Scratch That

Yesterday I wrote about my new turn and how I’ve been espousing grace and level-headedness during Henry’s tantrums.

Cancel all calls to the Academy. I’ve got some work to do on … something. But I’m not sure what. Every time Henry saw me yesterday, he started whining or crying or whimpering. He’d be happily playing with Brian and Abby. Laughing, smiling, chubby cheeks glowing. Then I’d show up and he’d immediately contort his face into a crabby grimace.

This has been happening for days and days but yesterday brought his behavior to a huge crescendo. I felt fairly flat.

After the kids were asleep, I jumped into the shower to wash off my frustration and general malaise. Out came my personal boxing gloves:

"I’m a rotten parent."

"Why does my presence elicit such miserable behavior from my son?"

"What am I doing wrong?"

"Why do I allow myself to wallow along with him? Why aren’t I staying calm, cool and collected internally as well as externally?"

What I wouldn’t give to be a cool cucumber once again.