The summer before Leo turned twelve, I made the rookie mistake of thinking he’d “naturally” put down his tablet once the weather got nice. He didn’t. He sat on the back porch in glorious June sunshine, headphones on, neck bent at a forty-five degree angle, watching YouTube videos about other kids playing outside. I wish … Read more
My youngest, Leo, once spent forty-five minutes trying to “wash” a smooth river stone with nothing but a puddle and a handful of dead grass. At the time, I was checking my watch every three minutes, thinking about the mountain of laundry sitting in the hallway and the fact that Sarah had a soccer game … Read more
The day Maya decided her afternoon nap was a relic of her “baby days” was the day I realized my afternoon coffee was no longer a luxury—it was a survival requirement. I remember standing in the hallway, watching her bounce a rubber ball against the baseboards while Sarah and Leo finally slept, and feeling that … Read more
When Sarah, Maya, and Leo were little, my living room looked less like a home and more like a plastic graveyard. I remember one rainy Tuesday afternoon, tripping over a neon-purple block while balancing a colander of spaghetti. In that moment of sheer frustration, I realized that while their toy chests were overflowing, they were … Read more
The summer my oldest, Sarah, turned twelve, I realized we were losing the battle to the “blue light glow.” Every time I turned around, my three kids were hunched over like little question marks, thumbs scrolling through nothingness. I felt like a failure. I was the “gentle parent,” yet I found myself wanting to hurl … Read more
I still remember a road trip we took when my youngest was three. We had snacks, juice boxes, a carefully packed bag of toys… and still, somewhere around the 45-minute mark, he looked at me and said, “Are we there yet?” on repeat like a broken record. If I could go back and tell my … Read more