I'm distracted.

He knows it.

He's sitting next to me on the step, growling in my direction through a plastic dragon. I am unsuccessfully trying to pull a series of seemingly related words out of my atrophied brain and push them into the room in hopes they will make sense to the only other adult there with us.

As I continue talking over the din of toddler play, he stuffs the plastic beast down the front of my shirt.

His smile is positively impish as I stop talking, extract the toy and hand it back.

"I am not feeding this."