Gideon was upset. I could hear him wailing in the upstairs bedroom where his mother and sisters worked to console him. I was in the kitchen working on dinner, a task I prefer a great deal more than consoling fussy babies. After a few minutes of heightened screaming, Clara came stomping down the stairs and tossed something onto the counter with a frustrated groan. “Clara” I said, “I’m working on dinner, could you take that off the counter please?” She walked back and picked up a small folded piece of paper, and then she wheeled around and waved it in the air at me. “This thing is so silly.” She said. “I don’t like it.” I wiped my hands on a dish rag and…