Mean Mama

I picked Jasper up late today. I had drama club after school, then spent time talking with colleagues. The sun was setting as we raced home for dinner. He was dirty, cold, wet and starving from playing outside all afternoon (I love Eastside). He dug into his lunch box and popped open his tupperware container of pretzels. I accelerated onto the on ramp of the highway, hungry and eager for supper, sending his pretzels onto the floor. He exploded and dissolved into a complete fit. "You spilled my pretzels! You are a MEAN Mama!" Tears, tears. In a way it was my fault. The on ramp was not designed to send things off of your lap if you are proceeding at the proper speed. However, I did not admit fault. Instead, I defended myself. "I'm just driving, Jasper. I didn't touch your snack." "You did! You're a MEAN MAMA!" I realized he was being irrational. He, like me, is a monster when under-fed. But there was a truth behind his words. Would he call me a mean mama if I were always kind? I really didn't mean to dump his snack, but I had been mean when I snapped at him that morning. I am mean spirited sometimes when I punish him for begging or whining. I react with emotion and my own interest over his at times. Was I mean when I sent him to his room for socking Josie in the face with the Pooh Bear pillow yesterday?

I don't want to be a MEAN MAMA. Maybe I just need to slow down when I am entering the highway. And be sure to eat at regular intervals.