Up........Yours

On Saturday, we depart for the magical land of Florida. No, we're not going to the Magic Kingdom. We're going to Cocoa Beach…the land of geezers, poorly driven Buicks & a pool my mother swears is "the perfect temperature" but is actually 53 degrees because she has the body temperature (and temperament) of a wild jungle bobcat.

We are flying the friendly skies, and I'm starting to stress about flying with all this snow talk. Let us factor in that since the kids were born, flying is my kryptonite and I become a catatonic, unbalanced mess. Even the stewardesses walking around with snacks freaks me out because I feel like their movement - despite the airline's requirement that they weigh less than 98 lbs and have a name ending in -i - is really messing up the plane's balance and they should just sit the fuck down. 7 CRUSHED PRETZELS ARE NOT GOING TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER, DARCI. Meanwhile, my kids are engrossed in those in-seat TVs and Sawyer is always watching Food Network screaming "WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO MAKE HOT DOGS, DADA? HOT DOGS ARE MY FAVORITE!" and I swear the loudness of his voice has potential to disrupt the goddamn plane engines. And I sweat. Profusely. The entire trip.

($20 this will be our stewardess, Kelli, and no Pat, she will no be checking the tightness of your seatbelt)

Bottom-line I hate flying and I'm a tough gal. I can handle most things: "Brie, we have to pull 11 teeth from your head. Despite having the largest, loudest mouth that spews inane blabber, your jaw is actually quite small. Open wide." DO IT. "Brie, the baby is sunny side up but I feel like if we insert 19 instruments in there as well as 4 nurses' hands, we can get baby Logan out with only mildly traumatizing damage to your vagina." DO IT. "Brie, if your husband does not get a vasectomy immediately, you will be pregnant every year for the rest of your life." DO IT.

See - bad damn ass. But flying…with my kids? Our whole family? I just freak and the entire trip I am a shaky, WHATWASTHAT? mess. Pat attempts to be comforting with a lot of "it's OK…that's totally normal" but I am usually so unraveled at this point I just end up screaming, "oh, so you're a PILOT now? Last night, you couldn't even remember which Real Housewife of Beverly Hills has a glitter weave. It's ADRIENNE, DUMBASS! Everyone knows that! But now you're going to explain mathematical aerodynamics to the whole fucking plane? Well let me get my spectacles and pocket watch out, Dr. Aeronautical Engineer and listen as you educate us on all the HORSESHIT IN YOUR HEAD!"

And honestly, it is really like that because I take the express highway to Irrational Land and do not stop to fuel up with a bit of logic or Percoset.

So pray for us, friends, and when you see me on CNN being escorted off the plane and you hear the news anchor say "an unstable mother was removed from a plane this morning on her way to Orlando. Witnesses say she was choking her husband with headphones and screaming about hot dogs bringing down a plane. What a sad occurrence on Christmas Day, folks. She is a sick, sick person" please remember - I tried to warn you.