Oedipus wrecks

Just lately, when both of us are at our worst, my five-year-old son threatens me with a violent death. "Someday I'm going to get rid of you for good . . . when I'm big enough, I'll push you down the stairs and you'll be dead." And so on . . . (Fortunately, my own murderous thoughts go unexpressed.)

In retrospect it seems funny, but this sort of thing happens when he's tired and therefore exhasperating, and when the parents have already worn out all patience and run out of creative strategies for resolving conflict. Both of us can see that things are not going in a very good direction and struggling to pull it back on track, and yet we seem unable to get it together.

And yet, somehow we still manage to get in jammies, climb into bed, and read a few pages of Farmer Boy before dropping off to sleep. All I can say is, thank goodness for close attachment, because without it we would certainly have killed each other by now.