As I've gotten older, I have developed a very real appreciation for heights.
OK. Heights scare the heck out of me!
(I once walked up to the first level of the Eiffel Tower, and when the elevator broke and we were forced to walk back down, I hyperventilated, dug holes into Jerry's back with my nails as I walked directly behind him holding onto his shoulders, and almost fainted.)
It's pretty much a fire escape kind of fear. I'm OK on roller coasters and looking out of tall buildings. I'm fine on an airplane. But it's those open-air, see-through steps and railings that really make me want to puke or swear or shake like a Chihuahua.
(And even though the stairs on the Eiffel Tower were completely enclosed, like a cage, and there was absolutely no possible way for me to fall out of the stairway, it was the open mesh of the steps, railings, and barricades that made me whimper like a husky.)
I try to keep my big mouth shut about this new-ish fear of mine. As you can see, my kids must NOT be afraid of heights.
Jerry is 6 feet 5 inches tall. He likes to carry the kids on his shoulders in that manly sort of way. So when the kids are up there, from their vantage point, they are 8' up in the air, with only Dad's firm grip on their ankles and their tiny hands holding his head.
Oh, my.
I need to lie down.
But don't tell the kids why!