Remember that whining episode that drove me to drink? (Wine-y Wednesday?) Guess what caused him to meltdown in the first place. A box. I was taping closed a box of clothes to mail back to Boston Proper (because nothing looks as good on me as it does on the models in the catalogs) and Truman wanted the box. I said he couldn’t have that box. It was going in mail. And my son began to wail. “I want a box!” I said, “I don’t have a box, pal. Sorry.” And the storm erupted, with thundering yells and bolts of tears. …read more