As we were walking to our car from the library earlier today I realized that Clara was struggling with something. Her arm was flapping randomly like a wounded bird in a large purple coat.

“Clara, can I help you? What are you trying to do over there?”

“Yes, you can help me. I’m trying to do Everything.”

It took a few patient moments to realize that she was being hindered from doing “everything” because one of her tiny gloves was on her hand upside down. So, as we struggled to keep up pace with her mother and Lydia, I peeled the glove off and helped her put it back on properly. Then I helped her put the other one on, explaining to her that you can’t put a glove on with your hand balled up in a fist. After several attempts we finally succeeded just in time to climb into the car. As I was getting adjusted in the front seat however I noticed that she was still frustrated and fumbling with her gloves.

“What is wrong? Are they still not on right?

Exasperated, she threw her arms into her lap, “No. I’m in the car now and I want to take my gloves off!”

Being a parent is a relentless Sisyphean endeavor. How many times must we push these little girls up a hill, just to watch them roll back down again in a day? How many months? How many years, before they can finally roll themselves up the hill and their mother and I can move to a nice condo in Florida?