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Twenty-two second-graders breathing down my neck every weekday has made me a bit of a logistics hawk. When my youngest, Maya, turned four on March 12, 2024, I figured I could handle her birthday like a pro. I was wrong. I spent three hours in my Houston backyard trying to hot-glue neon pink tulle to…
The wind off Lake Michigan was howling on the morning of March 14, 2025, and I was hunched over a recycled refrigerator box in our tiny Logan Square kitchen. My twins, Sam and Leo, were officially turning three, and I had exactly sixty-four dollars in my pocket to make them feel like they were walking…
My living room in Buckhead currently smells like stale apple juice and deep desperation. Last Saturday, I hosted my son Leo’s second birthday party in our backyard. I was absolutely convinced I could outsmart the sheer chaos of fourteen toddlers simply by over-preparing my patio space. I was wrong. Between scraping crushed generic graham crackers…
My son Leo turned nine on June 14, 2025, and the heat in Denver was absolutely punishing that afternoon. We had twenty-one kids running around our backyard, all buzzing with enough sugar to power a small city. I stood there, clutching a lukewarm soda, realizing that my meticulously planned “Hall of Justice” was currently being…
My living room looked like a glitter bomb hit a tuxedo shop last March. Aria and Leo, my twins, were turning six, and they’d decided—with the stubbornness only a kindergartner possesses—that their party had to be “fancy.” Fancy in Chicago speak apparently means gold everything. I had fifty bucks in my pocket and a guest…
My classroom rug in Houston has seen things that would make a seasoned detective weep. Last Tuesday, specifically March 12, 2024, I found a half-eaten chicken nugget glued to the underside of a desk with what looked like neon green frosting. We were celebrating Leo’s 7th birthday—bless his heart, he’s a “runner”—and I had twenty-two…
My living room in Denver looked like a glitter bomb had detonated in a pink paint factory last March 12, 2025. Lila turned four. That age is a whirlwind of intense demands and very specific aesthetic requirements. She didn’t just want a party; she wanted a royal coronation with a high-stakes sugar finale. I spent…
Sweat dripped down my forehead as I wrestled with a rogue piece of tape in the 98-degree Austin humidity last June. My niece, Maya, was turning seven, and she had very specific demands for her “Voyager” bash. Specifically, the table had to look like the ocean. I thought I had it all figured out with…
Glitter is the permanent herpes of the craft world, and after twenty-two second-graders finished their DIY Pikachu ears last Tuesday, my Houston classroom looked like a disco ball had suffered a catastrophic engine failure. I have spent fifteen years in the trenches of the Houston Independent School District, and if there is one thing I…
