My parenting anxieties are mercifully mild compared to my general social anxieties. Can’t worry about absolutely everything all the time, now can we? When it comes to being a mother, I’m pretty confidant that I am a solidly “good enough” mother. I don’t know all the answers and I mess up plenty, but I’m usually able to soldier on in spite of the certainty that I’m fucking my kids at least a little even though I’m doing my best.
But this morning, I think I got something right! Like, really right. It was my reaction to a challenge we’ve faced many times with my son (and usually had little success.) He’s just turned six and he’s too damn smart for us sometimes, so he often outwits us and himself when we try to help him calm down from his tendency to quick, hot, unrelenting rage strokes about relatively minor things.
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