THERE'S ALWAYS THE BRONZE.
one of the children yelled from bed.
I love you! You're my favourite parent!
(I calmly shrieked back to this child from a few rooms over; this child was disgruntled at me for any of a thousand reasons, or all.)
I love you, and you're one of my favourite children!
(the child trumpeted back with confidence and a distinct lack of sorrow. )
Well, I'm sorry, but you're not one of my favourite parents.
As Kurt Vonnegut might say: and so it goes. Happy day, all.