Since last spring, we’ve been on quite the KonMari kick in our household. Well, to be more accurate, my husband has been on quite the KonMari kick, and when he’s on a kick, it’s best to just go with it. For those of you not familiar with KonMari, it’s shorthand for a method of decluttering–and then organizing–your belongings, as described
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A week ago Saturday, my husband, son, and I came home to something no family ever wants to see: The window to our backdoor smashed in. Couch cushions tossed around the living room. Bags dumped out on the floor. Every cabinet, drawer, and closet open and ransacked. While we were at a baseball game that evening, someone–three someones, we came
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I’ll never forget the first time I got a truly negative, punch-in-the-gut comment on a parenting article I wrote. “I feel really sorry for your son.” Other writers who share their parenting experiences online have gotten much worse than that, but…dang. The internet can be a rough place for parents. That constant influx of information and opinions (and, with those,
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I’ve had a heavy heart the last few days. I’m really, really missing my baby. You see, somehow my baby has turned into a kid. I’m sure it was a gradual change, but it’s hit me very suddenly. It feels like I put him to bed one night as a chubby, babbling toddler, and he woke up the next morning
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Parenting a young child is very much about “firsts.” First smiles, first laughs, first steps, first words, first day of school—all wonderful and important moments in your little one’s life. I love those big milestones as much as anyone. Hey, take one glance at my Instagram and you’ll see that I document the hell out of them. But watching our
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Last month was kind of weird for our family. Work schedules, after school activities, evening commitments, and multiple bouts of a stomach “situation” left my husband, our son, and me like three ships passing in the night—always two here and one there, just with varying iterations. Within that window of time, I wasn’t home or available as often as I
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As I write this my husband and I are staring at the reality of spending a sixth day snowed in with our seven-year-old son. Yes, sixth. As in one, two, three, four, five, and six. Our part of the country got hammered by Winter Storm Jonas, and we’re probably looking at a few more house-bound days while our southern city’s
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Oh hello there, 2016. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. If you’re like me, you’re probably still trying to wrap your head around the fact that we just finished out another year. I keep thinking “2016? As in 16 years after all that Y2K hubbub that I still remember so clearly? How did I get here?” If I’m
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When my youngest cousin was little,* he called me Ballerina. My name is Valerie, and that initial V sound can be tricky for some really young kids. So, you know, Balerie…Ballerina–it was a logical jump for a toddler to make. I spent the summer after my junior year of college working as a nanny for a little boy** who was
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I’m currently working through what (I hope) are the final days of a nasty case of bronchitis. I spent five of the last seven days with a seal-like cough, a dull headache, and a fever hovering right around 102, Tylenol be damned. Save a case of the flu and a brief but memorable visit from the Norovirus last year, this
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