Because the bare toes of summer are scampering toward our welcome mats, our children will soon be around the house most of the time. That means we must sharpen our skills as psychologists, salespeople, and tricksters—in other words, as parents.

Soon enough, our kids will be pacing around the house reciting “I’m bored I’m bored I’m bored.” They’ll be ambushing their little brothers and abusing the furniture and leaving the milk out.

And, if we’re human, we’ll holler at them in some fashion or another. And, if they’re human, they’ll get grumpier and look for more opportunities to raise the tension.

This grumpiness can quickly spiral into something ugly if it’s not addressed right away.

Most kids are good kids, and good kids don’t enjoy being grumpy for a very long time. They just need an opportunity to cheer up, one that lets them save face, more or less.

It’s our job as parents to provide that diversion.

One effective tactic I employ is to begin speaking quietly to my wife. I make sure the grumpy child overhears just enough keywords to have his curiosity piqued. I may report on something foolish I’d done or on some peculiar thing I’d seen in the newspaper—anything that changes the dynamics in the room. In short order the sulky kid will see this as the opportunity to escape from his funk on his own terms, and he’ll start asking questions in a non-sulky tone.

Recently, when my nine-year-old son was on the brink of detonating, we pulled this fast one on him:

Me (just above a whisper): Honey, you’ve got to stop rearranging the closet without telling me. Today I wore your slacks to work, and the guys sure got a charge out of that.

Wife (also above a whisper): If you’d just wear your glasses, this wouldn’t happen. But you’re so vain.

Son (edges closer): What? What happened?

Me: Those glasses make me look like Drew Carey, for crying out loud. Drew Carey in a lady’s slacks, no less.

Son: What are you guys talking about?

And his grumpiness dissolved (just as mine was escalating; but that’s neither here nor there).

If that scheme does not work, there’s one that, while a bit dramatic, is as close to a sure thing as you’ll ever find in life. Simply pretend to suffer some painful mishap.

For instance, you might knock on a cabinet and claim you bumped your noggin. Or you might drop a can of corn and say it struck your toes. If you’re quite the adventurer, you might even get out the ketchup and—well, that might be going too far.

What ever you do, there are few things that engage the imaginations of children more than another’s pain. Immediately that grouchy child will become curious and demand to inspect the injury. And you will have won the battle once again.