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  • Thanksgiving Break Survival Guide for Parents of Tweens

    Thanksgiving Break Survival Guide for Parents of Tweens

    Thanksgiving break: the magical time when school screeches to a halt, turkey takes center stage, and your tweens remind you why teachers deserve hazard pay. While Pinterest shows us candlelit tablescapes with acorn garlands, what we actually get is five full days of “I’m bored,” sticky pumpkin pie residue on the counter, and the eternal fight over who gets the last crescent roll.

    But fear not, weary parents of tweens. I’ve put together the ultimate Thanksgiving Break Survival Guide—a mash-up of humor, hard-earned wisdom, and “helpful” tips that will get you through the holiday without losing your sanity or eating your feelings (okay, maybe a little of both).

    Tip 1: Lower Your Expectations (and Then Lower Them Again)

    If you go into Thanksgiving week imagining The Waltons meets Martha Stewart Living, you’ll be crushed by day two. Tweens do not frolic in the leaves wearing plaid scarves and woolen hats. They sulk, they scroll, and they only emerge from their caves for food or Wi-Fi password resets.

    So here’s the trick: lower your bar so much it’s practically underground. A successful break is not “family bonding over gratitude journaling.” A successful break is “no one cried in the mashed potatoes.”

    Tip 2: Stock Up Like It’s the Apocalypse

    Tweens eat like they’ve just returned from a three-year trek across the desert. The pantry you thoughtfully filled last weekend? Empty by Monday. The gallon of milk? Gone in one sitting, poured into bowls of cereal that will be abandoned mid-bite because “it got soggy.”

    My advice: shop like you’re prepping for a zombie invasion. Buy three times as many snacks as you think you’ll need. Hide the good stuff (the chocolate, the kettle chips, the sparkling water you bought for you) in an undisclosed location. Pro tip: behind the cleaning supplies—no tween has ever voluntarily touched Windex.

    Tip 3: Pretend Screen Time Rules Don’t Exist

    Normally, you’re a parent of principle. Two hours of screen time a day, no phones at the table, yada yada. But Thanksgiving break is different. Those rules? Consider them decorative suggestions, like the “suggested serving size” on the pie box.

    This week, the iPad is your co-parent. YouTube is your babysitter. And if Roblox gives you an uninterrupted 45 minutes to chop vegetables in peace, consider it a holiday blessing.

    Tip 4: Create a “Tween Entertainment List” (and Then Watch Them Ignore It)

    Every year I make a noble attempt at crafting a wholesome list of activities: board games, baking cookies, family walks, DIY crafts. And every year, my tweens glance at it, roll their eyes, and mutter, “meh.”

    Still, make the list. Tape it to the fridge. Call it your “Plan B for Boredom.” Because once in a blue moon, one of them might actually say yes. And when they do, you’ll have the supplies ready to go and can snap one (1) carefully curated photo for social media proof that your family does things together.

    Tip 5: Weaponize Gratitude

    Thanksgiving is about giving thanks, right? Here’s a secret: tweens love to complain, but they hate being caught in it. At the dinner table, make everyone share one thing they’re grateful for. Then, in true parental fashion, circle back when they whine later.

    “Oh, you’re bored? Interesting. Just twenty minutes ago you said you were grateful for family time. Let’s lean into that, shall we?”

    It’s not manipulative—it’s tradition.

    Tip 6: The Cousin Factor

    If your Thanksgiving involves extended family, beware: cousin dynamics can either save or ruin you. Tweens + cousins = 70% chance of disappearing for hours in the basement (praise be), 30% chance of a WWE smackdown in the living room.

    Here’s how you manage it:

    • Encourage the basement option. Out of sight, out of mind.
    • Intervene early. If you hear the phrase “bet you won’t,” just assume ER copayments are in your future.
    • Use Nana as a buffer. Tweens will ignore you, but they’ll simmer down when Nana yells. It’s a sacred law.

    Tip 7: The Great Pie Debate

    Pumpkin pie? Pecan pie? Apple pie? Your tweens will loudly announce that they “don’t like any of it” and then promptly inhale half a can of whipped cream straight from the nozzle.

    Do not fight this battle. Save the pies for the adults. Hand your tween a plate of Cool Whip and call it a day.

    Tip 8: Outsource Whenever Possible

    Thanksgiving survival is about strategy, not martyrdom. Let your tweens set the table (yes, with mismatched forks). Put them on dog-walking duty. Let them peel potatoes while you sip coffee and supervise like a queen.

    If Uncle Casey offers to take them on a “fun hike,” say yes before he finishes the sentence. They’ll complain the entire way, but that’s his problem now.

    Tip 9: Family Photos—Choose Your Battles

    We all want the perfect family photo: fall leaves, coordinated outfits, everyone smiling like a Hallmark card. Here’s the reality: your tween will show up in a hoodie with a stain, stand six feet away from everyone else, and grimace like you just asked them to eat raw kale.

    Take the picture anyway. Later, when they’re older, those awkward tween photos will be pure gold. Trust me—grimaces age better than forced smiles.

    Tip 10: Embrace the Chaos

    At the end of the day, Thanksgiving break with tweens is messy, loud, and sprinkled with attitude. But it’s also fleeting. In a few short years, they’ll be off to college or too cool to come home for the whole week.

    So let the eye rolls happen. Let the pantry raids happen. Let the screen time flow like gravy. Because one day, you’ll miss the chaos.

    And until then? Survival mode on, pie fork ready.

    Final Word

    Thanksgiving with tweens is not about perfection—it’s about endurance. It’s about laughing when things go sideways, stocking the pantry like a doomsday prepper, and remembering that one day you’ll look back and laugh (instead of cry).

    So pour yourself a glass of wine, hand your tween the whipped cream, and survive this Thanksgiving break with humor intact. After all, gratitude looks a lot like making it to Monday with your sanity mostly intact.

  • 10 Reasons My Tweens Are Thankful for Wi-Fi

    10 Reasons My Tweens Are Thankful for Wi-Fi

    Thanksgiving is the season of gratitude. A time when families gather around the table to reflect on life’s blessings: health, home, loved ones, and pie. Lots of pie.

    But if you ask my three tweens what they’re thankful for, you won’t hear “my sweet, selfless mother who birthed me and makes sure I have clean socks.” Nope. You’ll hear one thing, in unison, without hesitation:

    Wi-Fi.

    That’s it. End of list.

    I could disappear for a week, and the only time anyone would notice is if the Wi-Fi went down. In fact, the kids would probably carve me like the turkey if I ever dared to change the password.

