Justin's in one of his moods. He's ramming around the kitchen on one of Emily's little scooters. He's grabbing stuff away from her. She's screaming and he's smiling. He seems to be taking pleasure in the fact that he has the power to make her unhappy. He surreptitiously pushes her to the floor when he knows neither of us is looking. Joan asks him for a bite of his toast and he throws it on the floor. His acting out is escalating and we're all feeling increasingly miserable.
      Joan is grading papers at the table. It's up to me to intervene. Part of me wants to ignore him, part of me is angry at him for being so obnoxious, most of me wants to escape. I feel the urge to lash out at him, yet I don't really believe in punishment. So what I find myself doing instead is withdrawing from him — an expression of anger that is much more familiar to me. Justin asks for my help with several things and I refuse him, saying I'm mad at him. Then he says, pouting, "Well if you're mad at me, I'm mad at you," and a few minutes later, "I hate you, you stupid butthead." Clearly this is going nowhere.
      I decide this is one of those times I need to reach into some deeper inner resources. I take a conscious breath and ask him if he wants to go out and ride his scooter with me. It's a beautiful evening and he's clearly full of physical energy. He readily agrees and Joan says she'll put Emily to bed.

      Five minutes later, Justin and I are out in the driveway. I'm helping him put his helmet on. He's got one foot on his red scooter and we're ready to go. I look over at him and say, "Justin, how about if we start over? Things weren't going very well in there. I was mad at you and you were mad at me. Let's have a do-over."
      "What's that, Mama?"
      "Well, sometimes we get stuck acting a certain way. I feel mad and I don't want to let go of it. You're bugging Emily or are acting annoying and you don't know how to stop yourself. We get locked into acting a certain way and we don't know how to change things. And it isn't feeling good for anyone. A do-over is when you go back to the time before you started feeling stuck and grumpy and you start over again. You walk back into the room and give it another try. You let go of your grumpiness and try to start off fresh. Sometimes it's the best thing to do when you're feeling stuck. So how about it, Justin? Now that we're out here, let's have a do-over."
      "Okay, Mama." He comes over and takes my hand. I can feel his anger and grumpiness melting away. "I love you, Mama," he says, the sweetness back in his voice again.

      I've practiced the art of do-overs for some time now. An old lover, Janet, introduced me to the idea years ago in San Francisco. We'd gone to a movie and were having a terrible time together, locked into some yucky, yet familiar, dynamics. She pulled the car over near Japantown and said, "Let's get out of the car, get back in and start over."
      I was so shocked by her idea that I actually did it. I shut up, got out of the car, got back in and we began our date all over again. And it worked. We wiped the slate clean and started over, as if the last hour of gnarled-up hour of cruelty and withholding hadn't happened.
      It was a revelation for me. The idea of not thoroughly hashing out every emotion and conflict was foreign to me. I was the queen of intensity. I felt virtuous about exploring and expressing every nuance of feeling. Isn't that what honest relationships were all about?
      But that day in San Francisco, I learned something new. Starting over wasn't about repression or denial. It was about giving up old habits of relating, swallowing pride, and letting go of who was right and who was wrong. It was simple, clean and effective. And I've practiced it ever since.

      In the weeks since our conversation, Justin has initiated several do-overs. Just yesterday, he asked me to get his wishkeeper from a high shelf and I kept putting him off because I was focused on what I wanted to do. We were late for a doctor's appointment and he became rude and surly, spitting at me, flicking my face with his forefinger, and finally, kicking me. I got fed up and growled at him, close enough to his face and with enough intensity to scare him. Things went downhill from there. We ended up lying in his bed, him crying, me trying to comfort him. But nothing was working. Finally, he broke away from his crying, looked at me and said, "Mama, let's have a do-over."
      "Okay," I said, amazed my five-year-old was going to help us out of this one. "What do you want to do over?"
      "The part where you wouldn't get me my wish keeper."
      "Okay, ask me for it."
      In a sweet voice: "Mama, would you get my wish keeper?"
      "Sure, Justin," I said. "I'll get it for you right away." I looked over at him. He seemed satisfied. "Okay, now I want to do-over the part where you were doing all those annoying things to me."
      "Okay, Mama," he said. He started petting my hair and said he loved me.
      "Now," he said, "do over the part where you scared me."
      I took him in my arms and held him gently. "I love you, Justin," I said, "I didn't mean to scare you." I could feel the tenderness rushing back in.
      "Great," he said, getting up out of the bed. "Now let's go!"
      And off we went.