My mother is forever retelling a story of her endless sartorial regret one Sunday morning as my pastor lifted my 2-year-old self up for a hug to find that I was wearing approximately zero garments under my vacuous tulle skirt. (It would be a few years before she would buckle again under my insistence that
Last week, a girlfriend sent over a link to this illustration, and it hasn’t fully left my mind since. I’ve always been a firm believer in raising a child with character over compliance, someone who isn’t afraid to buck the system in a thoughtful, kind manner. So of course the idea of children’s agency hits
You know that thing you’ve been wanting to do? Climb Mt. Everest? Clean out your attic? Tailor those pants? Launch that project? Volunteer at the food shelter? I think you should do it this summer. (I know, I know. The kids are home. You’ve got that road trip planned. Work’s insane right now. The calendar’s
Something thoughtful for the week ahead. — Marie Howe, “Hurry” We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store and the gas station and the green market and Hurry up honey, I say, hurry, as she runs along two or three steps behind me her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down. Where
There’s an oft-referenced marketing rule that, to encourage impulse purchases in consumers, desirable products should be neatly organized at eye level, preferably as an end cap. Make it eye-catching, make it obvious. Make it impossible to ignore. And this is why I’ve stopped placing my phone on our kitchen counter. It was eye-catching. It was
My friend Jeanie is an expert in parenting strategy, having studied child psychology in grad school and learning a thing or two from her own six(!) vibrant, boisterous kids. I’d long admired how she manages to set high expectations for her kids without constant nagging, bribes or ultimatums, and a few years ago, she spilled
Confession: I haven’t been a podcast listener for long. I’m not much of a multi-tasker, so the idea of following along with a conversation while trying desperately not to burn dinner sounded like too much for me. But then. Ken and I have fallen into this odd little child-rearing rhythm as of late where I’ll
It’s inevitable. You run into your mother’s neighbors’ aunt at a dinner party and you know each other, but you don’t know know each other, so you fumble into stilted small talk until someone politely excuses themselves to hit the ladies’ room, or refill a drink. It’s enough to make you want to avoid the