Most of today’s morning commute was conducted in silence following a brief altercation in which Miles requested juice immediately and I told him his request would be impossible to fulfill. Several minutes of silent grievance (his, not mine) later, he finally spoke up again.
“Mommy is a good mommy,” he said.
“She is,” I agreed.
“And you a bad daddy.”
I slowly craned my neck to give him the stink eye. If he was kidding, he didn’t let on.
“I need to go find a new daddy,” he said. “At Target.”