyes.

Of all the absurd thoughts, I remember thinking that I'd not cleaned my bathroom, and how when people came traipsing through the house to comfort Jeff, my fastidious sister-in-law would see the dust bunnies in the corners of my bathroom, and think I was a total slob, and that would be how I was remembered for the rest of my days, and that Jeff's new wife would think I'd been a horrendous homemaker, and strive to be better than me in every way, and Jeff would eventually forget ever having known me.

The hurtling-through-the-atmosphere-at-a-million-miles-per-hour feeling continued, the causing gravity to do strange things to my body, stomach lodging permanently in my throat, my jaw clenching tightly, and my fingers enmeshed in the vinyl armrest.

Then someone from up ahead of me screamed, apparently unable to take the mounting tension.

The hair on my neck stood up.

So this is what it felt like to know you were going to die in mere moments.

I looked at my oblivious, sleeping toddler, tears streaming down my face, because I was glad he couldn't see us falling to our deaths, but at the same time sad that I wouldn't be able to hug him one last time and tell him I loved him. *sniff, sniff* I was making whimpering noises. "Jesus, Dear Jesus..." I repeated over and over in panicked, urgent whispers between my clenched teeth.

The plane nosedived then, falling at an even more disturbingly frightening angle, this time causing my sons head to wobble like a bobble head, as we were tossed about as though by waves on the sea.

This, I was sure, was due to the fuselage that was at that moment being torn from the underbelly of the plane. I glanced out the window to my right, sure I'd see it curling up like a sardine can, but instead seeing the gray light of dawn blurring past the window.

The businessman across the aisle glanced up and said, "Ma'am...MA'AM...It's gonna be okay. Don't worry! Trust me, I've seen far worse!"

As if yelling to be heard above the screaming in the cabin and the static noises coming over the loudspeaker weren't bad enough, what he had to say wasn't exactly comforting.

Far worse?!

So we were going to be the first plane in history to crash as a result of mild turbulence? There was a first for everything, after all.

"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus" I prayed desperately, and looked helplessly towards my son, tears streaming down my face as I was sobbing again because he would never know how much I truly loved him.

And thinking of how my husband would grieve our loss.

And that he'd be a young, childless widower.

And how some lithe young bimbo would offer him a listening ear, and how she would comfort him in his grief.

And then, he would heartlessly remarry (her of all people!) only weeks later, and she would go through the house and get rid of all my stuff, including the scrapbooks I had poured my heart and soul into, and nobody would ever know how much I loved my husband and son, and how all those things that I could have willed to my family if I'd thought to make a will would be sitting useless at the bottom of a landfill...

And then suddenly, the plane righted, and we were flying along normally, as though nothing had ever happened.

Relieved gasps were heard from all over the cabin.

The cowboy businessman leaned towards me and patted my forearm and said, "See, what'd I tell ya?" as though he'd just stepped off an exciting ride at an amusement park.

The pilot came on and said, "We apologize for any inconvenience the turbulence may have caused you. " He paused momentarily, and then added in a leisurely tone, "The drop in altitude you may have noticed was necessary to avoid potentially damaging turbulence, but you'll be happy to know that we are once again gaining altitude, and should arrive in Sea-Tac at the scheduled time."

He then went on to discuss some inane facts about the mountain we were traveling over, as though we were all first time fliers, enamored of our terrain. The terrain we had moments before been about to crash into!

He told us to remain in our seatbelts for another fifteen minutes, at which time our flight attendants would begin serving breakfast.

I pried my fingers out of the armrest and breathed in deeply, said a prayer of thanks, and then checked Jericho's sleeping form. He was still okay and blissfully unaware of his surroundings and the tragedy that had been narrowly averted, but I felt nauseous.

My magazine had slid down the aisle somewhere, so I went ahead and pulled out the ones they provide in the seatback pockets for something to do.

The clincher about this flight was that during breakfast the pilot came over the crackly loudspeaker and said, "Alaska Airlines is pleased to announce that we have a pilot-in-training with us this morning" and gave his name, adding that he "did a fabulous job of getting us all safely through the storm system earlier in the flight."

I had my druthers about that!

Already the letter to Airline headquarters was forming in my head. "You let a pilot-in-training practice with a plane full of people in a dangerous storm system?!!"

Later, when our plane landed, and the pilots were all there to greet us at the cockpit door as though nothing had ever happened.

And the Pilot-in-training was some kid who didn't even look old enough to be driving yet, much less flying a plane!

And this, my friends, is why I am afraid to fly!