• In my culture, children are expected to greet everyone in the room with a hug and a kiss.
• My daughter didn’t like to and often screamed when relatives tried to hug and kiss her.
• I teach my kid that she has choices and can say no whenever she feels uncomfortable.

My young daughter wasn’t yet 1 years old the first time she shook her head and stretched her hands out to push away a hug from relatives. Everyone laughed it off, assuming she would grow out of it.

What they didn’t realize was that, even at that age, I was teaching her that she always has a choice — something I didn’t have growing up.

Every family gathering began the same way when I was a kid. I would open my grandparents’ front door, and the smell of tamales, turkey, rice, and the best of our Mexican-American world would welcome me at the doorstep. I loved the laughs, food, and family, but before I could settle in, I had to brace myself for the greeting ritual.

With my shoulders tight and my steps tiptoeing along the living room, I scanned the faces of new visitors who had made a pit stop at our feast. A polite smile and a wave were considered rude, but it felt strange to show affection to people I had never met.

If I weren’t eager to make my rounds, I would get a nudge on my back with an emphatic, urgent command from all the adults in unison: “¡Saluda!” That made the next step clear: hug and kiss every adult in the room as a gesture of respect.

As each year passed, my resistance became less about hugging people I didn’t know and more about realizing my boundaries didn’t matter. I want to teach my daughter differently.

The social reset that paved the way for new norms

In 2020, I became a first-time mom. As if postpartum chaos and sleepless nights weren’t enough, the pandemic hit and left us with isolation and an unexpected reset. I was relentless about not exposing her to risk as an infant, but she still babbled and smiled on FaceTime with my family. Their connection grew despite the limitations and distance.

After being apart for so long, we were all excited about our first gathering. I walked through the door, holding my daughter, and the kitchen was lined with my white-haired elders; their faces lit up as we entered. The day they could pinch her cheeks and smother her with kisses had finally arrived.

Arms reached out, smiles widened, and baby coo sounds filled the air. My daughter took one look around, gripped my hair in one hand, my collar in the other, and let out a startled wail.

There was an immediate and collective sigh of disappointment. The matriarchs and patriarchs of my family had never been challenged by a 1 year old. They stepped closer, hoping that proximity would encourage her to leap into their arms. She cried louder.

Their arms dropped, their smiles turned to frowns, and the bribery ensued: “I got you a pretty doll, and I’m going to be so sad if you don’t give me a hug.” Another aunt leaned closer and said, “Don’t you love me? I really love you!”

While I knew those statements came from a place of love and care, I looked my daughter in the eyes and said, “It’s OK, you can stay with me.” She released the grip on my hair and shirt, rested her head on my shoulder, and let out a sigh of relief.

I looked at my aunts and uncles, feeling both nervous and empowered. I reassured them that she would warm up to them on her own time and in her own way.

I took a chance and created a teaching moment

I started a conversation with my family that we never had before, and explained that what was considered disrespectful in their generation is now considered self-respect in mine.

The family gatherings continued. Sometimes my daughter would run to the door to greet them and hang on their neck with glee; other times, she would run by them, shouting “hi!” and go straight to the couch.

As the years have passed, their expectations have shifted, and their disappointment is no longer in the air. Comments have gone from “Are you going to let your daughter get away with not giving me a hug and kiss?” to “Okay, I’ll be here when she wants to play.”

Respect and love can now take on different forms. That’s a tradition worth passing down.

• My first husband died unexpectedly when we were both in our 20s.
• Becoming a widower taught me that romantic love is not the only kind of love out there.
• Getting married again doesn’t mean that I will erase my widowhood.

As I filled out the intake paperwork at my annual physical, I quickly clicked through all the standard demographic information, halting as I reached the marital status question. I hovered over the dropdown menu before clicking “widowed.” I realized that next year I would be clicking “married.”

Though I will consider myself both “married” and “widowed” after my coming wedding, the binaries that govern paperwork will not honor this joint identity, erasing a title that I have come to embrace in the past four years since my husband’s death.

I was a widow in my 20s

Eli died in an accident when he was 25. We were newlyweds, embarking on a life together and humming with excitement for all the future held. Overnight, that future we had spent years discussing and planning evaporated.

Many other young people I know who have lost partners have grappled with the title “widow” or “widower,” words that rarely conjure images of people in their 20s with potentially decades of life ahead. But, as I attended dozens of grief groups, sitting among others who had lost loved ones, I realized that partner loss is unusual in having a title I could claim.

