Anyway, after two minutes he was back out and we were loose in a shopping centre. You all know I've said how much I hate shopping, and I do. But that's where we were. So I took the opportunity to organise Gold Class tickets for Dh and I to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 next week and then Mr Busy decided we should "get coffee". What this really means is that he should get coffee. And cake. And be royally spoiled just because he happens to exist. Because he's the only boy. Because he's out with a parent without any siblings.
He is also the child in our home at whom I have thrown utter garbage and called it school lunch. White fluff, masquerading as bread, with cheese and bacon on top? Sure that's a perfect lunch for a growing boy. Every day. For four weeks. Can't eat bread too easily? Of course tinned spaghetti is the perfect, nutritious alternative.
Clearly this child has sucked me into some youngest child vortex in which even the person with the least amount of niceness in them is just undone.
Well Done, Mr Busy. Don't expect it to happen again - I'm on to you. Except the spaghetti because braces are a whole thing.