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.