At least twice a week my 12-year-old son will send me a text message around 5 p.m. that reads something like this: whts 4 dnr?
I typically don't start cooking until 6, so he likes to get a heads up on what's on the menu in hopes of vetoing anything that doesn't taste better with ketchup. The kicker is I usually get this text while he is in the house. Sometimes we're in the same room. He's not mad at me, he's just part of the generation that is more likely to get carpal tunnel than a scab.