My kitchen floor was a disaster zone of neon green frosting and sticky juice box rings last Saturday afternoon. I stood there, clutching a half-melted lighter, staring at the cake I’d spent three hours “distressing” to look like a watermelon. My youngest, Leo, who just turned four, was currently vibrating with excitement because he’d spotted…
My living room currently smells like a mix of damp cedar shavings and expensive Portland roast coffee, which is exactly what happens when you decide that a 40th birthday “Barnyard Bash” for your husband is a great idea in the middle of a rainy October. It was October 14, 2025, and I was knee-deep in…
My dog, Barnaby, was wearing a tiny red bandana while fifteen toddlers screamed at Zilker Park last March. It was my son Leo’s second birthday, and I had decided, in my infinite Austin-mom wisdom, that a pirate theme was the only way to go. The heat was already hitting eighty degrees, and I was sweating…
My kitchen island in Atlanta looked like a botanical garden had exploded inside a glitter factory on the morning of April 12, 2024. There I was, a grown man with a singular mission: I had to figure out how to make daisy cone hats for adults that didn’t look like they were meant for a…
My son Leo turned one on April 12, 2024, and my bank account looked like the Denver Broncos scoreboard after a particularly rough Sunday. I wanted that classic, bright, primary-colored aesthetic, but I refused to drop four hundred dollars on plastic bricks and specialized catering. I am Alex, the guy who spends Friday nights reading…
My son Leo turned ten on June 14, 2025, and he decided he wanted a “mountain man” expedition in our Denver backyard. I spent three weeks obsessing over the safety certifications of every single item we used, much to my wife’s amusement. Twenty-one ten-year-olds in a confined space with flashlights and sugar is a recipe…
My kitchen counter looked like a tropical rainforest had exploded on it by 6:00 AM last Saturday, and honestly, I wasn’t even mad about it. Leo just turned eleven—how is that even possible?—and he decided a “hardcore jungle” theme was the only way to go for his big celebration at Laurelhurst Park. I was staring…
My oldest daughter Maya turned eleven last month, and instead of asking for a Taylor Swift listening session or a trendy skincare haul, she demanded something completely unhinged. She wanted an ironic, slightly chaotic tribute to a bossy British animated pig. Pulling off a budget peppa pig party for 11 year old girls and their…
My kitchen floor in Rogers Park was a sticky mosaic of neon pink frosting and crushed potato chips on the evening of March 12, 2024. My twins, Leo and Maya, had just successfully survived their sixth birthday party, and miraculously, so had I. I managed to host 14 energetic first-graders for exactly $72, a feat…
Seven-year-olds are basically caffeinated squirrels in jerseys. Last March 14, 2025, my son Leo turned seven, and my backyard in Austin looked like a chaotic tryout for the Spurs. We had 17 kids screaming, a Golden Retriever named Barnaby trying to eat the streamers, and a Texas sun that refused to quit. I thought I…
