Roast chicken, brisket, noodle pudding—all of us seated around the holiday table at my daughter’s house salivated while waiting to be served these delicacies.  And then I looked at the 12-year-old boy and his 9-year-old sister to my left. In front of them were two bowls of defrosted-in-the-microwave macaroni and cheese.
 
Their mother, my daughter’s friend, shrugged her shoulders and said, “That’s all they’ll eat.”

“What is wrong with today’s parents?” I asked my husband on our ride home, more as a self-righteous statement than as a question.