Chillaxin’ at the dinner table with my husband, two teens and a tween goes something like this these days:
“Dude! These meatballs, though. They hit different.”
“10 outta 10. Would eat again.”
“Dopest dinner we’ve had all week, bro.”
And me, the English major, former newspaper copy editor and all around grammar police officer? I don’t even flinch.
I not longer require complete sentences
In the months since my kids’ lives turned on a dime from overflowing with sports and friends and fun to teaching themselves calculus in their bedrooms, having only the five of us to hang with, I have officially stashed any requirement of complete sentences, fully formed words or a rich vocabulary on the back shelf alongside the lunchboxes.
’Cause the world is whack right now. Who am I to throw shade?
Parents…