    So, in honor of their true Thanksgiving blessing, I present to you…

    1. They Can Game With Friends Without Actually Having Friends Over

    Jase, my sweet, quiet, random fact filled boy, will spend six hours straight in Fortnite with his buddies. I’ll peek in and ask, “Want to invite them over sometime?” and he’ll look at me like I just suggested burning his baseball cards. Why risk eye contact when you can yell into a headset from the safety of your bedroom?

    Wi-Fi: the ultimate friendship glue.
    Me: still the lady who tells him to take out the trash.

    2. Streaming = Survival

    Sadie, my dramatic, book-loving, future Oscar winner, has declared that she cannot—literally cannot—eat breakfast without Netflix. If the Wi-Fi hiccups, she collapses across the kitchen island like a Jane Austen heroine with the vapors.

    “Oh my GOD, how do you expect me to LIVE like this?” she wails, as if I personally unplugged the router for sport.

    Wi-Fi: sustains life.
    Me: only sustains the grocery bill.

    3. Instant Answers, No Parents Required

    Henley, my wild animal-loving firecracker, used to ask me questions. “Why is the sky blue?” “How do birds fly?” “Do turtles yawn?”

    Now she just screams “Hey Google” and ignores my perfectly good mom science answers. I could have a PhD in astrophysics, and she’d still fact-check me.

    Wi-Fi: the great oracle.
    Me: the backup generator they don’t bother to plug in.

    4. Meme Economy

    If Wi-Fi disappeared tomorrow, Sadie would shrivel up like a raisin without her constant supply of TikToks and memes. She doesn’t even laugh out loud—she just exhales sharply out her nose and shoves her phone in my face saying, “Look.”

    It’s always some video of a raccoon stealing cat food or a teen lip-syncing to a dramatic soundbite. Apparently this is the pinnacle of humor. Meanwhile, I make a sarcastic joke at dinner and get told, “That’s cringe, Mom.”

    Wi-Fi: comedy central.
    Me: open mic night no one asked for.

    5. Homework “Help”

    I once naively believed my children would be thankful for me sitting beside them, helping with math homework. But no. Jase insists Khan Academy explains things “better than you do, Mom.” Ouch.

    And Henley? She’ll flat out tell me, “Don’t worry, I already Googled it.”

    Wi-Fi: the tutor who never loses patience.
    Me: the unpaid assistant who cries into her wine.

    6. Online Shopping, Tween Edition

    Sadie has mastered the art of filling my Amazon cart with things she “needs”—like gel pens, moisturizer, and Squishmallows. She doesn’t hit purchase (yet), but she knows the Wi-Fi connects her dreams directly to my credit card.

    Wi-Fi: Santa Claus with two-day shipping.
    Me: the actual wallet.

    7. Escaping Me in Style

    When I suggest wholesome family bonding—like board games or raking leaves—suddenly everyone has a “very important call.” I’ll walk by Henley’s room and she’s wearing headphones, nodding like she’s negotiating world peace. Spoiler: she’s on listening to The Life of a Showgirl.

    Wi-Fi: getaway car.
    Me: traffic cone in their escape route.

    8. Weathering the Apocalypse (a.k.a. Rainy Days)

    Remember when kids used to read books or build forts during storms? Ha. Jase, Henley, and Sadie see a rainy day as Netflix-and-Snacks Olympics.

    The last time the Wi-Fi went out, you’d think civilization collapsed. Jase literally groaned, “This is the worst day of my life.” Meanwhile, I’m sitting there like, “Do you know what dial-up was, son?!”

    Wi-Fi: life raft.
    Me: history lesson no one signed up for.

    9. Social Currency

    Sadie measures her worth in likes. Henley’s status is determined by Snapchat streaks. Jase lives for winning streaks on NBA 2K. None of these things would exist without Wi-Fi.

    So when I ask, “Aren’t you thankful for me?” I get blank stares, followed by, “Uh, yeah, but can you restart the router?”

    Wi-Fi: MVP of their lives.
    Me: backup singer, still harmonizing.

    Zero Reasons They’re Thankful for Me

    Okay, maybe that’s dramatic. (Sadie would approve.) But sometimes it feels like I’m competing against invisible magic beams that deliver endless entertainment, knowledge, and chicken nugget delivery apps.

    When I ask the kids what they’re thankful for, I dream of hearing things like:

    • “Jase: Thanks, Mom, for driving me to every single practice.”
    • “Henley: Thanks for letting me bring home stray animals that definitely weren’t house-trained.”
    • “Sadie: Thanks for listening to my dramatic monologues about why middle school is basically a Shakespearean tragedy.”

    But no. I get:

    • “Thanks for the Wi-Fi password, Mom.”

    The Blessing and the Curse

    The truth is, I’m thankful for Wi-Fi too. It keeps them connected, entertained, learning, and (most importantly) out of my hair long enough for me to drink a cup of coffee in peace.

    But still, just once, I’d like Jase to put down the controller, Henley to look up from her iPad, and Sadie to pause Netflix long enough to say, “Thanks, Mom. You’re the real MVP.”

    Until then, I’ll take what I can get. Which, apparently, is keeping the Wi-Fi bill paid.

    So this Thanksgiving, while the kids raise their glasses of Sprite and toast to high-speed internet, I’ll raise my own glass (of wine, obviously) and toast to surviving parenthood in the age of Wi-Fi.

    Cheers.

  • Why Gratitude Feels Different in the Tween Years

    Why Gratitude Feels Different in the Tween Years

    Gratitude looks a little different when you’re raising tweens. Once upon a time, Thanksgiving was all construction paper turkeys with handprint feathers, little lists scrawled in crayon: “I’m thankful for Mommy, Daddy, my dog, candy, and Legos.” Easy. Sweet. Straightforward.

    Now, with twelve-year-olds under my roof, “gratitude” is no longer a tidy worksheet activity or a moment of bedtime prayer before they drift off to sleep. Gratitude has grown moodier, more complicated, and—if I’m being honest—sometimes harder to spot. But just because it looks different doesn’t mean it isn’t there. In fact, I’m learning that gratitude in the tween years is a deeper, more honest kind of thankfulness than anything we’ve known before.

    The Vanishing “Thank You”

    The first clue that gratitude changes in the tween years? The disappearing thank you.

    I remember when the kids used to squeal with delight at a Happy Meal toy or glow when someone complimented their artwork. Gratitude was loud and visible. Now? I hand my Jase his favorite sports drink after practice and get a quiet nod. I spend hours driving the girls to activities and hear a muffled “thanks” over TikTok audio. Sometimes there’s no “thanks” at all—just silence.

