When my daughter was in third grade, she Googled “hypoallergenic dog” after years of hearing me tell her that our severe allergies prevented us from fulfilling her wish for a puppy.

She created a presentation on a rare breed, the Coton de Tulear, highlighting a list of reasons why this no-shed pup was the perfect dog for our family. I found images of this fluffy white dog with dark, expressive eyes whenever I opened my computer.

At the time, I used the classic parenting delay tactic -- “we’ll see” -- instead of an outright rejection. I knew that with two young children and a career, I did not want to take on the responsibility of another living being. My husband had zero interest in acquiring a pet. Neither of us grew up with dogs. We both come from traditional Muslim families who believed dogs should be kept outside the home for reasons related to ritual purity when praying.

Fast-forward seven years: The kids are both teenagers, my daughter’s desire for a dog hasn’t abated, and I’m starting to feel a little anxious about how quickly the years of child-rearing are passing. I’m more susceptible to an adorable creature that needs nurturing.

I struck a deal with my spouse that the dog would stay out of certain areas of the house, and we got on a waiting list with a reputable breeder.

When picked up our 10-week-old Frankie (short for Franklin D. Woofevelt), my maternal instincts kicked into overdrive.

For the first few nights, I moved an air mattress into the kitchen near Frankie’s crate and slept in front of him, so he wouldn’t cry at night. I reverted to familiar concerns from when our kids were babies: I worried he wasn’t eating enough, though the vet assured me he was growing just fine. I wondered if he would ever get potty-trained. I wasn’t sure how long his separation anxiety phase would last, or when he would outgrow his teenage rebellion. Sometimes he reminds me of the kids as toddlers: When I use the restroom, he sits right outside the door, anxiously awaiting my return. I entice him to eat his grain-free kibble by adding bits of apples or green beans. The first time I left him with a pet sitter overnight, I typed up a page of instructions.

I could tell I was becoming one of “those” dog people. I was reminded of an essay a reader sent me in 2017, in which the writer warned apocalyptically that pets were replacing children in America. Several such screeds point to the rising rate of dog ownership among millennials, the increasing amount pet owners spend on their animals and the delayed birth rate among this cohort. The reader who sent me the link seemed angry -- at her kids and the culture that has encouraged pet worship -- but she also seemed sad. Would she have to settle for grandpups instead of grandbabies?

Once I scoffed at people who described their pets as “furbabies,” and now I monitor the livestream feed of Frankie’s doggy daycare on my phone. I had to stop myself from calling the center when I witnessed a large goldendoodle bullying my baby -- er, dog.

It’s easy to mock the more ridiculous aspects of pet culture. But had I known the unconditional, enthusiastic love a dog offers, I would never have waited this long. Frankie is way more excited to see me than my kids have been -- outwardly, at least -- in years. And while raising a dog is surprisingly expensive, they never go to college.

I’ve been surprised by my intense bond with this furry creature. Even my daughter said recently that she hadn’t expected me to fall so hard for Frankie. I’m trying to be as objective as possible here: He is legitimately the cutest, sweetest, most lovable dog I’ve ever seen. If I had gotten a puppy 20 years ago, I can easily see how I might have put off having babies for a while.

I guess we found each other at the perfect time.

Frankie turns 1 this weekend.

You’ll have to excuse me; I have a cake to order.

There are certain Pakistani foods I only eat when I visit my parents in Texas.

That’s mostly because I don’t have the patience or skill to cook like my mom. She’s among those who have a gift of creating meals without a recipe that turn out masterfully. Food is her love language. I grew up with meals and desserts that took considerable time and effort to prepare.

She also taught me from a young age how to handle a hot pan, saute onions, prep meat and vegetables and season with a multitude of spices. It gave me a foundation for how to feed myself, and later, my family and friends. This is a skill I had largely ignored passing down to my own children. They are busier with school and activities than I was at their age. We eat more convenience foods since both my husband and I work. Rushed meals were a hallmark of pre-pandemic life.

The pandemic-induced slowdown in all our lives presented an opportunity to correct this oversight. I wanted my children, now teenagers, to learn kitchen skills beyond ramen, boxes of macaroni and brownie mix. Like so many other parents, I was sick of eating my own cooking and tired of thinking about what to make for dinner. And I was curious to see what they would come up with when tasked with this responsibility.

Lo and behold, they rose to the occasion. My son made beef short ribs in the slow cooker. He pulled off a perfect lasagna. He grilled burgers, made tacos and chicken wings. Even his humble grilled cheese sandwiches got an upgrade with French bread and four different types of cheese. 

Unsurprisingly, he gravitated toward making the foods a teenage boy would want to eat.

