If you have ever watched the 1980's movie Terms of Endearment, you must remember that humiliating scene at the supermarket. That was me last night. Tired after work, I drove with my oldest son, Stephen, to CVS for a few items because…you know they did use the word Northeaster for the storm coming. And of course we can never find the fifty flashlights and batteries we bought in the past years. And three gallons of milk might not be enough for our four grown-up sons and teenage daughter. I prefer using the self-checkout line so I have control, can change my mind, decide I don’t really need a bag of M&Ms, but none of those registers were working at CVS last night. The young blond didn’t look ha

Dinner time used to annoy me. I get squeamish touching and smelling raw meat, but I can deal with that phobia. My annoyance had less to do with the food preparation than the family dynamics. We cooked for at least an hour, gathered our five kids, prayed and gave thanks to God, then listened to them joke and tease each other, and in ten minutes waved goodbye as they cleared the table and ran off to their video games or whatever. As they reached the teen years, it was even harder to keep everyone together, unless cake was served of course. Now dinner is a fun, loud, competitive time. We are not fighting over who gets the biggest meatball or who has to exert energy, stand up, walk to the refrig