Confessions of a Bad Mother

I’m certain that if Jean Paul Sartre were alive today, he would change his definition of existential hell from being trapped in a hotel room for an eternity with those you loathe to being trapped in an airplane with an unruly 3 year old, a crew of surly flight attendants and 200 other people you want absolutely nothing to do with.

Such was my life yesterday. After exhausting my arsenal of all the appropriate (yet ineffectual) ways to encourage ‘good’ behavior and ‘listening ears’ during a long day of solo travel with my son, I resorted to scare tactics. Like a good existentialist, I laid out his choices and consequences.  He could be a good boy, listen to Mommy and ride on the airplane in the seat next to me.  Or he could choose to be bad boy, not listen to Mommy and ride in the cargo hold with the pirates.  Did it work?  You betcha.  Am I a bad Mother? Probably.  But desperate times call for desperate measures and I was at my wits end.  

After putting the hellion to bed, I soothed myself with a nice bottle of Macon Villages and some Heartless Bastards.  (It’s a nice pairing, by the way.)  And by the end of the evening I had completely rationalized all of my actions.  Except for that resignation letter part of the day.  I’ll save that for another post…when I get the courage to share.

Heartless Bastards play The Independent on November 8.  Here’s the track for Blue Day.

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