Maya’s face was a masterpiece of white flour and pink icing by 2:15 PM on April 12, 2024. I stood in my tiny Logan Square kitchen, looking at seventeen six-year-olds who were supposed to be “learning the art of the cupcake.” Instead, they were mostly learning how to launch sprinkles across the room like tiny…
My husband, Greg, turned forty last April, and I honestly thought we’d just do a nice dinner out, but then the kids got involved. Leo, who is eleven and suddenly an expert on everything, and Mia, our seven-year-old, decided Dad needed a “Turbo 40” party because apparently, forty is just the age where you stop…
Seventeen eight-year-olds screaming in a basement on a rainy Saturday in Chicago is exactly as loud as you think. My twins, Leo and Sam, decided that their eighth birthday had to be “pure Mario” or nothing at all. I looked at my bank account, then at the prices for officially licensed Nintendo party favors, and…
My kitchen table looked like a glittery blue crime scene last June 14th. Aria and Leo, my seven-year-old twins, were vibrating with that specific brand of birthday energy that usually ends in a spilled juice box or a meltdown. I had exactly $60 left in my monthly “fun” envelope to throw a bash for 16…
Walking into our living room on April 12, 2026, I stepped on a tiny pink paper tutu and almost did an unintentional split that my daughter, Sophie, would have found technically deficient. Sophie turned 11 this year. We hosted 19 of her closest friends from the Denver School of the Arts for a celebration that…
Walking through Zilker Park on October 14, 2025, I realized that Austin wind is the ultimate enemy of a perfectly planned aesthetic. My son Leo was turning eleven, and he had his heart set on a “Vintage Boardwalk” theme, which basically meant I spent three weeks sourcing the exact shade of mustard yellow for the…
My living room in Austin looked like a multiverse disaster zone on August 14, 2024. Red and blue streamers tangled with my dog Barkley’s fur while I frantically hot-glued felt spiders onto wooden dowels. My nephew Leo was turning nine. He didn’t just want a cake; he wanted to “be” Peter Parker. I had exactly…
Last Tuesday, I found myself sitting on my kitchen floor in suburban Portland, surrounded by three hundred tiny plastic stars and a very confused golden retriever. My youngest, Leo, is turning four next month, and he’s currently convinced he’s an astronaut named “Commander Crunch.” Naturally, I’ve been hunting for the perfect space party party favors…
The smoke alarm in my Denver kitchen has a very specific, high-pitched scream that I only hear when I’ve messed up a birthday cake. It happened on April 12, 2025, while I was prepping for my son Leo’s 9th birthday bash. I had 11 hungry boys arriving in three hours, and my first attempt at…
Snow was piling up against my kitchen window on February 12th, exactly four days before Leo and Maya’s seventh birthday. I sat at my laminate table with a cold cup of coffee and a crumpled receipt from the Dollar Tree on Western Avenue. Nineteen kids were coming to our two-bedroom apartment in Chicago. Nineteen. My…
