Deep in the heart of Texas, y'all

So, now it's time to talk about the wonder that is Texas.

Our trip started out with a bang (unfortunately, not a bang from the gun of a traveling cowboy). 3 hours into our vacation, we were at the neighbor's pool when my husband dove into the pool with gusto and... dislocated his shoulder. So, we were lucky enough to visit the inside of a Dallas emergency room. For 4 hours. We had some very nice people taking care of us, Jojo and Beau. (Not kidding.)

Our second day, the plan was to take the boys to Dave and Buster's for some lunch and games and then to the aquarium. While at Dave and Buster's, my sister's cell phone was stolen. 0 for 2.

Third day, the neighbor girls took Miss Macie Mae for a walk. And promptly lost her. 0 for 3. Luckily Miss Macie Mae is a smart dog and was able to walk herself home.

The fourth day, we planned to go to the circus. I told my sister that if we were stampeded by a herd of elephants, if a trapeze artist fell and landed on one of us, if a clown car ran us over, we were on the next plane out of town. Luckily for her us, that didn't happen. The only memorably bad thing that happened the rest of the trip was, while at the aquarium, a bird pooped on the husband's head. Even though it's supposedly good luck, he didn't think so. The trip was not kind to that man. He may never vacation again.

I think the best way to sum up the trip is in song:

The stars at night, are big and bright,
deep in the heart of Texas,
The prairie sky is wide and high,
deep in the heart of Texas.

(My sister had explained to me there is no elevation in Texas. When we flew in, I saw what she meant. Dallas is as flat as the bugs we stepped on. Not that Ohio is the Swiss Alps or anything, but we have some rolling hills. It never rained while we were there, so we were able to see the stars every night. They, surprisingly, looked like the stars in Ohio. Go figure.

But it's true that everything is bigger in Texas. The churches, the strip malls. The hair. Their love of the lone star (it's imprinted on every overpass), honey mustard, Dr. Pepper and frozen yogurt.)

The sage in bloom is like perfume,deep in the heart of Texas,
Reminds me of, the one I love,
deep in the heart of Texas.

(Hmm. No comment here. The houses are so close together in Dallas, there is no room for vegetation.)

The coyotes wail, along the trail,
deep in the heart of Texas,
The rabbits rush, around the brush,
deep in the heart of Texas.

(Didn't see any wildlife either. The houses are too close together. And it's so hot, all the wildlife is probably dead.)

The cowboys cry, "Ki-yip-pee-yi,"
deep in the heart of Texas.

(This is what I was looking forward to the most. And I have to say I was a bit disappointed. Don't all people in Texas wear cowboy hats and boots, snap shirts and belts with big buckles? Isn't there tumbleweed rolling along the dirt roads? Aren't there duals at high noon every day for us to observe? What a letdown.

We did, however, go to Fort Worth one afternoon to watch the cattle run. By "cattle run", I mean 8 cows ambling down the street in the insufferable heat. The boys really enjoyed it when one of the cows pooped right in front of us. But I bought myself an adorable cowboy hat that day, so not all was lost. I may never wear it outside the state of Texas, but it's a nice souvenir.)

The doggies bawl, and bawl and bawl,
deep in the heart of Texas.

(The only dog I heard was my sister's dog. And she just sort of yipped. And only when I stepped on her. The boys fell in love with her. At any given time of day, you could find the 6-year-old or 3-year-old carrying her around. And she was so tolerant of them. She would look at you, sort of resigned, thinking "I'll get you for this", but never fought the kids. The 6-year-old asked if we could get a dog. I told him that Zoe (our cat) probably wouldn't like that. His response? "When she DIES?" Nice. And? Sorry, Zoe.)

Thanks sister and brother-in-law for a great trip! Y'all are great hosts! And, um, sorry if we broke any of your stuff. Like the dog.

There are only two emotions in a plane: boredom and terror. ~Orson Welles

So, my cousin got married last week in Tyler, Texas. My sister lives about 2 hours from there, in Dallas, and told me I was going to this damwedding (no offense, Jonas) or she'd kill me. See, I hadn't visited my sister since she moved there. 5 years ago. My other siblings had been there, my parents, some cousins. Even my husband had been there. But me? Notsomuch. And why, do you ask?

My insane, totally illogical, and, at times, uncontrollable fear of flying.

I'm well aware that flying is the safest form of travel. I still don't get how that's possible (a 10,000+ pound tin can in the sky), but I am aware of the statistics.

I have never had an easy time flying. As I've mentioned, my first flight was when I was 9 years old. To Greece. A 9-hour flight. It went about as well as you'd expect for a girl petrified of everything (at that time, anyway. I have now limited my fear to flying. And ghosts.  And tiny ants.). The trip involved a lot of screaming. And crying. And dragging. And (my mother denies this) a little white pill.

So, needless to say, I never flew much. I think it was 10 years before I flew again (again, to Greece). And, after that, random trips to DC, NYC, Denver, Salt Lake City, LA. When my brother got married in Florida, we flew. We had a layover in Chicago, so, while we waited for our connecting flight, my sister called my brother, already in Naples, and told him that I didn't get on the plane.

Ha ha. Isn't that funny? Lea didn't get on the plane. Again! Ha ha ha! Grr. How was I the only one in the family with this fear? It's irritating.

I found I flew better by myself. I wasn't able to project my fears onto anyone. On another trip to Florida to visit my college roommate, I ended up helping the woman next to me who sounded the way I felt. Since my brother was a pilot, I knew how airplanes worked, what all the sounds were and I explained it all to her. I was damproud of myself.

Since this flight to Texas was the boys' first, I didn't want to project my fears onto them. We had been talking up the trip for weeks and the boys were really excited. They love to point out planes in the sky, so I figured being in one would be equally exciting. But, 2 days before our flight, my 6-year-old admitted to me he was afraid. Crap. Instead of blowing him off with a "You'll be fine" like everyone does with me, I tried to explain the logistics of air travel. I suggested he talk to my brother if he wanted more explanation than that, but he seemed satisfied.

The day of the trip, I was a nervous wreck. I was up at 4:30am, which is never a good thing for anyone. We got to the airport, I did my normal nervous routine. Pacing pacing pacing, bathroom, pacing pacing pacing. The kids were quiet, but I could tell they just wanted to get on the plane already. They were a bundle of excitement and nerves. Excited nerves. Nervous excitement.

The husband and I divided and conquered. He took the 6-year-old, I took the 3-year-old. As we were gaining speed for liftoff, the 3-year-old started to cry. Crap. But once we took flight, he was laughing. Whew! And... they were great through the entire trip. Better than me, that's for sure. My random thoughts included:

• thank goodness for movies
• flight attendants HATE their jobs
• I think I smell smoke - is that smoke?!
• I cannot wait for the Bachelor Pad 2
• I still don't understand bumps in AIR
• unclench
• now I smell onions
• is this over yet?

And yet, we survived.