Fry, Party of Five is back – older, moodier, and with more eye rolls than ever. But don’t worry, this isn’t a comeback tour with glittery graphics, Pinterest-perfect photo ops, or sponsored cereal reviews. Nope. This time around, it’s just me— Angela —writing straight from the trenches of tween parenting, heart first, filters off.
If you were around back when Fry, Party of Five was last up and running—when the kids were in that wild 6-to-9ish-year-old stretch, all loose teeth, LEGO landmines, and backseat bickering—welcome back. The chaos hasn’t gone anywhere; it’s just evolved. These days, we’ve swapped bedtime battles for sarcasm, tween drama, and the mysterious disappearance of forks.
This blog won’t come with a social media strategy or curated Instagram grid. You won’t find brand partnerships or affiliate links here. It’s just one mom, one keyboard, and a whole lot of unfiltered honesty about raising three very opinionated humans through the tangled, hilarious, soul-shaping mess that is the tween years.
There will be laughs. There will be rants. There may be the occasional cry-in-the-bathroom moment. But above all, there will be truth—and hopefully a sense of “me too” for anyone else navigating this wonderfully weird season of parenting.
(And if you do miss the bells and whistles—women’s wellness chats or midlife musings—I’m still over at Her Clementine Collective, doing all that jazz. But here? This is the real-life reel. No edits. Just us.)
Thanks for being here. Let’s do this thing—again.
Fry, Party of Five 