• Every night between 5 and 7 p.m., my two little ones would hit an emotional wall.
• We started going on a walk with them every evening, and it helped so much.
• Adding a walk to our routine helps our family connect, and helps ease them into bedtime.

As a parent to two little ones, I dread what many call the "witching hour," the time between 5 and 7 p.m. when my 2-year-old and 4-year-old hit a wall, and I crash land behind them. When I was a new parent, the meltdowns, demands, and emotional dysregulation of my babies used to force me to revert to babyhood myself. I'd also become tearful and distraught. I even started to develop noticeable anxiety leading up to that specific time of day.

That is until I began implementing a tried-and-true parenting hack in our evening routine: a change of scenery. Yes, when my kids reached toddlerhood and turned into puddles on the floor — made of tears and flaccid bodies — I decided to switch up our environment and head outside, hoping to ease the blow of that anxiety-inducing time of day.

Our routine is important to me

We started our routine years ago, but after the disruptive summer schedule and a hurricane that made walking outdoors unsafe, our walks were put on pause for a time. I decided to re-commence our evening walks once power lines had been repaired and fallen trees removed, and as expected, there was some pushback from my preschoolers. The unwillingness to comply was a challenge. Simple acts of putting on shoes, jackets, and hats were akin to those of the trials and tribulations of a hero in a Greek myth.

But what I have found to be effective in decreasing both the length and intensity of their own emotional reactions is to speak about new habits as an exciting addition to our already-established routine.

When we return home from school pick-up, I allow my kids to watch one (or two, depending on how much time I need in the kitchen for dinner prep) episodes of a children's show. Once our meal is in the oven or turned to simmer, I announce, "It's time for our evening walk!" Then, I remind them that our evening walk is "what we do every day now, so that we can enjoy the last hour of sunshine before the moon rises and tells us that it's time to rest our bodies."

And now, as the temperatures drop and the sun sets earlier in the day, I make it a point to gear up my kids as early as possible. In the middle of the transition from indoors to outdoors, I say, "Remember, this is how we take care of our minds and our bodies."

We go for walks no matter the season, and they help us all feel better

And though we still have days where one or two or all of us are feeling out-of-sorts during the witching hour, I find our evening walk to be the spell we all need: the thing that breaks the curse and grants us the freedom to disconnect from the stresses of our day and reconnect with one another, our community, and our natural world.

During our stroll, I put my phone away. I allow my kids to choose the route, and I resist the urge to fill the air with my words. I listen. I hold their hands. I participate in their play. We say hello to our neighbors. My girls pass on treats — handed to them by other dog owners — to satisfy their furry children. We pay attention to the "treasures" that will undoubtedly appear along our path: colorful fall leaves, in-tact acorns, shiny rocks, or "really cool" tree branches.

By the time we've made our loop around the neighborhood and return home, we all feel much better. It's become the best part of my day and one I'm hellbent on practicing, even into the darkest winter months.

• We live in Asheville, and after Hurricane Helene, my kids wanted to donate toys.
• I taught them how to declutter using the KonMari method.
• They were so excited to give their once-loved toys to other kids.

In 2019, I binge-watched the Netflix series "Tidying Up with Marie Kondo." Back then, I was going through a difficult time in my life: my husband and I were trying to conceive while also dealing with my parents' tempestuous divorce. After watching the episode "Making Room for a Baby," I desperately wanted to "clean up my life," both metaphorically and physically. And so, I set out to declutter our tiny 500-square-foot apartment in Sunnyside, Queens, to manifest a positive pregnancy test.

Instead of twiddling my fingers and wallowing in self-pity, I began to do the work until every nook and cranny was purged, cleaned, and organized. I even purchased various storage containers and new furniture to solve the embarrassing problem areas of our home.

When I finished, I relished my work. The labor of tossing out items that no longer "sparked joy" unironically did just that: sparked joy and gave me a renewed sense of hope for the future.

Years after my cathartic experience with decluttering, Hurricane Helene hit

Five years later, my husband and I have a 2- and a 4-year-old, and we live in Asheville, North Carolina, a small mountain city that recently experienced a devastating blow from Hurricane Helene. To help our daughters better understand the scope of the damage, we drove through the decimated areas of town.

They saw with their own eyes how the Swannanoa and French Broad rivers wiped out numerous homes, businesses, and parks. As we surveyed the wreckage, we mourned the places that no longer existed, places that our family frequented and cherished.

By the end of our surveillance, our family had brainstormed ways to serve our community, like supporting local businesses and donating items we no longer used. The experience was simultaneously heartbreaking and heartwarming.

I talked with my daughters about how their unused items could help others

Since my daughters were most excited about the idea of going through their own things and passing them along to children in need, we got to work as soon as we returned home. One thing is for certain, though: getting rid of stuff is hard, and at first, my daughters had a difficult time emotionally with the task of decluttering. I recognized immediately that I needed to rely on a simple guide or principle to help my daughters understand the "how" and "why" behind our purging.

Enter the KonMari Method.

I explained the basic idea: We would go through each individual item one by one and ask ourselves if it sparked joy. If it didn't, it would go into the donation box. If it did, we would designate a home for the item in the room so that we would know where it lived during future clean-up sessions.

After a few practices, my oldest child really got the assignment, and her little sister quickly followed suit. When they found their groove, I decided to exit their bedroom, partially to give them space and so I could prepare dinner and resist the urge to interfere with their choices.

When I returned to check in, my daughters had gone through every single stuffed animal in the room and had filled one large garbage bag. I was stunned that my kids were able to complete the difficult task with very few tears.

Together, we thanked the stuffed animals that once sparked joy and told them it was their time to do the same for someone else — someone who could use a little more joy in their life after the storm.

I was so proud of them for letting go of their once-loved things

As I carried out the bag of stuffies, I told my kids how proud I was and that they should be proud of themselves, too. They were able to let go of things that were once special to them to brighten someone else's day.

"How amazing is that?" I asked tearfully as I dropped to my knees and embraced my two little ones. I marveled at the beauty of these tiny human beings while also grieving all that our neighbors had lost.

Within seconds, my oldest enthusiastically shouted, "Let's keep going, Mom!"

Yes, I thought, let's keep going. Let's keep going despite the devastation. Let's keep going despite our grief and sorrow. Let's keep going because there is more to this world than our physical possessions. Let's keep going because we must — for one another's sake.