“I’m so angry, I’m so angry,” I say at breakfast, my calm affect completely at odds with anger as I gently close up the Velcro on my 3-year-old son’s little sneakers.
“Why are you angry?” asks my husband.
“Because the world doesn’t look the way it should,” I say.
“Then let’s make it into a different world,” says my son.
And I give him a big fat kiss on his little round cheek.
Then let’s make it into a different world.