Leo’s face was a masterpiece of blue frosting and tiny, shimmering Marshall heads when I realized my mistake. It was April 12, 2025, and Denver’s afternoon wind had just turned our backyard into a swirling vortex of cardstock puppies. I stood there, a 38-year-old man holding a half-empty juice box, watching a paw patrol party…
My classroom smelled like a mixture of unwashed gym socks and fermented apple juice last Friday. Twenty-two first graders had just finished a sugar-fueled “Harvest Festival,” and I was left standing in the middle of a pile of shredded orange crepe paper. Every year, I swear I will stop hosting these elaborate shindigs on a…
Pam texted me on a Wednesday. “Mini Olympics,” it said. “For Maisies birthday. I need your brain.” No further context. Thats how Pam operates. Maisie was turning 6. Twelve kids. April. Cincinnati backyard. And Pam had apparently decided that what twelve six-year-olds needed was an actual competitive athletic event. I said yes because I always…
My living room smelled like sugar and wet dog because Portland rain never quits, and I was knee-deep in iridescent fringe. Mia turned nine on March 12, 2025, and she demanded “maximum sparkle with maximum sound.” Finding the right unicorn noise makers for kids became my entire personality for three weeks because a group of…
The Austin sun was already beating down on March 12, 2024, when I realized I had exactly two hours to turn my backyard into a pixelated wonderland for my nephew Leo’s third birthday. My golden retriever, Barnaby, was currently trying to eat a stack of green napkins, and I was sweating through my favorite “Dog…
March 12, 2024, was the day my classroom at Piney Woods Elementary finally looked like the high-tech laboratory I had promised my twenty-two fifth graders. Houston humidity usually ruins everything made of paper, but that Tuesday was different because I had a secret weapon that didn’t wilt. It was silver. It was shiny. My students…
March 12, 2025. 2:14 PM. The Denver sun was blinding through our kitchen window, casting a spotlight on the carnage. My four-year-old son, Leo, stood frozen like a statue. A red sea of fruit punch was currently colonizing the white grout of our tile floor. He had squeezed his “festive” striped paper cup just a…
My floor still sparkles with tiny, sugar-shaped paper circles from last Tuesday’s sprinkles-themed blowout for my son, Leo, who just turned four on March 24th. I spent three hours scouring the web for donut confetti for adults because the parents deserve a bit of whimsy too while they’re corralling nineteen toddlers hopped up on yeast…
Twenty-two third graders and one very tired teacher stood in the middle of my Houston classroom on March 12, 2024. The humidity outside was pushing 90 percent, but inside, we were pretending to be in a sub-zero blizzard. I had spent three weeks planning this “Ice-Stravaganza” to celebrate the end of our weather unit. My…
My living room looked like a florist shop exploded last Tuesday. I was knee-deep in pink tissue paper, jagged stems, and tiny wooden shovels. Maya turned two on March 12, 2026, and the Denver wind was howling outside our brick bungalow. Planning a toddler party is basically high-stakes logistics mixed with a heavy dose of…
