Raising kids doesn’t come with an expiration date—or a refund policy. Our thirty-one-year-old son still joins us for dinner (and still shows up on our phone bill, vet bills, and even our washer and dryer tab). Parenthood, it turns out, is less of an 18-year contract and more of a lifelong subscription service—with plenty of laughs, side-eye, and a few ironic lectures from the one still on our plan.