There is no equivalent for someone mourning a sibling, a child, or a friend, no single word to signal the magnitude of that perpetual pain. Grateful for the terminology available to me, I quickly adopted “widow,” weaving it into my identity.

Widowhood has redefined how I live in countless ways, but three lessons have lit my path forward.

I say ‘yes’ more now

First, I have fought (and continue to fight) to let go of the pervasive culture of delayed gratification. I am haunted by the number of times I said “no” to Eli in favor of pursuing a future moment of joy rather than relishing the present.

I said no to spontaneous weekend trips because I deemed it more responsible to save for a bigger vacation later. I said no to small pleasures, such as theater tickets and late-night snacks at the bodega, because I was budgeting for future milestones and increasing my contributions to retirement accounts. I said no to quiet moments together at the end of long workdays because I was preoccupied with climbing a career ladder.

Now, rather than living for a future that might or might not come, I try to say yes — to joy, to love, and sometimes to a touch of chaos, even when it feels impractical or risky. Celebrating the present is often a messy endeavor, but it is undoubtedly a way of living.

There’s more than romantic love

Second, I was raised in a sea of cultural narratives that centered romantic love as the ultimate love. And it was for me. But when it slipped through my fingers, I realized that what I missed most about our partnership was the love that had been nurtured and developed in our friendship.

After Eli’s death, the love that sustained me came from expanding the boundaries of connection — in the friends who could sense how I was doing by the tone of my voice, in the family that welcomed me for weeks on their futons when I couldn’t bear to be home alone, and in random strangers who understood my loss through their own experiences. Love is an unlimited resource that doesn’t subscribe to any hierarchy. There is so much to go around.

I live like any day could be my last

Third, I now live each day knowing it could be my last, or worse, the last for someone I love. Rebuilding my life after loss has meant learning to find peace in uncertainty and to hold both hope and fear simultaneously. Some days, the unknown feels paralyzing, and other days it sharpens my attention and makes the ordinary sparkle. As I look toward a future of getting remarried, the joy is tinged with my awareness of tragedy. Yet that discomfort makes love, in all forms, feel even more urgent.

I’ll be honest, for me, neither time nor new relationships have healed my loss. The grief hasn’t softened into something easier to bear. The sadness has shifted as my life has changed, but I don’t miss Eli any less than the day he died. If anything, I miss him more, devastated by all that he has missed these last four years.

I now walk through my life seeing all its fragile edges, the delicate seams that could instantly unravel and swallow me whole. But walking the tightrope, hand in hand with dozens of others, including my exceptional fiancé, has made the balancing act not only bearable but also beautiful.

Becoming “married” again is not an act of erasure, as I sometimes fear; instead, it’s an homage to my widowhood. I now realize that choosing love, living in the present, and acknowledging the magnitude of uncertainty is the truest way to find Eli’s wandering spirit in every corner of my life.

I am beyond grateful to be getting married again. And I am beyond grateful to be a widow for the rest of my life.

• Sanary-sur-Mer, a small port town, is one of my favorite places on the French Riviera to visit.
• I love watching yachts bob in the harbor, and enjoying the beauty of the pastel buildings and shops.
• It feels authentically French but doesn’t seem particularly well known or too crowded.

Though millions of people visit the French Riviera each year, many travelers set their sights on famous spots like Nice, Cannes, Antibes, and Saint-Tropez.

But since moving to the Côte d’Azur a few months ago, I’ve discovered a few lesser-known but, in my opinion, much better spots to visit in the area.

One of my absolute favorites is a small coastal town called Sanary-sur-Mer. I’ve been a few times now and have been utterly charmed by it each time.

Sanary-sur-Mer is a lesser-known gem along France’s south coast.

Situated between Marseille and Toulon, Sanary-sur-Mer is a port town along the Mediterranean Sea with a population under 20,000.

Many locals I’ve spoken to where I live half an hour away have agreed that Sanary is considered the nicest place in the area.

Though it’s popular with the French, it’s seemingly not on many international tourists’ radars. It can get a bit overshadowed by popular nearby spots like Cannes and Saint-Tropez.

When my husband and I have visited Sanary-sur-Mer, I didn’t hear any language other than French spoken around me, which is rare to find in the south of France during the summer (and a far cry from a September Sunday in Antibes, where I could barely move among British, Irish, and American tourists).

