My living room smelled like a mixture of sweaty socks and cherry-flavored fruit punch on October 12th, 2024, but I didn’t care one bit because I had finally mastered the art of the DIY dojo. My middle child, Leo, turned seven and decided that his entire personality was now defined by a stiff yellow belt…
My Austin living room currently smells like a mix of sugar cookies and mild desperation because I just survived hosting thirteen six-year-olds for my daughter Chloe’s birthday last Saturday, April 12th. If you have a child between the ages of three and seven, you already know that Gabby’s Dollhouse isn’t just a show; it is…
I was knee-deep in pink tulle and lukewarm coffee last Tuesday night when it hit me. My living room looked like a unicorn had exploded. My 4-year-old, Lily, had decided that her upcoming “Royal Garden Gala” needed exactly one hundred and twelve butterflies. We live in suburban Portland. It was raining sideways outside. Again. I…
My kitchen floor is currently a sticky mosaic of blue Gatorade and silver star confetti. It is 8:15 PM on a Tuesday, and I am staring at a pile of discarded felt masks while trying to scrape dried cake batter off the ceiling. This is the reality of my life in suburban Portland with three…
My kitchen counter looked like a banana bomb exploded on it by 7:00 AM on April 12, 2024. Leo was screaming because he wanted to eat the decorative fruit, Maya was trying to use a yellow tablecloth as a cape, and I was frantically glue-gunning felt ears onto a headband. This was the morning of…
The humidity in Houston on April 20, 2025, was enough to curl my hair into a bird’s nest, and I had twenty-four fifth graders vibrating with sugar-high energy in Room 402. We were celebrating the end of state testing with a “Wayfinder’s Luau,” and I had spent $142 of my own money on decorations because,…
My classroom smelled like damp hay and pure chaos on the afternoon of March 14, 2025. Twenty-four fourth graders were buzzing because we were celebrating our “Read Across the Farm” victory, and I had promised them a full barnyard transformation. I stood there with a lukewarm coffee in one hand and a roll of masking…
Twenty-two twelve-year-olds screaming in a cavernous Chicago park district gym is a specific kind of sensory overload. The Broadway Armory smells like old floor wax and sweat, but on March 14, 2026, it smelled like victory because I managed to pull off my twins’ big day for under fifty bucks for the venue. My daughter…
Glitter is the herpes of the craft world. I’ve been teaching second grade in Houston for twelve years, and my classroom floor still has a shimmering pink residue from the “Barbie Dreamhouse Blowout” I hosted on February 14, 2025. Twenty-four seven-year-olds in one room is a recipe for disaster. Add sugar and accessories, and you’re…
My niece Chloe has a very specific kind of scream that she reserves for things she loves, and on March 12, 2025, that high-pitched siren was directed entirely at a grainy photo of a Sanrio character on my phone. We were sitting on my living room floor in Austin, surrounded by my golden retriever Barnaby…
