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Flour is swirling around the kitchen like little flakes of snow. My son, who is the cause of the flurries, looks like a very skinny, curly haired snowman, caked head to foot in white flour. Already stressed, I ignore the fact that my kid is the cutest snowman in the world and I bark, “That is not what I meant by keep the flour on the counter!” He grins at me and explains, “I just wanted to clean the counter off so you can make the pies.” I return his smile as I realize that his actions were not an act of random malice but one of love. Together we clean up the flour and begin making pies. As we roll dough out I begin to recall how often I jump to anger before I know the intentions of my son. Too often, I only see the lack of his common sense, when in reality, his thought process often makes more sense than my anger. I ponder other times when my son's logic outshone my understanding, such as, the other day when my son was hysterical that I was not eating my breakfast. I explained tha