When my son told me he was a vegetarian, I was standing in the kitchen in an apron that read "Kill it/Grill it," cradling a pork shoulder I had slow-roasted for 12 hours. I told him he was in the wrong house.
My family are pause-aholics. There is no cure. They turn a 30-second commercial into a 10-hour miniseries. I swear to God if they hit pause again, IÂ’m going to throw the remote into the blender.
Our son's summer trip to Japan has proven to be a 40-foot-tall, diamond-encrusted, solid-gold carrot. Who knew that was all it took to get him to take out the trash?