Going to jail beats a roadtrip with Mommy

I've spent the last two weekends roadtripping with Pumpkin. Six hours (each way) in a car, alone, with a toddler. Feel free to have me committed.

After about 30 miles of singing a combination of "Bob the Builder" and "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" tunes, Pumpkin became unhinged just as my cell phone was ringing with an important call from Workplace.

By the end of the three minute phone call, Pumpkin was crying LOUDLY and begging to go home. We were coming up to a county jail, visible from the interstate.

"Pumpkin, if you don't stop crying, I might have to take you to jail," I threatened. (And with that, I officially forfeit my right to being named this year's Mother of the Year.)

The tears stopped. The backseat was quiet. "Jail?" he asked.

"Jail," I replied.

"Yea! I go jail! I go jail! I go jail!" he started singing.

Apparently, jail sounds better to a two year old than the prospect of being stuck in the car with a crazy woman who can't carry a tune. Go figure.