• My birthday falls in the week between Christmas and New Year.
• Other celebrations always overshadowed my special day.
• My twins were born on December 23rd, and I often can't make their birth as special as I'd like.

Growing up, I often gave my parents low-key guilt trips about my birthday. Being born in the week between Christmas and New Year's meant I never got to have a celebration at school and rarely had parties since my friends were usually out of town.

While I understood at some level that my parents hadn't chosen that particular day on purpose, I carried a lingering resentment that I'd been born at the worst time of year.

My day was overshadowed by other celebrations

My "special" day always seemed to be overshadowed by the rest of the holiday season.

I got over it eventually. As a young adult, I threw parties for myself in late January or spent the day hitting post-Christmas sales with friends. Sometimes, when days of nonstop family time had drained all my energy, it was a treat to gift myself a trip to the movies — alone.

While I eventually made peace with the situation, a holiday birthday was one family tradition I had no intention of handing down. After I got married and my new husband and I started talking about children, I was careful to make the nine-month calculations and ensure I didn't get pregnant in March.

My first child, Clara, was born in early September, a date that came with its own issues but was well ahead of the holidays. But things weren't as straightforward when we started trying for a sibling. Eventually, I started IVF, and any attempts to time my next pregnancy went out the window. I was at the mercy of shots and cycles that were very much out of my control.

My due date was in February

The first attempt at IVF didn't take, but a few months later, the second one did. Soon I found out I would be having twins in early February. Crisis averted! Or so I thought.

Pregnancy being pregnancy and twins being twins, I should have known the due date was an estimate, not a guarantee. Throughout that fall, as I started coming to my doctor for more frequent checkups, she reminded me that twins tend to arrive early. After some signs of possible early labor, I was put on bedrest in early December. A few weeks later, I was moved to the hospital.

And early on the morning of December 23, James and Alan arrived.

My first emotion was overwhelming relief that they were healthy, and my second reaction was an overwhelming sense of guilt.

"I'm so sorry, little guys," I thought to myself. "I never wanted you to get stuck with a December birthday."

The one consolation, I hoped, was the fact that they had a mother who could commiserate and help them make the best of it.

I made sure their birthday was celebrated

From their very first birthday, I made sure the day was its own distinct occasion, with balloons and streamers and cake. I discreetly suggested to well-meaning family members that it was better to buy the boys two separate, smaller gifts rather than a single, combined "Christmas/birthday" present.

No matter what other holiday events were planned during that week, my boys got to choose whatever activity they wanted on their birthday and whatever kind of food. Christmas cheer would take a 24-hour pause.

That doesn't mean my boys are any happier about their birthday timing than I used to be. They've missed birthday-at-school shoutouts; birthday sleepovers with friends have had to be pushed into January; and despite my best efforts, I'm often so busy doing last-minute shopping and baking that I don't always make the day as special as it could be.

But I like to think this experience has taught my boys a lesson it took me a long time to learn. In a culture where people are constantly curating versions of themselves online, it's easy for children to think that anything they don't like about themselves can be airbrushed or exercised away.

But there are certain things about your life you can't control. Getting pregnant is one of them. Having a healthy child is another. And if you've ever worried about either of those things, you quickly realize how little an actual birth date matters.

The whole point of a birthday celebration is to make a person feel appreciated and special, to let them know they're loved. And you can do that any day of the year.

• My children have lied to me ever since they were young.
• This is a normal part of development as kids test the waters and try to avoid punishment.
• I've struggled to deal with the lying and tried to remain a positive role model for them.

It never ceases to amaze me how effortlessly my children lie. My 18-month-old, whose face was covered with crumbs, swore up and down that she hadn't been near the cookie jar. My preschooler looked me in the eye and denied breaking the window with his plastic bat that was still in his hand. It didn't seem to get better as they got older.

After I handed my ATM card to my two oldest sons so they had money for lunch, I asked for the change, and they said, "We only took out $5, so there is no change."

We all know you can't just withdraw $5.00. How could they tell me such a bald-faced lie with a straight face?

Dealing with my children's lies has been one of the most challenging aspects of parenting.

Lying is natural in childhood

Here's the problem: Lying is easy. What I find especially distressing is that no one has to teach children how to lie.

"Lying is developmentally appropriate," Ailen Arreaza, the executive director of Parents Together, a national nonprofit parent and family advocacy group, told me. "When a toddler or a 4-year-old lies, it's frustrating for the parent, but it's perfectly normal. It means that your kid's brain is developing in the way that it should be."

Arreaza also told me kids tell three kinds of lies: attention-seeking ones, careless ones, and serious ones that happen when they're older.

For example, one of my sons told me he missed curfew because he lost track of time when, in fact, he was at his girlfriend's house and just didn't want to leave.

"Often teenagers tell lies because they're afraid of the consequences or they're embarrassed," Arreaza said.

I struggled with how I should handle lying

Confronting my children in search of the truth is never comfortable. In fact, it can be exhausting — a round-robin of questions and denials before they finally break and admit what they've done.