    It can feel like gratitude evaporated somewhere between age nine and twelve. But I’ve come to realize it hasn’t disappeared—it’s just been translated. Tweens aren’t always comfortable showing their feelings, and they’re wrestling with independence, self-consciousness, and big emotions. Gratitude hides itself in smaller gestures, subtle acknowledgments, and unspoken trust.

    Gratitude in Code

    Tweens have a way of speaking in code, and gratitude slips into those secret languages too.

    For Jase, gratitude shows up when he lies in bed next to me after a long day. He doesn’t say he’s thankful, but his presence means, You’re my safe place.

    For Henley, gratitude is singing Taylor Swift in the car with me—rolling her eyes at first, then belting every word. That shared joy? That’s her way of saying, Thanks for knowing what I love and entering my world.

    For Sadie, gratitude peeks out when she shares the tiniest detail from her day, like who sat by her at lunch. The fact that she lets me in, even a little, is a gift.

    Tweens don’t write “I’m thankful for my family” in marker anymore. They show it in how they still orbit us, even while testing their wings.

    Gratitude and Growing Pains

    The tween years are a collision of childhood innocence and teenage independence. Gratitude gets tangled in that storm.

    Sometimes they feel entitled. Sometimes they compare themselves to friends and only see what they lack. Sometimes gratitude is drowned out by hormones, slammed doors, and endless debates about screen time.

    But here’s the surprising thing: the harder gratitude is to see, the more powerful it becomes when it surfaces. When Henley whispered “Thanks for making dinner” one night, I nearly cried—not because she’d never appreciated it before, but because saying it out loud cost her something. It meant she noticed. It meant she pushed through her self-focus and recognized someone else. In the tween years, gratitude isn’t cheap. It’s earned.

    Gratitude as Empathy

    One of the most beautiful shifts in the tween years is how gratitude begins to grow outward, toward empathy.

    It’s clumsy and not always consistent, but it’s happening. They’re beginning to see the web of people around them, and gratitude is expanding beyond their own small circle of needs. It’s not always polite words—it’s awareness, acknowledgment, and sometimes even action. Gratitude is turning them into people who can look outside themselves, and isn’t that the whole point?

    The Parent’s Perspective

    If I’m honest, gratitude in the tween years stretches us as parents, too.

    It forces us to lower our expectations of constant sweetness. We can’t rely on handwritten lists or big hugs as proof our kids are grateful. Instead, we have to pay attention, looking for the quieter cues. We have to remind ourselves that gratitude is often delayed—our kids may not say thank you today, but years from now they’ll remember.

    And gratitude challenges us to model what we want to see. When I thank Matt in front of the kids for making dinner, when I tell them how grateful I am for their help, when I share out loud what I’m thankful for in my own messy, midlife days—they see it. They learn it. Gratitude becomes part of the air they breathe.

    Nurturing Gratitude in the Tween Years

    So how do we help gratitude grow in these years when moods and hormones run the show? A few small things have worked in our house:

    • Notice the little signs. A smile, a shared joke, a request to hang out together—these are gratitude in disguise.
    • Model gratitude daily. Say thanks to your kids, your spouse, your friends. Let them see that gratitude is normal, not forced.
    • Create rituals. A family dinner gratitude check-in, a quick text of thanks, a bedtime reflection. Rituals make gratitude a habit.
    • Give them space. Tweens may not want to gush, but they often circle back later. Let gratitude unfold on their timeline.
    • Encourage empathy. Point out when others serve them, and invite them to express thanks. Gratitude grows with awareness.

    It’s not perfect, but neither are tweens—or parents. Gratitude is less about polished manners and more about noticing what matters.

    Closing Thoughts

    Gratitude in the tween years is not simple. It’s not always obvious. It’s messy, subtle, and often late to the party. But it’s also real.

    As I watch my kids grow, I see gratitude shaping them into thoughtful, empathetic people—even if it doesn’t sound like “thank you” every time. Gratitude is in their laughter, their trust, their presence, their whispered thanks at the end of a long day.

    And maybe that’s the gift of these years: learning to find gratitude not just in what’s said, but in what’s lived.

  • 5 Things to Stop Doing If You Want a Peaceful Homework Hour

    5 Things to Stop Doing If You Want a Peaceful Homework Hour

    Ah, homework hour. That magical stretch of time between the end of school and the start of dinner where we all transform into underqualified tutors, short-order snack chefs, and motivational speakers on the brink. If you’ve ever found yourself whisper-screaming, “Just write one sentence!” while stirring spaghetti and Googling “what is new math,” you’re not alone.

    The good news? Peaceful homework time is possible. The better news? You don’t need a degree in childhood development or a Pinterest-worthy command center to get there. You just need to stop doing a few things that are quietly sabotaging your sanity.

    So here they are—five habits to quit immediately if you want your homework hour to be a little less dramatic and a lot more doable.

    1. Stop Micromanaging Every Pencil Stroke

    Let’s be honest: hovering over your child as they write their vocab words is not helping anyone. Not them. Not you. Not the family dog, who is now hiding under the table.

    Of course, you want to help. Of course, you want it done right. But constantly correcting, commenting, or nudging them every 90 seconds turns homework into a high-stakes performance. The pressure builds. The tears start. And suddenly you’re in a standoff over a algebra worksheet.

    Try this instead: Set the stage, then step back. Give clear instructions: “Let’s set a timer for 20 minutes—do what you can, and I’ll check in when it goes off.” This builds independence, reduces conflict, and gives you enough time to reheat that coffee you microwaved four hours ago.

    2. Stop Starting Without a Snack (or a Plan)

    You know how you can’t function when you’re hangry? Turns out, neither can 9-year-olds. Or 13-year-olds. Or honestly, anyone doing long division after 3 p.m.

    Jumping straight from the school bus to spelling drills is a recipe for meltdown soup. And so is the “just get started while I figure out dinner” approach. No fuel = no focus.

    Try this instead: Build in a buffer. Give them 10–15 minutes to transition. Offer a brain-boosting snack (think cheese sticks, fruit, nuts—not four sleeves of Oreos unless you want to do their homework later). Review the homework list together, make a quick game plan, and set realistic expectations for what needs to get done tonight.

    3. Stop Expecting Them to “Just Know” What to Do

    Spoiler: Kids are not born knowing how to manage time, organize tasks, or prioritize what to do first. If your child is staring blankly at their worksheet or panicking over a forgotten assignment, it’s not because they’re lazy—it’s because executive function is still under construction.

    Even older kids need support breaking down tasks, especially after a long school day.

    Try this instead: Create a super simple homework checklist or use sticky notes to organize steps. “Read chapter. Write three sentences. Check for spelling.” Boom. This turns a vague blob of “homework” into manageable bites. Think of yourself as a project manager, not a taskmaster.

