Scene: 7:17am, in the car, one block from school.

Jack: Sh$t. I forgot shoes.

Me: <long pause as I process (1) that my son is old enough to curse without blushing but still forgets something as basic as *shoes* and (2) the tension between my natural-consequences, you-forgot-so-deal model of parenting and the fact that it’s *shoes* so he can’t enter campus nor walk 2 miles home and (3) that this parenting thing is never, ever going to end, is it?> Fine. You know that this and vomit are the only two reasons I’d turn around.

Jack: I know.

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