March 12, 2024, was the day I realized that hot glue and cheap plastic have a very toxic relationship. I was sitting on my kitchen floor in Atlanta, surrounded by 24 red plastic cups and a bag of miniature plastic cowboy boots I’d bought for $15 at a craft store. My son Leo was turning…
Glitter is currently embedded in my living room rug, and I suspect it will remain there until the house is eventually demolished. Last March 12, 2024, I hosted what my neighbors now refer to as the “Unicorn Stampede” for my daughter Maya’s third birthday. Twenty-one toddlers descended upon my backyard, fueled by organic juice boxes…
Living in Chicago means you get used to the gray. By March 12, 2024, I was staring at the slush on Wicker Park Avenue and realized my twins, Leo and Maya, were turning seven in exactly four days. Maya wanted a tea party. Leo wanted to wear a crown. My bank account, however, wanted me…
My living room floor was a disaster zone of neon streamers and half-eaten breakfast tacos last June. It was June 14, 2025, and my niece Maya was turning seven. In Austin, the humidity hits about 90% by noon, so hosting thirteen screaming kids outside was a death wish. We stayed inside. I had exactly three…
My kitchen floor in Rogers Park still has a single blue foil spider hiding in the grout from last March. It is a tiny, shiny reminder of the day my twins, Leo and Jax, turned nine and nearly brought down the ceiling with excitement. People think you need a suburban mansion and a five-hundred-dollar catering…
Zilker Park was absolute chaos last Saturday afternoon, mostly because I decided to host thirteen rowdy boys for my nephew Liam’s big double-digit birthday. Austin heat is no joke in October, and let me tell you, trying to keep an eye on a dozen ten-year-olds while balancing a “shipwreck” cake that was actively melting is…
Last April 12th, my garage looked like a shipwreck. My son Leo was turning 8, and he decided his birthday theme needed to be “Deep Sea Explorer,” which sounds cool until you realize you have to build fourteen tables’ worth of decor that won’t leak or poison the guests. I spent exactly $72 on materials…
Twenty-two third-graders humming a high-pitched ocean anthem in a humid Houston classroom is a specific kind of auditory torture that only a tenured teacher can survive without a sedative. I stood there on October 14, 2024, clutching a plastic lighter that refused to spark while Caleb, the birthday boy, stared at me with the intense…
Twenty-two nine-year-olds staring at you while holding plastic forks is a level of pressure most people only experience in nightmares involving public speaking or being chased by a bear. Last Tuesday, I stood in the middle of my Houston classroom, the humidity thick enough to melt a crayon, trying to pull off a budget dinosaur…
My tiny Chicago apartment looked like a Pepto-Bismol bottle exploded by 9:00 AM on March 12, 2024. It was the twins’ fifth birthday, and Maya and Sofia had been chanting the word pink since they woke up at dawn. I had exactly $91 to turn our living room into a dream world for 20 energetic…