There have been times when I was so eager to know the truth that I promised to refrain from any form of punishment. I want to hear a confession to satisfy my suspicion and feel vindicated, but then I face the sticky situation of what happens next time they lie.

"It's important to address the lie, but not in a way that shames the child and labels them as liars," Arreaza said. "This is about changing a behavior, not who the child is. Create a safe environment where truth-telling is encouraged. If they think they're disappointing you or they're going to get in trouble, they're going to continue to lie to please you."

I try to be a role model for my kids

I want nothing more than for my children to tell the truth, and often they do.

When he was 12, one of my boys came to me and, unprompted, confessed to a more serious lie he'd told previously. I had no clue, but it was eating him up inside. My son expressed his remorse and asked for forgiveness. I imagined the guilt was gnawing at him for betraying my trust.

I'm glad he admitted that he lied. In modeling the truth for my children, I hope they understand they can always come clean to me. My son felt safe and supported to do just that.

In that way, I have to believe that the truth will always win out in the end.

When my son was little, his father and I went through a custody trial and agreed on a holiday-sharing schedule. It outlined that if my son spent a holiday with me, the following year, he would spend that same holiday with his dad. So if I got Christmas Eve and Day with him one year, the next, his father would spend those days with him.

Initially, my son's father and I stuck to the original holiday-sharing schedule. I observed that while my son never had a preference for who he spent the holidays with, he did miss the parent he didn't get to see. After a few years of splitting holidays up, I was compelled to work with his father on a better arrangement. While it doesn't always work out perfectly, we have found that it's best for our son to spend time with each of his parents on any given holiday.

We do our best to come up with a plan that works for the whole family

Our new arrangement is informal, and I think we each try to work with each other based on what's going on with our respective families that year and how we divided up the holidays the year prior. While initially we had every holiday divided up until my son turns 18, I think the way we work with each other now is far more realistic.

One downside to co-parenting around the holidays is that I always have to tell other people that I need to talk to my son's father before we make any definite plans. Sometimes, I've wished I could just book a vacation over the winter break. However, I've realized that not only does his father deserve to spend time with his son on the holiday as much as I do, I know our son prefers it that way, too.

My immediate family understands that I may not have my son for certain traditions, so they factor this in when they're making their plans. They will ask me ahead of time on which days or times I'll have my son; not only are his father and I working together to make sure my son gets to see most of his extended family, but our families do their best to work with us, too.

It doesn't always work perfectly, so there have been exceptions

There are certain holidays where the division is an easy decision, such as Thanksgiving. Growing up, I always liked watching the parade in the morning. Every year, I had an aunt who would suggest we just eat our pie for breakfast, but no one ever went through with it.

When I had my son, I had the opportunity to make our own traditions. So now, he and I make pumpkin and apple pies the night before Thanksgiving and then have some for breakfast the next morning while we watch the parade. Since his father's family has a big dinner in the afternoon, we usually just split the day in half so that my son is with me in the morning and with his dad in the afternoon.

It might not be a perfect system, as my son is missed at our family's dinner on Thanksgiving, but after co-parenting for a decade, I've come to accept that his father and I always need to work together to come up with a plan that works best for our son, even if that means dividing up every holiday. Sometimes it doesn't work out, so we've learned to address every holiday individually.

Last year, my son's father wanted to take him up to New England to spend a week with his family that lives up there, and I was hesitant. My son and I had never spent a Thanksgiving apart before. When I asked my son if he wanted to go, he was excited. Not only does he rarely get to visit with those family members, but we live in Florida, so he had never seen snow before. I made sure he understood that he and I would spend Thanksgiving apart, and while he was sad about that part, we agreed that because it was a special opportunity for him, he should go.

Our new agreement feels right

This year, his father asked for Christmas Eve since I had my son for Christmas Eve last year. Then, my son will come home Christmas morning and spend the rest of the holiday with me, which is what he did with his dad last year. While I love to have my son on Christmas Eve, it's nice when I have him on Christmas Day, too. After spending alternate years without him on either of those days, I think our way of dividing up the holidays works out so much better.

Not only do we each get to share our traditions with our son every year instead of every other year, but my son can count on spending the holidays with both of his parents. It's always a little sad for him when he is separated from one of us, and that emotion is amplified on holidays. But I think it comforts him to know that his father and I will always work together to make sure he doesn't have to spend the holidays without seeing one of his parents.

• I knew I didn't want my four kids to graduate from college with student loan debt.
• I started saving for college when my oldest was in the first grade, and it's not enough.
• With three more kids heading to college, I'm overwhelmed financially.

I was with my four kids on the playground one day, talking with the other moms. We were chatting about school, work, and tiptoeing around the subject of finances.

One of the moms mentioned saving for college, and it felt like cold water was poured on me. I had a vague idea about tax-advantaged college savings plans; our diligent financial advisor had surely discussed them in one of our meetings. But the numbers — the 529s, 401ks, and 403bs — all swam together in my head.

