Miles sitting on his parents' bed with a bath towel gingerly spread out to his side his mother placed, as she does every morning, to serve as a table cloth. The guilt of the fact that her sons have breakfast in bed--her bed--every week day morning has slowly peeled off of her soul. The path of least resistance is sometimes enjoyable and warranted...although oatmeal crusties on the sheets are never welcome.
Mom is quickly stepping into the shower of the master bathroom, which is really just a closet-sized area with the door removed, trying to avoid questions about her body by her almost 4 year old, when her naked dash is interrupted...
Miles: MOM! THERE'S A PIE-DER ON THE BED!! QUICK, COME GET IT! IT'S RUNNING AWAY!
Take note of the fact that Miles calls for Mom and not "Eric-nophobia;" Mom is the delegated insect securer in these parts.
Mom: Oh Miles! That's just a wad of Mommy's hair all tangled up. It isn't a spider, silly!
Miles: Can you take it away? I don't like it.
It's amazing I'm not bald...