    Bonus tip: Keep a “homework survival kit” nearby with pencils, erasers, markers, calculators, scissors—whatever your child typically needs. Fewer supply scavenger hunts = fewer distractions = more peace.

    4. Stop Fighting About the “Right” Way to Do It

    We all have flashbacks to how we learned to do math (hello, carrying the one), but today’s methods might feel like a fever dream of boxes and number lines and… wait, why are they drawing a bar model to subtract?

    Here’s the deal: the curriculum has changed, but the need for your calm presence hasn’t. Getting frustrated or mocking the method (even lovingly) can make kids feel embarrassed or confused, which blocks learning.

    Try this instead: Say the magic words: “Show me how your teacher explained it.” This opens the door for them to teach you—which reinforces their own learning—and shows you’re on their team, not just grading their effort. And when all else fails? Email the teacher or check the class website. There’s no shame in reinforcements.

    5. Stop Turning Homework Into a Family Crisis

    Homework hour should not be the emotional low point of your day—or theirs. But when it’s filled with raised voices, slammed doors, and threats of grounding until college, something has to give.

    Remember: your relationship with your child is more important than the worksheet.

    Try this instead: Take a deep breath and zoom out. If homework is consistently a struggle, it might be time to have a conversation with the teacher. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe your child needs additional support. Maybe the dog did eat the spelling list, and nobody told you.

    Set boundaries that make sense: a hard stop after an hour, a no-yelling policy, a family mantra like “progress over perfection.” Give yourself and your kid grace. Learning how to learn is just as important as what they’re learning.

    Final Thoughts: Peaceful Doesn’t Mean Perfect

    A peaceful homework hour isn’t about everyone sitting serenely at the kitchen table with classical music and scented candles (though if that’s your reality, I bow to your power). It’s about creating an environment that reduces stress, builds confidence, and lets your child feel safe to struggle and succeed.

    That might mean dimming the lights, putting on lo-fi beats, or even doing homework on the floor. It might mean sitting close but not hovering, offering help but not lectures, and remembering that a missed assignment isn’t a moral failing.

    You’ve got this. Your kid’s got this. And if you forget everything else, remember this golden rule:

    Homework isn’t the enemy. The enemy is the chaos we let creep in around it.

    So light that candle. Pour yourself a Diet Dr. Pepper. Take a breath. And stop doing the things that make homework harder than it needs to be.

    Peace is possible. Even on a Monday after a long weekend.

  • Trick-or-Treating With Tweens | Sweet or Sour?

    Trick-or-Treating With Tweens | Sweet or Sour?

    October arrives with its golden leaves, pumpkin-spiced everything, and one very pressing parental debate: when your kids hit the tween years, do you let them trick-or-treat on their own, or do you tag along like they’re still toddling in a Pluto costume?

    The answer, like most things in parenting, is less about candy and more about independence, safety, and finding that middle ground where both you and your kids can breathe easy. So let’s unwrap this sticky situation.

    The Great Candy Divide

    When your child was five, Halloween was simple: you zipped them into a Spiderman suit, grabbed the wagon, and strolled alongside while they collected fun-size Snickers. By seven, maybe you let them run a few steps ahead, but you still hovered nearby with a flashlight.

    But now? They’re eleven, twelve, maybe thirteen, standing in the doorway asking, “Can we go by ourselves this year?” Suddenly, your sweet little candy corn is sounding like a Sour Patch Kid: independent, bold, and slightly tart.

    Why They Want to Go Alone

    Tweens are desperate for independence. Halloween is basically the Super Bowl of kid freedom: no parents, a pack of friends, and a mission fueled by sugar. Trick-or-treating without you feels like a rite of passage—a chance to test responsibility in a way that’s thrilling but relatively safe.

    Plus, let’s be honest: walking around with your mom while dressed as Workout Barbie or Taylor Swift is way less cool than roaming with your friends. At this age, cool is currency, and they’re cashing in.

    Why We Parents Hesitate

    On the flip side, every parent has a mental highlight reel of every “what if” imaginable:

    • What if they get lost?
    • What if someone creepy follows them?
    • What if they eat a rogue piece of candy that wasn’t sealed?
    • What if they run into older kids pulling pranks?

    It’s not paranoia—it’s our job description. We’ve spent over a decade keeping them safe, so handing them a pillowcase and waving goodbye can feel like tossing them into the Hunger Games.

    The Middle Ground: Freedom with Guardrails

    The good news is, Halloween doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing. You don’t have to glue yourself to their side, nor do you need to drop them off in the wilds of suburbia with nothing but a glow stick. Here are some sweet compromises:

    1. Set a Boundary Map

    Define exactly where they can and can’t go. Maybe it’s just your neighborhood, or a few blocks that you trust. Print out a map if needed—old school style.

    2. Establish a Time Check-In

    Have them text or call at a set time, or better yet, use a location-sharing app. Knowing you can see their little dot moving around the streets keeps your heart rate (and blood sugar) steady.

    3. Buddy System Rules

    No solo trick-or-treaters. Require at least a group of three. Safety in numbers isn’t just a cute saying—it’s practical.

    4. Light Them Up

    Glow necklaces, reflective tape, or light-up sneakers aren’t just fun—they’re lifesavers. Make them sparkle like disco balls if you have to.

    5. Emergency Protocol

    Agree on a safe house in the neighborhood (a friend, a neighbor, or your own home base) where they can go if things get sketchy.

    Signs They’re Ready for Solo Trick-or-Treating

    Not every tween is ready to go it alone. Some are born rule-followers, while others can’t even make it to the mailbox without forgetting why they went outside. Here are a few indicators your child may be ready:

    • They’ve walked to school or a friend’s house without issues.
    • They can cross the street safely without reminders.
    • They can keep track of time (at least vaguely).
    • They respect boundaries and rules in other areas of life.
    • They have enough social awareness to recognize when something feels “off.”

    If they’re checking most of these boxes, they may be ready for the mini leap into independence. If not, no shame—invite their friends over and make your house the candy hotspot.

    A Parent’s Perspective: Sweetness in the Bittersweet

    Here’s the real trick: letting go a little doesn’t mean you’re abandoning your child. It means you’re raising them to trust themselves. Halloween is a perfect trial run for bigger freedoms ahead: sleepovers, first dates, learning to drive.

    Yes, it feels bittersweet. We miss the days when their costumes were fuzzy animals and their tiny hands held ours tight. But independence is part of the parenting candy bag—it comes whether we’re ready or not.

    Sour Moments Still Happen

    Be prepared for a few sour patches:

    • They might come home with way too much candy and a bellyache.
    • They might get spooked by rowdy teens or creepy decorations.
    • They might roll their eyes at your safety speech.

