Fine. 

Rooby, at 3am, jet-lagged, wide awake, having woken me up for the third of what will be four times in total for the night, ensuring that I do not sleep at all before sunrise: Mom, why are you frustrated with me?

Me: I’m not frustrated with you, baby. 

Rooby: You’re frustrated with yourself?

Me: No, I’m just frustrated…with the world. 

Rooby: But mom. The world is fine. 

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