It’s the weekend, and my husband HAS to ask his inevitable question.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

It doesn’t matter that three out of four members of my household will undoubtedly tell him, ‘I’ll pass.’

It also doesn’t matter that two of the three responders are answering via text — since they happen to be waking up in dorms a couple hundred miles south (and west) of their bedrooms down the hall.

Our tone won’t exactly be pleasant, but it’s hard to decipher inside the blue bubbles. One of the kids will likely include a demand that he produce a simple calculation: “Take the number of times you’ve asked this question over the years and subtract the number of times my answer has been a big, fat goose egg – zilch.”

The........

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