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.