My kitchen table in Austin currently looks like a pirate ship exploded on it, and honestly, I am not even mad about it. My nephew Leo turned 11 on March 14, 2025, and since I am the “cool aunt” who lives for a theme, I took over the supply run. Finding pirate birthday birthday hats…
Austin is loud. Between the constant construction on I-35 and the live music drifting off 6th Street, my ears are usually ringing, but nothing prepared me for the deafening roar of fifteen grown men cheering at a tiny TV screen during my husband Leo’s 40th birthday bash last March. I decided that if I was…
Houston humidity is the natural enemy of a preschooler’s birthday party, especially when you have twenty-two four-year-olds buzzing on juice boxes and anticipation in a cramped living room on a Saturday afternoon. Last March 12, I found myself staring down a sea of red and blue polyester while trying to keep my sanity intact. My…
The yellow caution tape was whipping against the fence like a frantic snake while I tried to keep sixteen sugar-charged six-year-olds from dismantling my deck on April 12, 2025. My son Leo’s 6th birthday was in full swing here in Denver, and the wind was not cooperating. I had spent three hours the night before…
My classroom floor looked like a unicorn had a very messy lunch, and honestly, I didn’t even mind. It was Friday, April 12, 2024, and the Houston humidity was already at “swamp level” by 10:00 AM. I had 17 ten-year-olds vibrating with the kind of energy only a sugar-heavy rainbow party can provide. We were…
I stood in my kitchen on March 14, 2024, surrounded by enough pink tulle to clothe a small army of flamingos. My daughter, Chloe, turned seven, and her Houston dance troupe expected something spectacular after their spring recital. I had exactly three hours before the humidity hit 90 percent and melted my sanity. The goal?…
Zilker Park was a shimmering heat mirage on April 5th, 2024, when my nephew Leo turned eight and decided his entire personality was now centered on catching ’em all. I stood there, sweat dripping down my neck, clutching a bag of yellow balloons and wondering if my Austin apartment would ever smell like anything other…
My basement currently looks like a shipwrecked vessel in the middle of a Denver blizzard, which is exactly what happens when you let sixteen eight-year-olds loose with cardboard swords and a quest for hidden treasure. On April 12, 2025, my son Leo turned eight, and as the designated “Safety Dad” of our neighborhood, finding the…
Maya’s 7th birthday was a rainy Saturday in Portland last month, March 14, and I honestly thought I had everything under control until the buttercream started weeping. I was standing in my kitchen in Beaverton, surrounded by three caffeinated kids and a dog that had just eaten a pink ribbon, trying to figure out why…
Last October, my living room smelled like damp hay and pure adrenaline because my youngest son, Leo, was turning three. I thought I could handle eighteen toddlers in a suburban Houston backyard. I was wrong about the hay—it triggered my neighbor’s allergies within twenty minutes—but I was exactly right about the theme. Finding a farm…
