Give me a teddybear

I wouldn’t consider myself a pleasant person to fly with- not because I’m that kid on the plane who has to scream or kick on the back of the seat in from them, but- because I worry about the little things. “If our flight’s at 2:15, we should be there by noon,” I told Jesse and Riley last night before going to bed, “Or even a little bit before then would be fine.” What I really should’ve said was, “We’re getting there as soon as I wake up.”

I don’t know where this comes from or if I have anxiety issues all together, but I have a feeling my sister would probably laugh and say I got it from my mother. “You’re just like her,” she always says. And, this morning I finally heard it.

Jesse dropped Riley and me off at Sea-Tac airport with, let’s just say, plenty of time to twiddle our thumbs before our plane would take off. I checked I had my boarding ticket, passport, and carry-on I don’t know how many times, just to reassure myself I hadn’t lost it in 10 minutes of sitting. All the while, the television at the gate showed President Obama and his reaction to last week’s terrorist attempt on a plane. Great- just what I want to hear before boarding a plane. I turned to Riley, interrupting her reading her book, and commented on the fact that they’re still working to prevent similar incidents from occurring in the future. I’m thinking- I’m about to board a plane and you can’t tell me that everyone around me has been properly questioned and searched?

Anyway, I took some Dramamine and clenched my fingers for two and a half hours from Seattle to L.A., while Riley sat next to me commenting on how she likes turbulence and the distant landscape below. Please.

Can I have some vodka on the rocks, Miss? And a teddybear to hug? Just let me know when I’m there.