Just like riding a bike...

A couple of weeks before Christmas, my better half came home from work carrying a handful of paper "Mommy Dollars" (complete with my picture) and some homemade price tags. He said he'd had a brilliant idea that would keep him from having to drag the kids out shopping.

He explained that the kids could earn Mommy Dollars by doing things that help Mommy around the house. Emptying laundry, clearing dishes, emptying the dishwasher, putting away laundry, etc... All stuff they should be doing anyway, but now they'd be rewarded for doing it with a cheerful attitude. The Mommy dollars could be earned until the Friday before Christmas (the 21st).



On Friday, my beloved set up a Mommy Mall in the basement. Everything he purchased for me had a price tag on it, and the kids could "buy" gifts for me at the Mommy Mall. Then they got help wrapping their gifts in the gift wrap center Daddy set up in my scrapbooking room (it has a large work island for gift wrapping and other stuff...)



I just think he's so smart! I told him he had to take pictures and then hide the camera so I couldn't peek! The kids were so excited and were SUPER helpful that entire week. I love Mommy Dollars! I told my husband that the extra help is the best gift!

Mid-week my husband gave the kids a sneak peek so they'd know what they were working to buy. My oldest child worked extra hard to earn money, because there was something she had to "buy" me and it had to be from HER. I couldn't imagine what it was that had her working so hard, doing so much, asking so often what she could do to earn extra "money".

On Christmas day the kids handed out the presents, and when the gifts were all piled in front of their recipients, my husband told me to shut my eyes. I did, and I heard scuffling and clicking and then I smelled rubber. It was my long awaited bicycle! Yippee! I was thrilled, because I had hinted strongly for two years that I wanted a bike. Someone finally listened!

Well, today is January 13th, and I have yet to get on that bike and ride it. It sat inside until Tuesday the 8th, and my husband finally rolled it outside. He rode it to see if it was big enough for him (it wasn't). But I have yet to put my bootie on it. My dad even sent me a nice, comfy, soft furlike cover for the seat, and I haven't tested it out yet.

Why?

I'm scared that I won't remember how to ride it. I haven't been on a bike since the 90s. What if I fall?

I gotta' get on that bike. I gotta'.

Wish me luck.

Blog Challenge: Scared

With Halloween upon us, tell us about a time in your life when you were scared. Shaking, screaching, frozen, trembling, crying, sick-to-your-stomach, whatever scared. Maybe you were a child, maybe you were an adult, maybe it was a nightmare, maybe it was a job interview. Whatever. You've been scared before.
Tell us!

There isn't really much that terrifies me. Most bugs that I was afraid of when I was younger don't really bother me much anymore. I don't care for snakes, but the non-poisonous ones I can tolerate. I can handle most critters, I guess.

What I'm truly scared of, really REALLY scared of, is flying in an airplane.

I haven't always had this fear. I have flown to Spain. I've flown to Los Angeles, to New Orleans, to Miami, to Washington, DC, to Orlando (many times), and to Belize (even braving a little airplane whose engines were so loud I couldn't carry on a conversation with my friends!)

Flying never bothered me until one day in late March, 1997. My husband and I were returning from a four-day Caribbean cruise. We were aboard the filing-for-bankruptcy (at the time) AirSouth flying back from Miami. It was the most turbulent flight I've ever experienced. We were in the middle of the flight and people had unbuckled their seatbelts (the captain had turned off the seatbelt sign) so several passengers actually hit the roof of the plane. People were screaming and calling on Jesus. It was not fun.

After that experience, I swore it would take a miracle to ever get me on board a plane again.

Then we all suffered through the horrific events of 9/11. That was the nail in the coffin for me. NO MORE FLYING. Zip. Nada. Nothing. Nope. Not. Me. FOR-get it.

Until my husband convinced me to fly to Orlando in January 2005. We wanted to take our two oldest children to Disney World, and my husband was adamant that he wasn't thrilled about making a 16-hour round trip drive.

Hmph.

He won. I flew. I didn't like it, but it was only an 85-minute jaunt and I survived it.

Then we took all four of our children to Orlando in December 2005. We did okay on that trip, too.

My husband and I flew again to Disney World for our 10th anniversary in January 2006. I didn't want to go without my kids. It scared me to think that my children could be left orphans if our plane crashed. I'm still here, but that one was a nail biter.

The time for me to fly has come again.

I have to get on a plane (a TINY plane) on Thursday.

This time I'm going to Texas without any of my family. I'm flying on a TINY plane. (Did I already mention that it's a TINY plane?)

I do NOT like tiny planes.

I know I'll have a blast once we get on the ground in Texas, but that nearly 3-hour trip on a seemingly model-sized airplane is FREAKIN' ME OUT.

Freakin' me TOTALLY out.