A few days into lock down, my husband and I split a beer in the backyard while, just over the fence, our neighbor’s three-year old had a tantrum. We exchanged a high-five, celebrating the fact that our kids were nearly grown. Our independent teens didn’t need help with home-schooling, they didn’t want us to role play “My Little Pony” or engage in endless rounds of Candyland. All we needed to do was keep the fridge stocked and stay out of their way.
Since then I’ve realized that tantrums, like earthquakes, come in varying magnitudes and it take maneuvering of both mind and body to make space for our children no matter how old they are.
For better or worse, my seventeen-year old son seems well suited to a “safer at home”…
