I believe there is something universal about being a middle child. This feels like I’m reading about my younger self.

My own middle child is in there too, somewhere. I like the way you’ve captured the both child’s and the mother’s frustration with life. Frustration I know only too well.

The Mother’s exasperation certainly comes through, as does Roderick’s wayward, random nature ( last week’s stock projections based on fruit and things cowboys say – like it) and the sense of time chugging on regardless.