It’s surrounded by beautiful blue waters.

The town is based around a wide, clean-looking harbor full of bobbing yachts and other boats.

There may not be as many superyachts as you’d find further up the coast, but there are still plenty of huge ones to admire and imagine floating around in.

Some of the smaller boats are even available for visitors to rent.

Whenever we visit, the area feels quiet and peaceful.

On one trip, we walked along the port and up to a charming lighthouse and were surprised by how quiet it was despite being a summer Saturday afternoon.

There were only a few other people and some children splashing in the nearby fountains. It was refreshing compared to the more touristy spots that are always heaving with crowds.

There are also lovely pedestrian areas.

Lined with cafés and restaurants, the waterfront is so clean I thought I was on a film set when we first visited.

My husband and I especially enjoy getting ice cream in one of the cafés on the wide esplanade — a wonderful place to sit and watch the world go by.

I’m also pleased to say that we’ve found many public toilets in the area that are actually free to use and in decent condition.

We love taking in the beautiful buildings and boutiques.

Narrow cobbled streets full of chic boutiques snake up from the harbor, dotted with tropical palm trees and pastel-colored buildings with blue and green shutters that offer traditional Provençal charm.

Sanary-sur-Mer is also packed full of little stores selling chic clothes and interesting homewares — I’ve treated myself to a plant pot in Maman & fiston and some linen trousers in Serendipity.

There aren’t big designer shops like you’d find in Cannes or Nice, but Sanary feels all the more authentic for it. The town is less fussy and certainly not pretentious at all.

I’ve already made a mental note to come back here before Christmastime.

The area is rich with history, too.

The “regular” buildings in Sanary-sur-Mer, like most of Provence, are beautiful, but one building that stood out to me was the cinema, Cinéma A.b.c.

Dating back decades, the building’s retro facade features striking and beautiful pastel colors. Although it has been updated to better function as a theater, its exterior has changed very little.

The town also has walking tours for visitors who want to learn more about the local history. For example, this coastal town was a refuge for German and Austrian authors and artists who fled Nazi Germany in the 1930s.

Little beaches offer perfect swimming opportunities.

You don’t have to go far out of Sanary to find large beaches, such as Plage de Portissol, a big white-sand one that curves around the coast.

I especially enjoy the areas with staircases right by the harbor. I don’t love getting sandy, so being able to go straight down some stairs from the rocks and into the clear blue water is my idea of heaven.

All in all, I already can’t wait for my next trip to Sanary-sur-Mer to experience more of it. I’d definitely recommend visiting if you want to authentically experience the south coast of France.

• I spent many years traveling the globe and have been to more than 70 countries.
• Experiences with wildlife and diverse cultures inspired have inspired my approach to parenting.
• Motherhood, like adventure travel, requires courage, adaptability, and a sense of wonder.

I’ve given baths to elephants in Nepal, played tug-o-war over pancakes with a monkey in Guatemala, and spent sleepless nights on roach-infested buses through Brazil.

I’ve been humbled, amazed, and tested on my travels, at times wishing I could just go home and other times feeling more alive and overjoyed than ever before — kind of like a day in the life of a mom. After all, if you are a mother, perhaps you, too, have bathed an unwieldy, toddler-sized elephant, tussled with tiny monkeys over pancakes, and had your share of brutal sleepless nights.

In my mind, moms and other dedicated caregivers are true adventure travelers, even if they barely leave their neighborhood. I should know. Over the last 27 years, I’ve traveled through more than 70 countries across five continents, and motherhood is the wildest, most wondrous adventure I’ve ever known.

I gained inspiration from gorillas

Before I had my daughter, I worked seasonal jobs in ski towns and national parks to save up for months-long backpacking trips all over the world. This itinerant life led me to a career as a writer and editor for national travel magazines.

Then, the once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a wild mountain gorilla mama and her twins in Rwanda’s Volcanoes National Park inspired me to want a different, deeply primal adventure — something that I couldn’t get to on a plane, bus, or train. Instead, I longed for the meaningful, internal exploration of life as a parent.

Good thing my husband, Mike, was also up for the trip.

There are overlaps between adventure travel and life with a baby

The first days after my daughter came home from the hospital, the experience of early motherhood felt familiar, but only because I’d been that bleary-eyed, overwhelmed, and at the same time absolutely enthralled before — in India. Riding an old-fashioned yellow taxi through Kolkata on our first day there had exposed me within minutes to more desperate poverty than I’d ever seen, but also more beauty, humanity, and the mind-blowing knowledge that this other, intense way of living went on every day, all the time, despite my ignorance of it. So goes life with a newborn.

