No matter how long I’ve been a parent, I’m still capable of being astonished by my own adult children. And let nobody tell you that “adult children,” that ultimate oxymoron, aren’t still works in progress.
It’s well after midnight, and I was in the kitchen enjoying a private binge of frozen cake straight from the package. I’m was feeling out of control, fat and guilty. My husband stumbled in, looking a bit panicky.