Saturday morning, talking to Moses via Zoom, I watched as his son, Louis, dumped toys on the ground, undertook some feeble leggo construction, then demanded (in largely indecipherable language) cheese which, up seeing, he rejected for one, then a second, and finally a third slice of microwaved watermelon. Each piece, of course, required slicing and heating up on Mo's part. This should have given Louis time to concede that hot watermelon was at best, gauche, like ten years ago, but gastronomically he's his own man and pays no attention to fashion. After this Louis became fascinated with the hot water kettle, the long spout of which he enjoyed drinking from (presumably something he would not do were the water inside actually boiling) which, predictably, led to Mo's pants getting soaked, the floor too.
You can't blame Louis for his lack of focus, though. Not only was mom off on a 20-mile run (she's getting ready for her first marathon in eight years) his day started with the screen going on and his seeingthere, instead of Baby Sharks, me.
Such trauma is not easy to overcome, though apparently watermelon helps.