    But that’s okay. These bumps are part of learning. And sometimes, those sour moments become the stories they’ll laugh about later.

    Final Treats of Wisdom

    So, should you let your tweens trick-or-treat on their own? The answer depends on your kid, your neighborhood, and your comfort level. But whether you’re tagging along from a respectful distance, or watching their little location dot from home while sneaking their chocolate bars, remember this:

    Halloween is about more than candy. It’s about courage, community, and growing up—one block at a time.

    And if you’re lucky, maybe they’ll still save you a Reese’s.

  • Fall Parent-Teacher Conferences | A Survival Guide for the Emotionally Fragile

    Fall Parent-Teacher Conferences | A Survival Guide for the Emotionally Fragile

    Fall parent-teacher conferences are here. And I, for one, am not emotionally prepared.

    If you’re like me—living on caffeine, running late, trying to remember which kid likes ranch and which one is boycotting sandwiches this week—then you know that nothing sends your fragile heart spiraling quite like those 15-minute meetings of doom (or delight? Who even knows anymore).

    Here’s your survival guide, friend. From one emotionally tender, sleep-deprived, deeply invested mom to another. Welcome to the trenches of tweendom, where grades meet hormones and tears (theirs and yours) are always on the brink.

    Step 1: Prep Your Soul (And Your Snack Stash)

    You’ll want to go in with low expectations and high carb reserves. Don’t walk in there empty-stomached or overconfident. You will cry if you haven’t had a snack since lunch. You will spiral if you think this is just a casual check-in.

    No, this is a pop quiz for parents. And you didn’t study.

    Pack a granola bar in your purse. Say a little prayer. Remind yourself: these teachers are not judging your parenting, even if they do raise their eyebrows when you mention your child may or may not sleep on your bedroom floor.

    Step 2: Master the Poker Face

    You’ll need three expressions on lock:

    • “Interesting…” — use this when the teacher tells you your child talks too much, even though at home he only communicates in nods and grunts.
    • “Hmm, that doesn’t sound like them.” — for when they say your daughter is bossy in group projects. (She’s a leader, thank you.)
    • Tight-lipped smile with a single nod. — when you learn your child has been sneakily reading under their desk instead of doing math. Again.

    You’re not here to defend your child’s every move (unless you are), but you are here to receive the information gracefully. Even if your internal monologue is saying “Oh no oh no oh no” on a loop.

    Step 3: Bring a Notebook, Not a Weapon

    Look, I know you’ve got feelings. You’ve seen your kid’s tears over homework. You’ve begged them to just finish the book report. You’ve watched them go from sparkly-eyed kindergarteners to angsty tweens in what feels like a single episode of Bluey.

    But now is not the time to go full mama bear. Jot things down. Ask questions. Be open. Most teachers are overworked, underpaid, and genuinely trying their best to love your child—even when said child rolls their eyes like a teenager in a sitcom.

    This isn’t battle; it’s collaboration.

    Step 4: Don’t Spiral Over a “Needs Improvement”

    I repeat: do not spiral.

    Just because your child “needs to work on turning in assignments on time” does not mean they’ll end up living in your basement forever. Middle school is messy. Kids are learning more than just math—they’re learning time management, how to cope with embarrassment, and how to navigate friendships that change hourly.

    A “C” is not a character flaw. It’s a snapshot. A moment. A chance to help them grow.

    Also, side note: we all have something that “needs improvement.” My laundry pile is currently auditioning for Hoarders. So. Perspective.

    Step 5: Text a Friend Immediately After

    You will need to emotionally debrief. Text your bestie and say, “Welp. Apparently my son is the class clown and also might forget to exist without constant reminders.”

    She’ll reply, “Mine was caught making fart noises during a science test.”

    You’ll feel better. Connection is everything.

    Parenting is hard, but parenting alongside other people who get it? That’s a gift.

    Step 6: Celebrate the Wins—Even the Weird Ones

    So your kid read five novels this quarter and only cried once over math homework? That’s a win.

    They raised their hand in class? Win.

    They didn’t shove anyone at recess this month? Win.

    We spend so much time worrying about what’s not going well that we forget to celebrate the little glimmers—the signs that maybe, just maybe, they’re doing okay. And by extension, so are we.

    Step 7: Resist the Urge to Redesign Their Entire Life

    Do not—I repeat—do not come home from conferences and announce that they are grounded, switching schools, and beginning a new color-coded study schedule that starts tomorrow at 6:00 AM.

    Take a breath.

    Maybe… wait until morning. Ask them how they feel about school. Ask what’s hard. Ask what makes them feel smart.

    You might be surprised. They might be aware. They might be trying. And they definitely need grace.

    Step 8: Let Yourself Be Proud

    Listen, I know this season is stretching you.

    It’s a strange thing, this middle ground between childhood and independence. You’re no longer holding their hand through everything, but you’re still holding space for everything—their tears, their fears, their successes, and their very messy lockers.

    Parent-teacher conferences remind us just how much is out of our hands. And how much still is.

    So be proud. Not just of them. But of you.

    You show up. You ask questions. You advocate. You care. And even when you feel like a fragile mess in a cardigan, you are doing something powerful: you’re parenting with heart.

    Thoughts from the Car Ride Home

    There’s something raw about sitting across from a stranger and hearing how your kid is doing when you’re not around. It’s like peeking into a parallel universe—one where they’re their own person, with thoughts and quirks and behaviors that you may not even know about.

    It’s hard. It’s humbling. It’s beautiful.

    And yes, it’s okay to cry in the car afterward. (Just maybe not before you pull out of the parking lot.)

    So this fall, when you head into that fluorescent-lit classroom with your coffee in one hand and your fragile emotions in the other, remember: you’re not alone.

    We’re all out here, showing up, a little undone, but still trying—still loving—still hoping.

    You’ve got this, mama.

    Even if you forget everything they said and leave your pen behind on the table.

  • Why October Feels Like Tween Season | Dramatic, Moody, and Full of Candy

    Why October Feels Like Tween Season | Dramatic, Moody, and Full of Candy

    For me, October has always had the perfect vibe. The crunch of leaves underfoot, the cozy sweaters, the pumpkin spice everything—it’s a month steeped in drama. But once you’ve entered the magical purgatory known as parenting tweens, you start to notice something unsettling: October is tweendom, in seasonal form.

    It’s moody. It’s unpredictable. It’s dramatic. And yes—it comes with way too much sugar.

    So buckle up, fellow parents of tweens. Let’s unpack why October feels like the month our children and this season were secretly separated at birth.

