Last night my youngest put a spoon under her pillow, wore her jammies inside out, and flushed an ice cube down the toilet. In short, she did everything within her power to conjure snow during the night.  This morning, oh miracle, she woke to snow.  Sadly, it was not enough to close schools.  There was great wailing and gnashing of teeth, which the school district either ignored or did not hear (though I doubt that).  The great snow makers in the sky were also apparently oblivious to her pleas. I pointed this out to her, that all her efforts of crying would not bring snow or cancel school but she was on a trajectory, one she’s been on often recently, a tearful, moaning, pitiful storm that can only be waited out.
I’ve been reliving it all day, asking myself if there was another way to handle the situation, if there are hidden aspects I should confront, where it comes from... Then it dawned on me.  My daughter is an exaggerated reflection of me.  I am generating my own storm these days, reacting to events beyond my control with that stomping stubborn determination that so baffles me in my daughter.  We are the same.