A.K.A. bad parenting exacerbated by a dead end street. Mommy don’t care no more.
I jumped in bed next to the snugly ensconced Gideon and demanded, “Tell me nice things!” He looked at me with his upturned, sunburned nose and said, “What’s for breakfast? What’s for lunch? What’s for dinner? When are you going to buy me a new Lego set? When is Saturday? When is Sunday? When is yard sale day? When does Grammy get here? When does everyone else get here? When are we going to the library? Where is my other book? When are you going to have another baby? When are we going to Andrade’s?”
And then he rolled over and resumed reading.