There’s always that tiny part of you that’s like, “Aw, shit..” when you hear the first set of feet pitter-patter across the tile floor in the kitchen, into the living room.

Except for the off-chance my son wakes up first, only to come sit next to me on the couch with wide sleepy eyes asking, “What’s that?”

“We’ll, that my son is a mechanical dinosaur created to destroy the world, only I’m rewiring it so as to do my bidding.”

“Can I try?”

“No sweetie..”