The devil

I have been busy making tutus for the girls' Halloween costumes. Reese is going to be an angel and Riley, a devil. How appropriate.
We went away this weekend so I could present with a group of professors at the Florida Communication Association conference. Riley, again, was out of her mind. She didn't want to be in the room, she want to see the fish in the lobby aquarium, she didn't want to step on the rug in the room, she didn't want to be strapped into her car seat. Dan says that it feels like we went through war, but at least we made it through and got to come home.
Yesterday, after 14 hours of sleep, she was a little angel. Today, it has been another story.
Why does it bother me so much that she throws a fit over clothes and shoe choices? Or, when I ask her to pick something up she replies, "No, you do it."
It's because she is a mini-me. I was exactly the same way. I used to throw a royal fit if my scrunched socks (remember those?) did not have the same, exact number of "scrunches." I would lay on my bed in the morning as my Mom pulled one outfit after another out of my closet. One day, my Dad had enough and took everything out of my closet except for one dress and told me I would have to wear that for the rest of the school year. Bawling, I asked him what would happen when it go ruined. He replied, "I'll buy you another one just like it."
God is totally punishing me.