My daughter also stayed in her comfort zone. She started making cookies and cobblers from scratch instead of a mix, experimented with more shakes and smoothies and leveled up the snack food options in the house. She also made kabobs and a brisket.

Part of me was delighted with each new thing they turned out of the kitchen. But I also couldn’t help but notice how different their meal selections were from the curries and rice I had first learned to make.

Food is a big part of Pakistani culture, and I wanted to share this part of our heritage with them.

I pulled out a book in which I had written some of my mom’s recipes. Most don’t include specifics -- like measurements or times. She cooks from instinct and years of muscle memory. I had coaxed lists of ingredients from her and vague directions aided by years of watching her. But it had been a while since I attempted one of these dishes. I asked my son if he wanted to learn to make shaljum gosht -- a Kashmiri curry with turnips and goat meat that cooks for hours.

It’s one of my mom’s specialties.

He was game, so we got to work -- peeling large purple turnips, mincing ginger and garlic and cleaning bits of fat off the meat. I guesstimated the spices and instructed him on how to vigorously stir the pot while the meat browned. The smell of the simmering stew made me homesick in a way that was hard to put into words.

Because of the pandemic, we haven’t visited my parents since December. This is the longest I’ve gone in my life without seeing them. I’m hardly alone in this forced distancing.

I texted my family photos as my son stood in front of the bubbling pot on the stove. Everyone texted their encouragement.

My mom responded to him, “So proud of you. Can’t wait to come to St. Louis, so you and your sister can cook for me. That will be my real vacation.”

We can’t wait for that day, either, Mom.

I took a bite of the dish my son and I had made together.

It tasted like home.

If a 15-year-old girl told a teacher she suffered years of trauma and abuse and wanted to be emancipated from her parents, the teacher would have to seriously consider calling the state child abuse hotline to investigate the claims.

But if a young teenager confessed this to 458,000 strangers on Twitter, what happens to her?

Claudia Conway, the daughter of Kellyanne Conway, longtime senior adviser to the president, has made headlines for her social media posts criticizing her parents and calling out her mother’s political activity. Recently, her fairly typical teenage rebellion crossed into public cries for help.

Less than a day after Claudia posted about anguish online, her mother said she would leave her job at the White House by the end of the month, and her father, an outspoken critic of the administration, also announced a hiatus from Twitter and his political work. We can only imagine how horrible it must be for a teenager to try to navigate the public psychodrama of the Conway household. Her father has denounced her mother’s employer as evil, while her mother defends him as a savior.

Imagine trying to sort that out at 15. That’s an age when children are developmentally questioning what parents say, testing boundaries and building their own identities. The Conways are hardly alone in their political divisions. Relationships across the country have been strained or torn apart since the last presidential election. In the wake of our country’s polarization, couples have divorced, family members have been disowned and old friends defriended. People are experiencing real pain from the fallout.

The two months leading up to the next election are going to be particularly bad. Perhaps Claudia sensed that. She wrote that she was devastated that her mother was going to speak at the Republican National Convention and that her mother’s job had ruined her life.

Teenage emotions are intense and overwhelming. It’s painful to see a child unravel on social media. Her posts again raise the question of what our collective responsibility is when we witness such pleas. Her generation defaults to sharing vulnerability online. But when a child alleges abuse in such a public forum, how should responsible adults react?

Some people, especially those who agreed with Claudia’s political criticisms, tried to offer supportive messages. There are adolescents who may feel temporarily validated by a flood of encouragement from thousands of strangers on the internet. But that momentary relief is not going to solve underlying dysfunction or mental health issues within a family.

For me, Claudia’s most heartbreaking post was after she wrote about wanting emancipation and shared how she has suffered because of her mother’s job.

The next day she asked: “Why am I trending on Twitter right now?”

Her question revealed the innocence and naivete that even extremely online children have. Given her family’s proximity to power, their interpersonal conflict has been the subject of public fascination for years, especially in an age when personal drama is packaged and sold as spectacle.

Perhaps that commodification emboldened online zealots like Carmine Sabia, a self-described “conservative Christian” who tweeted to his 68,000 followers in response to Claudia’s posts. “Claudia Conway is an attention whore and she and her dad should be ashamed of what they have done to their family because of their selfishness,” he wrote.

A grown man publicly calling a 15-year-old girl a sexualized slur is vile. He’s projecting his own need for relevancy and attention onto a troubled child. And trying to score political points while doing it.

This kind of vicious reaction by the extreme right ought to serve as a wake-up call to Kellyanne: The movement she’s helped build is more than ready to eat its own children -- hers included.