My sister tells me that I parent like the war correspondent I used to be. I go into this mode with my 2 ½ year old son whom I adopted from Morocco as an infant. I rarely panic and try to keep my head down, especially when there are blocks involved. A public tantrum? Whatever. I’ve survived Al Qaeda. Poop in the tub? Please. I’ve embedded with the U.S. Marines. Clean it up, bleach the porcelain, move on.