    1. October Is the Ultimate Drama Queen

    October doesn’t do “subtle.” One day it’s warm and sunny, the next day you’re shivering in three layers and regretting every decision that led you outside. The trees are dying but somehow beautiful. The sky is either Instagram-worthy or looks like it’s auditioning for a horror film.

    Sound familiar? That’s your tween.

    One second they’re giggling over slime videos on TikTok, the next they’re storming into their room like you’ve personally ruined their life by asking them to put their shoes away. October, like tweens, thrives on drama. It’s not just fall—it’s a full theatrical performance with costume changes and mood lighting.

    2. The Costume Situation

    October is basically one long runway show. Your tween’s version of this? Every day is a costume change.

    • At school: A hoodie that swallows them whole.
    • At practice: A jersey two sizes too big.
    • At home: Pajamas from two years ago that they refuse to throw out.

    Halloween just gives them an excuse to lean into this wardrobe whiplash with fake blood, neon wigs, or a costume so ironic it requires a 15-minute explanation. Tweens don’t just wear clothes in October—they become characters.

    3. The Emotional Weather

    If October had a personality, it would be:

    • Sunny but snappy at 9 AM.
    • Storm cloud at 10:15.
    • Dramatic sunset at 6 PM that makes you gasp, “Wow, so beautiful.”

    In other words, your tween’s exact emotional weather report. They, too, can shift from angelic to apocalyptic before you’ve finished your coffee.

    But here’s the kicker—both October and tweens have moments of breathtaking beauty. Just when you’re convinced you can’t survive another slammed door, they’ll curl up next to you on the couch, whisper something funny, or hand you a Reese’s cup “because you looked tired.”

    Like October’s sunsets, those glimpses remind you: the chaos is worth it.

    4. Candy: The Fuel of October and Tweens

    October is powered by candy, and so are tweens.

    Think about it: Halloween is the one time of year where you watch your child barter like a Wall Street trader. They will trade two Kit-Kats for one king-size Snickers, no questions asked. They will analyze the value of a Reese’s pumpkin like it’s cryptocurrency. They will form alliances with siblings and betray them seconds later.

    And while you’re hiding in the pantry eating the good chocolate, you realize candy is the perfect metaphor for tweenhood: too much of it at once will make everyone sick, but little doses sprinkled in? Pure joy.

    5. October Is Dark, But With Twinkle Lights

    Tweens live in that in-between space too. Childhood is fading like long summer nights, and adulthood isn’t quite here. They’re equal parts silly and serious, hopeful and haunted, craving independence but terrified of it at the same time.

    October teaches us how to live in that tension. Yes, it’s darker now. Yes, the mornings feel colder. But there’s magic in the shadows—pumpkin glows, cinnamon-scented candles, ghostly yard decorations. Tweens are the same: if you squint past the eye rolls, you’ll see flickers of their growing brilliance.

    6. Every Outing Feels Like Trick-or-Treat

    October is one long trick-or-treat, but so is parenting tweens.

    You never know what you’re going to get when you knock on the door of their mood. Trick? A sarcastic comment about your outfit. Treat? A random hug because they “just felt like it.”

    Sometimes you hit the jackpot—a great family dinner conversation, everyone laughing at the same dumb meme. Other times you get a rock in your plastic pumpkin. You just keep showing up at their door, hoping for more treats than tricks.

    7. October Is for Parents, Too

    Here’s the part we don’t say out loud enough: October feels like tween season for us too.

    We’re in our own moody transition. We’re tired, juggling schedules, haunted by the ghost of laundry yet to be folded. We’re watching our babies slip into the complicated, messy, beautiful humans they’re becoming. It’s bittersweet, like October air.

    So, lean into the sarcasm. Laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. But also, let yourself be encouraged: October ends with a holiday that’s basically about one thing—fun. Even if they don’t say it, your tweens still want you in the background, flashlight in hand, cheering them on as they dart from house to house.

    Final Pep Talk

    Parents, October and tweens are here to teach us something important: beauty lives in the messy middle. The leaves have to fall before new growth begins. Our tweens have to stumble through mood swings and candy crashes before they find their footing.

    Yes, it’s dramatic. Yes, it’s exhausting. Yes, you will hear the phrase “You don’t understand!” roughly 43 times before Halloween. But October reminds us that transitions are powerful. They’re worth savoring, even when they’re loud, messy, and sticky with Jolly Rancher wrappers.

    So grab your hoodie, light your pumpkin candle, and embrace this season of change. October won’t last forever, and neither will the tween years. Both are dramatic. Both are moody. Both are full of candy. And both, in their own wild way, are absolutely unforgettable.

  • Raising Swifties | How Taylor Swift Became My Co-Parent

    Raising Swifties | How Taylor Swift Became My Co-Parent

    When you imagine a co-parent, you probably think of another adult—someone who splits the carpool duty, reminds the kids to brush their teeth, and occasionally sneaks them ice cream before dinner. What I didn’t expect was that my co-parent would arrive in the form of a glitter-clad, guitar-strumming, stadium-filling woman named Taylor Swift.

    Now, let me be clear: my husband is wonderful and fully present. But in the daily task of raising three tweens—Henley, Sadie, and Jase—I’ve discovered that Taylor Swift has slipped into our home in ways that feel surprisingly parental. She’s teaching my kids kindness, generosity, and grit, all while delivering it in three-minute pop anthems and Instagram-worthy Easter eggs. Honestly? She’s pulling more weight than some of the sitcom moms I grew up watching.

    Henley | The Wild Child Meets the Fearless Songwriter

    Henley has always been my firecracker—the one who doesn’t take “no” for an answer and insists on turning every room of our house into a stage. She hums “Champagne Problems” while brushing her teeth, organizes (off) Broadway performances, and somehow convinces her siblings to join in her schemes.

    Taylor feels like her kindred spirit. When Henley hears “Fearless” or “Shake It Off,” it’s like the universe is telling her: don’t dim your light, don’t apologize for your joy, and for goodness’ sake, keep being your wonderfully weird self. She sees in Taylor a woman who has carved her own path, often against the grain, and it validates her own boldness.

    Even more, Taylor’s kindness tempers Henley’s wild streak. My daughter may be dramatic (understatement of the year), but she also sees that being bold and being kind are not opposites. They can live side by side. Henley has started writing notes to her friends—little “you got this” scribbles tucked into lockers. I’d like to take credit, but let’s be honest: she’s channeling her inner Taylor.

    Sadie | The Bookworm Finds a Kindred Dreamer

    Sadie is my people pleaser, my book-loving, drama-soaked girl. She organizes her bookshelf by color, plans imaginary plays with full costumes, and takes pride in being both the boss and the star of her own productions – to Henley’s dismay.

