Last year, on the night of December 25, I put my kids to bed and collapsed on the couch. 

All I could think was, WHEW. It’s over. Thank goodness.

I remember feeling quite the opposite when I was a child. The end of the much-anticipated holiday was a major letdown; I couldn’t believe I had to wait 365 days to experience it all again. 

What happened to me, I wondered, that the end of the Christmas season now sparks relief rather than disappointment?

Oh, that’s right, I became a parent.

It’s true that having little kids makes the holidays more complicated—and sometimes more frustrating and stressful too. But small children are also amazing reminders of the magic, joy, and wonder of Christmas.

So this year I’m taking a different approach to make sure my family actually gets to enjoy all that magic and joy and wonder. I’m starting with these 16 serious sanity-savers. More →

It all started innocently enough. My 5-year-old said he wanted to make hearts for his grandparents for Grandparents Day, and wouldn’t it be cool if they could be all glittery???

Most days I’d be hesitant about that idea, but for some reason that day I immediately exclaimed, “Sure, let’s get out all the glitter!” 

My first mistake, perhaps? 

Making the art

So we cut out the hearts, retrieved some bottles of glue, and lined up eight different vials of glitter. My son got to work drawing various designs on the hearts with marker—shapes and spirals and even a bird for his Gigi’s heart—which we then accented with lines of glitter.

My son is to the point where he can pour the glitter carefully, without turning the whole kitchen into a sparkly princess castle, but I sat by and assisted him anyway just in case. I had a long list of to-dos and mopping fairy dust off my table wasn’t about to be one of them.

The project was going well for awhile. But then, the clock began to tick. More →

Last week, after I vocally mourned the end of summer for the fifty-seventh time, my son chimed in that he actually loves fall and is really excited that it’s finally here.

“We get to jump in the leaves at Nana’s house!” he cheered. “And pick out our Halloween costumes! And go to the fair!”

Leave it to our kids to find the silver linings, right? Gotta love those little optimists!

So before I complain again that the lazy days of summer have come to a close, I’m going to check myself and remember all the fun that autumn brings.

To help, I’m printing out this adorable calendar with 30 Days of Fall Activities. More →

Dear son,

Can we talk about that pink bathing suit you wore all summer long? 

You see, you’re five years old now, which means you’re honing in on your unique likes and dislikes. We’ve started letting you choose your own clothes to make space for your self expression to flourish.

This summer you chose a pink bathing suit.

Pink rash guard. 

Pink swim trunks.

Head to toe pink.

I wasn’t surprised when you picked it out. Like many kids, your favorite color has been variable, sometimes week to week, sometimes minute to minute. But the one color you’ve consistently loved since toddlerhood? PINK.

Not coral.

Not salmon.

PINK. More →

Because I’m a creature of habit, I got up at 6am every morning on our recent vacation to go for a walk.

What can I say, I’m a morning person. 

After the first day, however, my walks morphed into something much more than thirty minutes of exercise. They became focused, targeted, voracious hunts for…seashells.

You see, we were vacationing at the beach, and on the very first day my 4-year-old developed an intense obsession with collecting seashells. He’s always been one to go all in, and this was no exception.

Do you want to build a sandcastle? Nah.

Swim in the ocean? No thanks.

Look for seashells? LET’S GO, LET’S GO, LET’S GO!

His enthusiasm was contagious. On my early morning strolls I couldn’t stop myself from searching for a few to take back to the beach house for him. I splashed through the lapping waves and grabbed shells out of the surf—tossing the broken ones back as I sought out a coveted “keeper.” 

I found some impressive ones. Or so I thought.

When I brought these two back for him, I expected oooooohhhhs and ahhhhhhhhhs. I expected eyes widened with excitement, a smile broad with gratitude. 

Instead, I got a shrug. A measly shrug.  More →

I could tell you that I didn’t hear my husband come in the door, but that would be a lie.

The truth is that I did hear him fiddle with his keys, then pick up his computer bag with one hand and gym bag with the other, ultimately shoving the door open with his elbow.

I did hear it, though it would be understandable if I didn’t—what with the thunderous crashing of my preschooler’s Disney cars as they raced across our dining room floor, not to mention my toddler screaming “Mommy hold me!” on repeat as she clung to my leg while I seasoned the chicken breasts for dinner.

Even with all that noise and chaos, I did hear my husband come home from work. I heard him loud and clear.

But I did not budge from my spot at the stove. I did not turn my body or even just my head. I didn’t say a word either.

I simply pretended I hadn’t heard him come in.

Here’s the really crazy part of the story

It sounds like a passive aggressive move, doesn’t it? A really mean, manipulative thing to do. Is pretending not to hear our husbands walk in the door a regular thing wives do when our husbands are in big, big trouble?

If so, here’s the crazy part: There was no trouble. I wasn’t angry at him in the least; indeed, I was HAPPY that he was home. Inside I felt a surge of joy—joy mixed with relief that my solo parenting was over for the day.

So why did I not acknowledge his presence?  More →

I’m sitting cross-legged on the grass in the middle of our half-acre backyard. There isn’t a foot of shade to be found, so I’m letting the sun beat down on me as I shield my eyes to watch my two kids run around our play set. 

Suddenly my two-year-old is barreling toward me, then she’s collapsing into the tiny spot between my crossed ankles. She’s all sweat and dirt and giggles.

I forget that we’re both sticky and gross in this summer heat and just wrap my arms around her little toddler body. My hands find a resting spot on her fleshy thighs, and I give them a loving squeeze. I inhale deeply and try to memorize the moment, but in an instant she’s up again and running across the yard and back to the play set. All I’m left with is the echo of her happy squeals, but I remain hyper-aware of the way her legs felt pressed up against my thumbs and forefingers. More →

Do you know how some people are just amazing gift givers?

I have one particular friend who always blows me away with her birthday and holiday gifts. They are always simple—never extravagant—and yet obviously chosen with such thoughtfulness and kindness.

And they are always so me. I am reminded again and again that she understands me in a way that others do not just be looking at the small tokens of our friendship she picks out for me.

She’s basically the Jack Donaghy of gift givers.

I, on the other hand, am not. When choosing a present for someone, I struggle and agonize and google gift lists all day long.

The only thing tougher than choosing a gift for someone else? Giving one to myself. More →