As I navigated those first months of motherhood, I felt the same sense of adventure, fear, wonder, and excitement I had while traveling alone to the Mayan ruins in Mexico, whitewater rafting amid crocodiles in Zimbabwe, and climbing the cable ladder up Half Dome in Yosemite. It took the same kind of courage and tenacity to get through it as well.

But the fierce love I felt for my baby journeyed beyond any place in my heart I’d ever known.

My new travel partner helps me see life with fresh eyes

By the time my daughter was a toddler, I’d come to see her as my pint-sized travel partner, transforming everyday events into fresh adventures.

Hunts for ladybugs and snails were our safaris. Chats with the diverse crew of nannies and parents at a local park became intercultural exchanges. Trips to the zoo were rainforest hikes, filled with macaws and monkeys. Wherever we went, she helped me explore the world anew through her eyes.

Along the way, when things fell apart or I felt like a failure, I remembered how many times I felt the same way on my global journeys.

There is no way to get an “A” grade in motherhood, just as there is no way to ace traveling through a complex, unfamiliar place. You will get lost and make mistakes. You will also depend on the generosity of strangers and the friendship of fellow travelers or other parents traveling through their own wild, amazing, unmapped terrain. You can only do your best, guided by your own internal compass.

Now that my daughter is 12, it’s clear to me she already possesses a traveler’s mindset of courage, curiosity, flexibility, and kindness. Wherever life takes her, she’ll be ready for the adventure.

• I took 12 weeks of parental leave, and months after returning to work, my position was eliminated.
• It’s been almost a year, and I’m still looking for my next full-time role.
• I can’t afford childcare until I have a steady job, so I work from home as a freelancer.

It’s no secret that when you become a parent, a massive shift in identity occurs.

My whole world had changed, and no matter how much I had prepared for it, I could never truly understand until it happened. Suddenly, you can’t take a shower without announcing it.

When that identity shift for me came with a layoff, I had to reorder my entire life twice within a span of a few months.

I was laid off months after coming back to work

I gave birth, and 12 weeks later, I came back to work. A couple of months after my return, I was told my position would no longer be funded at the end of the year. I had three months’ notice to find work during the holiday season and an election, but wasn’t able to secure a new gig.

I celebrated the new year knowing that I had no idea what would come next. Still, I remained hopeful. It’s been almost a year, and I’m still searching for full-time employment.

For many people, jobs are just a means to pay the rent, which is a valid and healthy perspective on employment. But my parents are both people whose careers held a lot of personal meaning for them and made up part of their sense of identity, so I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I sought out work that gave me a sense of purpose as well.

I always saw myself as a working parent

When I envisioned myself as a parent, even before I had decided it was right for me, I saw myself as a working parent. There was never a part of that dream that allowed for a version of me that didn’t have the financial stability and identity that my work gave me. My mom always emphasized, as well as modeled, financial stability and independence for me, and so did other women in my life who parented their kids as single moms.

Work allowed me a clear way to see my contribution to the home. I made a higher income than my spouse. Finances were still tight, as they are for so many families, but I knew that even on a day when I didn’t do as much laundry as I planned, I still earned a paycheck to help us pay the rent and afford diapers.

Now I have to recalibrate my identity outside and as part of my relationship to my child. I can’t afford childcare again until I have full-time employment, and although I earn freelance payments, they’re not enough to cover the vast majority of our needs.

There’s value in my unpaid work, too

I choose to understand and value the unpaid work I do as a parent who is home with my toddler most days, even if society largely doesn’t, both financially and socially.

I can’t define myself by my smaller paychecks. When I show my child how to say certain words or encourage imaginative play, I’m doing something important for my family. My household labor is essentially 24/7 and allows my spouse to do their paid labor.

My days are packed with work as a stay-at-home parent, which I didn’t fully understand about stay-at-home parents’ days before I experienced them. The mental load of fulfilling and adapting to your child’s ever-changing needs, while managing housework, freelancing, and searching for full-time employment, is enormous.

My spouse is a very involved and loving dad, but the practical reality is that I’m the person our kid sees most, and certain responsibilities have fallen to me as a result. We care about resisting strict gender roles in our family, but circumstances have made it so that we have to work extra hard not to fall too deeply into them.