    Taylor is her blueprint. Sadie sees someone who is unapologetically feminine and still fiercely powerful. She watches Taylor stand on stage in sequins and knows that “girly” is not a weakness—it’s a superpower.

    Sadie loves Taylor’s generosity too. Whenever we talk about how Taylor gives bonuses to her crew or donates to food banks, Sadie lights up. She’ll turn to me and say, “We should do that too.” Granted, our “donations” look more like Sadie offering up half her Halloween candy to the food pantry box at school, but the seed has been planted.

    She’s learning that generosity doesn’t have to be grand. It just has to be heartfelt. And in that way, Taylor has become the quiet whisper in Sadie’s ear reminding her that kindness always counts.

    Jase | The Protector Finds Quiet Strength

    Now let’s talk about my son, Jase—the quiet one. He’s a worrier, a protector, and the kind of kid who would rather spend an afternoon on the basketball court than on stage. He doesn’t gush about Taylor the way his sisters do, but every once in a while, I catch him humming along. And when he thinks no one’s looking, he knows all the words.

    What Jase absorbs from Taylor is grit. He sees an athlete’s mindset mirrored in her career: setbacks are temporary, practice matters, and persistence wins. He hears about her battles to reclaim her music and recognizes the quiet strength it takes to fight for what’s yours without losing your dignity.

    In Jase’s world, that translates into showing up for his team, even when he’s nervous. It looks like studying harder when a subject doesn’t come easily. It sounds like quietly telling his sisters, “Leave Mom alone, she’s tired,” when he sees me stretched thin. Taylor has become an invisible coach in his corner—reminding him that strength doesn’t always shout; sometimes it simply stands firm.

    The Lessons Taylor Brings to Our Table

    So how exactly does Taylor Swift co-parent three tweens in a small-town family like mine? She shows up in the lessons her life teaches:

    • Kindness matters. Whether it’s handwritten notes to fans or a smile at the right moment, Taylor reminds my kids that kindness doesn’t cost anything but pays back in spades.
    • Generosity is power. She models giving—not just in dollars, but in spirit. My kids see that generosity isn’t weakness; it’s leadership.
    • Grit is non-negotiable. From re-recording her albums to standing tall through criticism, Taylor shows that setbacks don’t define you—your response does.

    As a parent, I can preach these values until I’m blue in the face, but hearing them from someone they admire? That’s magic.

    Parenting in the Swift Era

    Parenting tweens is not for the faint of heart. Some days I feel like I’m running a tiny emotional rollercoaster park staffed by hormonal ticket-takers who demand snacks on the hour. Having Taylor as my “co-parent” doesn’t mean life is suddenly smooth. My kids still bicker – constantly. They still roll their eyes. They still leave socks in places socks were never meant to be.

    But when they turn up Taylor’s music, I see the lessons sinking in. Henley sings her little heart out, Sadie dances like no one’s watching, and Jase nods along with quiet resolve. And in those moments, I exhale. Because even if I don’t always have the right words, they’ve got Taylor’s voice reminding them to be brave, be kind, and keep going.

    Why It Feels Different This Time

    When I was a tween, I didn’t have a role model like Taylor. Sure, there were pop stars, but many of them seemed distant, scandal-plagued, or polished to perfection in ways that didn’t feel real. Taylor is different. She’s glamorous, yes, but she’s also grounded. She talks about her mistakes, her heartbreaks, and her resilience.

    That matters. It matters that my children see a woman thriving in her own skin, telling her own story, and refusing to let others define her. It matters that they see her building an empire with empathy at its core. It matters that they get to grow up knowing that kindness and grit can, in fact, coexist.

    Raising Swifties

    I didn’t set out to raise Swifties. But here I am, living with 2 1/4 of them. And I’ll tell you what: I’m grateful. Because Taylor has become more than a soundtrack—she’s a teacher, a coach, and yes, a bit of a co-parent.

    Raising kids in this era feels daunting sometimes. The world is loud, complicated, and often discouraging. But Taylor’s voice cuts through the noise, reminding them—and me—that there’s beauty in resilience, power in kindness, and joy in generosity.

    So if Taylor wants to keep co-parenting alongside me? I’ll save her a seat at the dinner table. We’ve got 2 1/4 growing Swifties to raise, and I think we’re doing just fine.

  • Cancer, Kids, and Kitchen Booth Confessions

    Cancer, Kids, and Kitchen Booth Confessions

    So here’s the thing: telling your kids you have breast cancer is right up there with “explaining algebra” and “teaching someone how to parallel park” on the list of impossible parenting tasks. Only this time, the stakes feel way higher.

    Matt and I told the kids in the kitchen booth—the place where life happens in our house. It’s where we’ve had serious talks, and silly talks, played endless rounds of board games, eaten dinners both fancy and frozen, and stacked up years of family memories. And now, hearing that their mom has cancer will be another booth memory stamped into the wood grain of those benches.

    Jase, Henley, and Sadie are twelve. Old enough to know things. Old enough to Google things (terrifying). Old enough to remember that my mom—their grandma they never got to meet—died of breast cancer. Which means the second those words left my mouth—“Mom has cancer”—I could practically see the cartoon thought bubbles appear over their heads: Is she going to die too?

    And then the booth got heavy. The kind of heavy that only tweens can make heavier, with their big worried eyes and the silence that lingers longer than you want it to.

    Until, of course, Sadie—my resident drama queen—after bawling, broke the silence by asking:

    “So…are you getting bigger boobs?”

    Of all the questions in the world, that was the one she chose. And I laughed. Hard. Because how do you not? Leave it to a tween to bring us back down to earth. Lifetime movie moment over. Booth memory made. Welcome back to reality.

    The Ghost in the Room

    Here’s what I know: my kids aren’t just processing my diagnosis—they’re also haunted by a story they’ve only ever heard. My mom’s story. Their grandma’s story. She died from this, long before they were born, and whether they’ve admitted it or not, that shadow lives in the corners of their understanding.

    So now, I’m not only convincing myself that I’m going to be fine—I’m convincing them. And let me tell you, convincing three tweens of anything is already a feat. Convincing them I’m going to survive what killed the grandma they never knew? Herculean.

    The Tween Factor

    Here’s what I imagine is swirling inside their brains (if I know them at all):

    • Jase: What’s the survival rate? I should Google statistics. Wait, is Mom Googling? Who’s Googling?
    • Henley: How do I turn this into a TikTok trend without making Mom mad?
    • Sadie: Does this mean I get to shop for new clothes if Mom gets new boobs?

    And then, of course, there’s the constant middle school backdrop of hormones, homework, sports, and who-sat-by-who-at-lunch, all now colliding with the fact that Mom has cancer.

