Once upon a time when everything was alright, and a mother ruled the universe, the security blankets tried to warn us. "Beware of mothers" they said, "because mothers have so many problems of their own they cannot be relied upon to make good decisions on your behalf. "Mothers" the security blankets said "have this bad habit of wanting to compensate for their own disappointments, ignorances and mistakes by trying to make sure that you are everything that they are not. So beware of mothers' good intentions". "Where would psychiatrists and their fellow travellers be without mothers?" demanded the amenable objects. And then they went on a rampage of ritual and fetish defiance, mocking us for our hope and optimism. But still we clung to our ragged little scraps of security, holding them against our lips to tell them secrets at night, as we slowly came to realise how two-faced all the mothers were. Then we knew the extent of the power we had over their vulnerability and ambivalences.