I share simple tips and tricks to make everyday parenting a little easier. Follow and subscribe for helpful content!
Real, tested strategies (and a few honest failures) for getting kids to listen without yelling — from a parent of two, not a script. My son Theo is seven, and there was a solid stretch last winter where I said “put your shoes on” so many times before school that I started saying it in
20 real, practical self-esteem activities for teen girls that build genuine confidence — no vague platitudes, just things that actually work. My daughter came home from ninth grade last spring, dropped her backpack in the hallway like it weighed two hundred pounds, and said, “I hate how I look in every single photo from today.”
My daughter Maya and I do our best talking in that stretch of car ride between the pool and home — her hair still dripping, chlorine smell filling up the whole back seat, radio off because she asked me to turn it off. I’ve never figured out why the car works better than the kitchen
Last Tuesday my four-year-old spent eleven minutes trying to zip her own jacket. I know it was eleven minutes because I was standing there watching the clock on the microwave, willing myself not to reach over and do it for her. We were already going to be late for preschool. She got the zipper stuck
There’s a very specific kind of panic that hits at 3 a.m. when your baby is rooting around at your chest like you’ve personally betrayed them, and you’re doing math in your head — when did she last eat, how long was that side, was that even a real feed or just comfort sucking. I
Two in the morning, baby on my hip, and I was crying almost as hard as she was — because I could not, for the life of me, understand how something everyone kept calling “natural” was making me bleed. Nobody warns you about this part. Not the nurse who hands you home from the hospital
It’s 4:15 on a Tuesday. My son has asked for “the egg video” four times in the last ten minutes, and I’ve said no four times, and somewhere around the fifth ask my hand actually moved toward my back pocket before my brain caught up with it. That’s the moment that got me — not
It’s 4:47 on a Tuesday, dinner hasn’t started, and my son is standing in front of the TV asking for “one more Bluey” for the third time in an hour. I know the show isn’t hurting him. But I also know that if I say yes again, I’m going to feel weirdly guilty about it
My first pump was a hand-me-down from my sister, and I remember sitting on the edge of my bed at 2 a.m. with the manual open on my phone, trying to figure out which flange size I even needed, while doing frantic math about how many ounces I’d need to leave for daycare in six
My son was seven weeks old the first time he looked at a bottle like it had personally wronged him. My mother-in-law was visiting, she’d offered to take a shift so I could shower for longer than ninety seconds, and I came downstairs to find her pacing the living room with a screaming baby and
