I have a temper. It is very short. I have a very short temper. And apparently, my son is very aware of this. He can read me like a book (not that you need to, I tend to radiate my moods to quite a distance).
He calls me on it. “Mommy, why are you mad?”
“Mommy, be happy.”
Sometimes, when I call to him to put on his shoes, or to eat dinner, or anything at all, and if he can hear the frustration in my voice, he will call back, “Coming!” and then run over to me with a smile pasted on his face, trying to thwart my anger. He will sneak his little hand into mine, and look up at my face, trying to catch my eye, so that I can see him smiling.
And I will smile back.
My son can defuse my temper.
I need to do it without his help.