The Fretful Mother's Blog

Growing up, I would get the greatest rush from flying in planes. My great-grandpa was a pilot and took me on my first flight when I was 6 months old. I even considered learning to fly myself at one point. That all changed on my honeymoon. We heard a clunk midflight, and the next thing you know, the pilot is announcing that we need to land in Albuquerque. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I’m sure those of you who have been to Albuquerque know what I’m talking about.
Seriously, the plane had to be towed to the hangar and jump-started. I was like what would happen if it died in the air? There would be no jump-starting it. Miraculously we survived that one.
A few years later, I had a flight from Milwaukee in a thunderstorm. The flight attendants were asked to take their seats as the plane lurched all over the place. I was with my 1-year-old and decided my coping mechanism would be to repeat the book “That’s not my kitten” over and over for an hour. Everyone on the plane had to listen to it. I’ve never lived it down with the rest of my family onboard. “That’s not my kitten, it’s fur is too soft. That’s not my kitten, it’s tongue is too rough.” Those words will forever haunt me. Next time, I’m bringing a sonnet to read. No one can make fun of that, right? You can never be too safe.
(By the way, this is probably part one of a series.)

This entry was posted on November 14, 2009 at 10:46 am and is filed under Fear of the Day. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.