Brats on a plane

The movie may be slightly less compelling than the serpentine version, but this is my personal nightmare. Literally.

A couple weeks ago, I had a dream about traveling through an airport. I think I was pregnant, but I didn’t have Hayden and Rebecca with me. (Ryan was with me.) As we walked through the airport, for no apparent reason, I stuck my foot out maybe two inches to try to trip a little boy, about 7 years old.

The boy didn’t trip—but boy, did he notice. Even though he’d been walking in the opposite direction, he started to follow us. (Hello, parents?) He was yelling and trying to attack me. I managed to push him away before we reached our plane.

Our plane was HUGE. For some reason, we ended up in a back section of leather bank seats. They were pretty much awesome. You know you’re traveling in style when you get the whole can of Sprite 😉 .

Until the little boy found me. He proceeded to verbally attack to me, mess with my straw while I was trying to drink, poke me, prod me, and kick me.

I tried to push him away, I tried to look for his parents, I tried to tell Ryan or the flight attendant—but no one else could see how the child was harassing me. I was trapped—can’t exactly get off a plane midflight—and under attack and invisible.

I woke up in a sweat.

And the first thing I wondered was, Is that an allegory for how I feel about my life?

And right now, as I sit here with Hayden in the throes of a 20-minute (so far) tantrum (at least he’s in his room), no end in sight, knowing that I can hardly handle what I already have on my plate, and wanting to add so much more for my own sake, knowing the only things that can give way right now are the only things keeping me sane, knowing that my family is thousands of miles away and that simply will not change any time soon (except for the quick visit coming up this week—and despite my work all last week, the house is still half-wrecked), knowing that my friends and neighbors around me are already overloaded, and knowing that by just admitting how I feel, people will judge me less and tell me I’ve obviously made the wrong life choices . . . yes. Sometimes, it is.

What do you do when you feel trapped?

Photo by Jack