    So How Do I Convince Them?

    I can’t promise them perfection. I can’t promise them a life without pain or fear. But I can promise them this:

    • I’ll fight with everything I’ve got.
    • I’ll laugh whenever I can (even at boob jokes).
    • I’ll be honest—even when it’s messy.
    • And I’ll remind them that my story is not my mom’s story.

    I can already hear myself repeating it over and over: I’m going to be fine. This is not Grandma’s cancer. This is mine. And I’m going to be just fine.

    And maybe that’s how it works—not convincing them in one big dramatic speech, but in a hundred small reassurances. In the way I keep showing up. In the way we still have tacos on Tuesdays and complain about math homework and argue over whose turn it is to walk the dog.

    The Punchline

    Cancer is scary, yes. But life with tweens means there’s always a punchline. And apparently, in our family, the punchline is boobs.

    So here’s what I hope they remember years from now: not just that their mom had cancer, but that their mom had cancer and still laughed with them, still parented them, and still answered ridiculous questions about free boob upgrades at the kitchen booth.

    Because maybe that’s how you convince your kids you’ll be fine: you keep living. And you keep laughing.

  • Picture Day Survival | Outfits, Eye Rolls, and Mom Wisdom

    Picture Day Survival | Outfits, Eye Rolls, and Mom Wisdom

    Every fall, tucked in between practices and math homework, comes a day mothers everywhere simultaneously dread and secretly cherish: School Picture Day.

    The reminder slips into backpacks, and just like that, it’s not just about standing in front of a camera—it’s a full-on theatrical event starring tweens, complete with drama, costume changes, sibling rivalries, and more pep talks than a football coach in overtime.

    If you’ve got 12-year-olds (almost 13, which they will remind you at every possible opportunity), you know exactly what I mean.

    Tween Girls and The Outfit Crisis

    Here’s how it goes down in my house: the girls treat Picture Day as though Vogue is sending a photographer, and their yearbook photo will set the course of their entire social destiny.

    Outfits are not simply “picked.” Oh no. They are auditioned. Rehearsed. Stared at in the mirror with narrowed eyes.

    “Does this make me look weird?” one daughter asks, turning dramatically like she’s walking a Paris runway.

    “I’m not wearing that,” declares the other, tossing a shirt back into the closet like it personally insulted her.

    Suddenly, the bedroom floor looks like a fashion bomb went off—leggings, cardigans, headbands, shoes that somehow all “don’t go.” There are accusations: “You copied me!” There are ultimatums: “If she wears that, I’m not wearing this.”

    And me? I’m sitting in the kitchen with my coffee, trying to channel both therapist and hostage negotiator.

    “Girls,” I say gently, “you are both beautiful. It doesn’t matter if you both wear a cardigan. You will not look like twins in the yearbook.”

    Cue the sighs, the hair flips, the stomping to the bathroom for one last look.

    Meanwhile, Jase

    Then there’s my son.

    Jase strolls into the room, hair sticking up, wearing a hoodie he probably found crumpled on the floor. He shrugs when I raise an eyebrow.

    “This is fine.”

    “It’s not fine,” I say, tugging at the wrinkled hem. “It’s Picture Day.”

    “I don’t care,” he says flatly, tugging the hoodie back out of my hands.

    And here’s the thing—he means it. He really doesn’t care.

    I launch into my pep talk: “Dude, these photos will be around forever. Nana and Papa will hang them up. Your sisters are having meltdowns over outfit choices. Can you at least put on a clean shirt?”

    He stares at me like I’ve asked him to climb Mount Everest. Finally, he sighs, mutters something about being tortured, and swaps the hoodie for a polo. A polo. Victory.

    The Bathroom Is the War Zone

    Once clothes are decided (loosely, in Jase’s case), we move to phase two: hair.

    The girls hover over the bathroom mirror with a seriousness usually reserved for surgeons. One wants her hair curled, the other straight. There are sprays, brushes, heat tools, headbands. There are tears.

    “This side won’t stay down!”

    “Now I look like a mushroom!”

    “Why is my hair so… flat?!”

    Meanwhile, Jase runs a wet hand through his hair, glances in the mirror, and says, “Done.”

    I breathe. I remind myself that one day I’ll miss this. (That’s what everyone keeps telling me, anyway.)

    The Mom Pep Talk

    Here’s the thing: underneath all the chaos, my job isn’t just to keep everyone’s collars straight and hair somewhat tamed. My real role is pep talker-in-chief.

    I pull the girls aside, one at a time. “Listen. It doesn’t matter if your eyeliner isn’t perfect. It doesn’t matter if your sister picked the same color. You are radiant, and your smile is the thing people will notice most. Just breathe, stand tall, and own it.”

    And to Jase, as he rolls his eyes and insists he doesn’t need advice: “Hey. I know you don’t care about this picture, but I promise one day you’ll look back and be glad you wore the polo. Just give me one smile—your real one, not the one where you look like you’re in pain. Got it?”

    He grunts, which I’m taking as agreement.

    The Walk Out the Door

    Finally, after what feels like hours of outfit swapping, hair smoothing, and affirmations, we’re ready.

    The girls are still bickering about who looks better. Jase is already halfway down the driveway, muttering about how ridiculous this all is. And me? I’m calling after them with my final Olympic-level pep talk:

    “Remember, shoulders back! Chin up! Smile like you mean it!”

    They wave me off with the universal tween gesture: a combination of eye roll, head shake, and muffled “Moooom.”

    When the Photos Come Back

    Weeks later, the envelopes arrive, tucked into backpacks. I open them with the same suspense as a season finale cliffhanger.

    The girls? One is glowing, the other is clearly mid-blink but insists she looks “fine.” Jase? Shockingly, miraculously, he’s smiling—a real one.

    And just like that, the chaos of Picture Day fades into something sweet. Because whether they’re dramatic, indifferent, or somewhere in between, these are the faces I love most.

    Why the Pep Talk Matters

    Picture Day isn’t about the perfect photo. It’s about teaching my kids that showing up as themselves is always enough.

    For the girls, that means reminding them their worth isn’t tied to the perfect outfit. For Jase, it means showing him that even if he doesn’t care, his presence still matters.

    And for me, it’s learning that behind all the drama, behind all the sighs and eye rolls, is something precious: my almost-teenagers, on the cusp of growing up, still letting me be the voice that whispers, “You’ve got this.”

    The Real Picture

    So here’s to Picture Day moms. To the outfit meltdowns and the kids who “don’t care.” To the eye rolls, the pep talks, and the memories we’ll laugh about later.

    Because at the end of the day, the photos are just snapshots. But the pep talks? Those are the real legacy.