P eaches has been in a frightful mood for a week. To be fair, she hasn’t been well. A nasty cold has plagued her for roughly the same amount of time, so this is a factor, to be sure. It is the various expressions of her sour mood that have become trying. Yesterday, we endured a loud, angry monologue about how she should not be forced to attend her brother’s basketball game. The volume and length of the tirade spoke to the depth of the perceived indignity and I watched her stomp nearly a quarter of a mile into the gym, refusing to walk with either her father and brother or me, maintaining an impressively equidistant position between us. Then earlier this afternoon, when…