Strolling down a San Francisco city street on vacation a couple of years ago, husband Doug and I happened upon a coffee shop.

Husband Doug and I are empty nesters, and so we can come home from work on, say, a Wednesday, and decide to go grab a quick bite out. One restaurant we like to frequent has a F. Scott Fitzgerald vibe, with craft cocktails and appetizers like lobster deviled eggs. We sit at the bar. It's cozy.

This issue it strikes me that American ingenuity has helped us all lead easier lives than our forebears. And sometimes it's the small things, like the other day when I was using an at-home meal kit to pull together dinner for husband Doug and me. Where was this service when my kids were still living under my roof?

As regular readers of this column may already know, I like sports. I wasn't really raised watching them, although my dad is an avid sports viewer. I became a sports fan later in life because I was trying to fit in to a family of guys who watched sports—a lot: one of whom I married, the other two I was raising. Be interested and be part of the conversation.

When my kids were in grade school, my neighbor across the street home-schooled her kids. I couldn't even begin to fathom it. First and most obviously, I worked full-time outside the home. Secondly, and probably most importantly, my kids and I couldn't have done it. Seriously, I think we would have killed each other.

Yeah, I got angry with my kids from time to time when they still lived at home. Sons Ben, now 28, and Sam, 23, caused me some angst at times. Like that time (plural?) I showed up at parent-teacher conferences and I learned assignments were missing.

It started when my sons were young kids. Husband Doug and I wanted to install values in Ben and Sam, now 27 and 22, respectively—one of which was a work ethic. You're never sure if they are picking up on it at the time, because mainly they are sighing heavily when you insist, “I've asked you three times, now turn off the TV and finish cleaning your room!”

It first occurred to me when I was a Sunday School teacher of my son Ben's first-grade class oh so many years ago: Girls were different than boys. (Duh, right?) Let me explain. I had two boys at home. Boys were all I knew. When I started to teach Sunday School, it became more clear.

Mary Jo Larson explains pexting, highlights articles in this issue, and covers the annual Top 200 franchises list.

Today after school, 17-year-old son Sam has two job interviews. That's right, two. And he's nervous. He hasn't had much experience conversing …