I have flexibility, but sometimes feel isolated

Then there is the fact of social isolation. I have to work even harder to find social interactions with adults outside my home. Occasionally, I reach out to parent groups, attend a library story time, or prioritize asking my mother-in-law to watch my toddler so I can get some time away to see friends or try to make new ones. It isn’t always enough, but it helps me keep a sense of self, and it gives my child other people, and sometimes kids, to develop strong bonds with, which is good for them.

Of course, my life isn’t all strain and struggle. I have more flexibility to take my toddler to the dentist and play fun games with them between naps. All of those things are magical experiences, and I know that whatever comes next, I’ll look back on this time and cherish the memories I shared with them while they were so young. However, I still want my child to know me as someone who loves them dearly but is also independent, with hobbies and a career, so that they understand that such a life is possible for them.

As a family, we will continue to find ways to see beauty and community in life, despite hardship, and value each other’s labor, whether paid or unpaid, and be empathetic toward one another. I also value the work of stay-at-home parents more than ever, and I wish I had understood the load they carry much sooner in life. These lessons will be valuable for me even when financial circumstances — hopefully — change.

• Netflix is known for canceling shows before their time, but some shows overstay their welcome.
• “House of Cards” started out critically acclaimed, but it quickly fell from grace.
• It took nearly 10 years to produce five seasons of “Stranger Things.”

Last year alone, Netflix canceled over 20 of its original titles, many of them before their time.

Still, it doesn’t mean Netflix isn’t capable of holding on to some of its originals for way too long.

Did “Fuller House” need to last for more than one season? No. Neither did “13 Reasons Why” nor “Insatiable.”

Keep scrolling to see which 11 Netflix Originals lasted longer than they should have.

While Claire Underwood deserved her chance at the top, “House of Cards” should have ended much earlier.

“House of Cards,” based on a British TV show of the same name, rightfully earned its critical and fan acclaim for the first two or three seasons.

However, between seasons five and six, Kevin Spacey, who played the diabolical Frank Underwood, was written out of “House of Cards” following multiple allegations of sexual misconduct from various people, including staffers on the set of the show.

In 2022, he was ordered to pay the show’s production company $31 million for his alleged behavior — the company argued his exit had cost them a large sum in lost profits. This was reduced to $1 million in 2024.

In a UK trial in 2023, Spacey was found not guilty of 12 sexual assault charges against him in relation to accusations brought by four other men.

But even before the accusations and before Underwood was rightfully killed off, the show was wearing thin. There is only so much backstabbing, murder, and political machinations one can take.

Though Claire (and Robin Wright) deserved to have her moment in the Oval Office, the season five finale in 2017 was more than enough to show she was officially taking the power back into her own hands.

“Orange Is the New Black” was, and is, an important show in terms of representation, but after the death of Poussey, it lost its heart.

“OITNB” began as one of Netflix’s first forays into prestige TV back in 2013, and it had a buzzy premise: It was based on a real memoir of Piper Kerman, who spent a year in a women’s prison.

“OITNB” was the first scripted show to really delve into the prison industrial complex inside a female prison, and made strides towards more trans representation on TV and more same-sex relationships on TV. It also helped educate viewers about what life was like inside a prison.

However, when Black people are disproportionately killed by the police in real life, it seemed almost cruel to viewers to show the murder of Poussey, a Black woman, by a white prison guard during a riot in season four. It also unfortunately played into the “Bury Your Gays” trope, since Poussey identified as a lesbian.

The first few seasons of “OITNB” should be required viewing, but seven seasons and 91 episodes were just too much.

And, while some got a “happy” ending, many other characters along the way suffered more injustices and tragedy, like Tiffany, Maritza, and Red.

With original comedies getting canceled after one or two seasons, there’s no reason “Fuller House” should have lasted five seasons.

We’ll admit, seeing the entire extended Tanner clan (give or take an Olsen twin) was really fun — for a season in 2016.

The awkwardness of Aunt Becky’s mysterious disappearance aside, it’s hard to justify keeping “Fuller House” on the air for five seasons when groundbreaking new content like “One Day at a Time,” “I Am Not Okay with This,” and “The Get Down” only got a season or two.

The story of “13 Reasons Why,” which was an adaptation of a novel, was over after the first season in 2017.

