So, as I'm driving over to Firstborn's school to pick him up -- he having been struck down by the same eldritch curse that flattened his younger brother last night -- Secondborn decides that he has something to tell me.
"I knew dis would end badly," he says, from the back seat.
"You knew what would end badly?" I ask, being distracted by a combination of stress, exhaustion, and traffic.
"Firstborn at school," he tells me. "I knew dat would end badly."
"Yeah?" I say, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. "It would have been a lot more helpful if you'd told us that this morning."
"I was keeping it a secwet," he says earnestly. "It was a secret dat I knew."
There is a long, long silence. Finally, I say, "Child, you are making me irrationally angry. Please stop talking."
Seriously, what was I doing in that former life? Sacrificing bunnies and kittens? Transporting underage nuns across state lines for immoral purposes? Helping Ayn Rand write her books? Whatever it was, I'm sorry already.