You might also call this “Big Little Lies” syndrome — that is, when what should have been a limited series based on a novel needlessly drags on the story.

The Jay Asher novel was the complete story of high school student Clay dealing with the trauma of his high school crush, Hannah Baker, dying by suicide.

However, the show, in addition to being graphic and problematic in its depiction of suicide and other sensitive subjects, dragged on the story for another three seasons, putting characters through an unbelievable amount of pain and suffering. Hannah didn’t stick around past season two, even though the show was ostensibly about her and Clay.

“The Ranch” lasted for 80 mediocre episodes from 2016 to 2020.

There was nothing actually wrong with “The Ranch” — at least not after Danny Masterson was written off — but it was just … boring.

The sitcom about a family living on a cattle ranch in Colorado seemed like it would have been more at home on CBS than Netflix, a platform that prides itself on pushing the limits of television.

As already stated, it’s hard to explain why this show gets four seasons and 80 episodes, when other, more original shows get half that.

Although “Making a Murderer” was a smash success, the second season was wholly unnecessary.

The first season of this true crime series (though at the time, we didn’t know there’d be a season two) was a phenomenon when it was released in 2015.

It was shot over 10 years, and focused on the case against Steven Avery, who first served 18 years in prison due to a wrongful conviction, but was then tried and convicted of a different crime (this time a murder) a few years after he was released. He’s currently serving a life sentence.

If the first season took 10 years to make, and there had been no significant updates on Avery’s case, how could a second season three years later be worth 10-plus hours investing in?

Spoiler: It wasn’t, as explained by Vanity Fair.

While “Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life” only got one season, many fans of the original wished it hadn’t happened at all.

“Gilmore Girls” lasted for seven seasons on network TV, though only six were under the stewardship of co-creators Amy Sherman-Palladino and Daniel Palladino. The last season is generally panned by fans, and the Palladinos maintain they’ve never seen it.

After the show’s end in 2007, Sherman-Palladino said she’s always known how the series would end, down to the last four words.

So, when Netflix announced they’d be reviving the show in 2016, fans were elated.

But when the four episodes dropped, fans were left disappointed and bewildered due to Rory’s apparent turn into an entitled brat who constantly forgot about her boyfriend and believed she deserved every journalism job out there.

They also weren’t happy about the lack of development and communication between Luke and Lorelai almost a decade into their relationship — and don’t even get us started on those infamous last four words.

Now, there are plenty of fans who wish “Gilmore Girls” had stayed in 2007.

“Insatiable” shouldn’t have made it to air, let alone to two seasons.

When the trailer for “Insatiable” dropped in 2018, it became abundantly clear that Netflix had miscalculated.

While the show thought it had achieved a black comedy “Heather”-esque tone, it was more mean than biting, more cringe-worthy than funny, and generally fat-phobic. It was surprising when it got renewed, but even just two seasons was more than enough from this crew.

The lackluster second season proved “Sex/Life” should’ve been one and done.

Was “Sex/Life” a good show? No, but when it premiered in 2021, it got people talking about what it’s like to balance motherhood with your own personal dreams and a healthy sex life.

It’s unfortunate, then, that it was promoted as what Business Insider’s Tamar Barbash called “a show about a horny, unsatisfied wife.“

It wasn’t surprising that it got renewed for a second season, but when season two dropped almost two years later to almost zero fanfare, it became clear that this could’ve been an interesting limited series that had an open-ended finale. 

Its April 2023 cancellation was almost a given.

“Emily in Paris” has been on so long that she’s not even in Paris anymore.

“Emily in Paris” dropped on Netflix in October 2020. We were all still stuck inside due to the pandemic, and it was fun to have something to all hate-watch together.

But here we are in 2025, and the cast is gearing up for the release of season five of this preposterous show about Emily (Lily Collins), a marketing savant, apparently, moving to Paris and systematically destroying the lives of those around her.

Now, Paris isn’t enough for her, because she moved to Rome at the end of season four. Please, hasn’t Italy been through enough?

We can only hope that season five will see Emily end her reign of terror and return to Chicago.

We’re never going to be mad about more “Stranger Things,” but we are mad it’s taken a decade to wrap up.

This is more of a calendar problem than a content problem. When this show started, the kids were real pre-teens. But just four seasons — and a whopping nine years — later, these kids are adults. As in, “Millie Bobby Brown is a wife and mother” adults.

What we mean is: Why did it take nine years to tell a five-season story?