However, I was confronted by the fact that someone else with small children was already planning for college. I felt like we had just started saving for retirement, and now I had to start thinking about another future — four of them.

Did I have to start worrying about this already? If I wanted to be anywhere close to ready when they graduated from high school, I did.

That was years ago, and now that college is here, I'm worried we'll never have enough.

We knew college was going to be difficult for my large family

My parents remortgaged their house to pay for my college. While I hope it doesn't come to that, my family is in a difficult situation. My husband and I make too much money for grants. I am a freelance writer, picking up as many gigs as I can, and my husband is a small-business owner.

After the pandemic and online school, all of my kids' grades plummeted while their anxiety skyrocketed, so scholarships are not an option for them.

I also knew that I wanted my kids to leave college without any student loan debt that they'd be paying off for the next 20 years.

That meant college tuition fell on my husband and me. In two years, we'll have two college tuitions to pay. In the next seven years, we will be paying for all four of my kids to go to college.

We started saving years ago, and it's not enough

Shortly after that mom's group, I called my advisor, and we started college savings plans for each kid. We have been saving since my college freshman was in first grade.

We automatically withdraw $100 a month for each kid, which is $400 a month out of the budget. That's no chump change, but it's not even close to enough.

We saved $1,200 a year per kid for nearly 12 years. That's not even enough for one year of tuition, books, and room and board.

My oldest son started school in September. We saved $14,400 for him and used our state's 529 plan, so it was invested and grew to a little over $20,000. He attends an in-state public school, and those savings still weren't enough.

He works in the summer and on breaks to help with costs. For the remaining amount, my husband and I squeeze it out of our budget. We're on a payment plan, so it's broken up — $3,300 a month rather than $13,200 all at once at the beginning of the semester.

Getting a good education is still worth it

Education is a core value in my family. Going to college will afford my kids so many opportunities. Thankfully, my son is thriving at school. Despite the expense, despite my feelings of overwhelm, I still think it's worth going. He's happy, and he's learning a lot — both in his classes and about himself.

The finances aren't his concern right now. My husband's business is doing great, and I'm taking on more writing gigs and a couple of side hustles. There will be vacations closer to home, and the new bathroom that I've wanted for a while won't happen.

We will get through these next 10 years; we will just keep our heads down and pay the bills as they come in.

When the overwhelm starts to kick in again, I check my son's texts. The smiling photos with his college roommates and the video of his rugby club remind me all this is worth it.

• I've planned girls' trips with friends for years, but it's been harder to coordinate them over time.
• We all have a lot going on, and many of us have kids who can be especially tough to plan around.
• Our adults-only trips aren't going anywhere, but we now plan group trips with our daughters, too.

Since college, I've been fortunate to have a big, close-knit group of girlfriends — and I've prioritized nurturing those friendships.

I especially love strengthening our bonds during getaways, and in my group, I handle planning and coordinating the girls' trips.

Since the '90s, I've spearheaded countless getaways for our group — from raging college spring breaks (New Orleans) to bachelorette parties and divorce parties (both Vegas), to milestone birthdays (my 21st in NYC and 30th in Jamaica), to healing retreats after illness and loss.

These trips have been a great source of joy, laughter, healing, and countless memories — one that sustains us through distance and life's tribulations.

I'm determined to keep up the girls' trip tradition, especially as life looks different for all of us.

There are more factors to consider now that we're adults with full lives

In our teens and early 20s, finding time and space for bonding was easy because many of us lived together and had few distractions.

As life has gone on, those opportunities for connection have become fewer and more difficult to coordinate. We no longer live under one roof, and many of us aren't even in the same city.

In our group, there are big jobs, spouses or partners, ailing and elderly parents, a wide range of disposable incomes, and home projects.

For many of us, there are also kids. This element, in particular, makes it harder for people to commit to dates and make a trip happen: There's homework to do, drop-off and pick-up schedules to coordinate, and sometimes no partner who can help.

It can be hard to prioritize time for yourself as a parent, let alone make time for a trip with friends.

A recent change of plans helped me approach girls' trips in a new way

My last girls' trip to Palm Springs was an impulsive overnight stay at an Airbnb oasis with a jewel box of a pool amid a historic heat wave.

My friend had intended to celebrate her anniversary with her husband and daughter there — but when he got sick, she invited my daughter and I to join for a two-generation girls-only sleepover instead.

While we hung out, our daughters (ages 7 and 10) had fun among themselves. When we all came together, we did pedicures and facials, had cannonball contests, and shared a huge tray of nachos by the pool.

This arrangement was fun and rewarding, plus it eased some of the logistical burdens involved in coordinating childcare. It also helped me realize how nice it could be to incorporate our daughters into some of our trips.

Mom-daughter trips won't replace our old format entirely. Importantly, some friends in our group have no kids (and no interest in spending leisure time with them), and some have only sons.

Still, I'm hoping the two-generation girls' trip flourishes as one extension of a cherished tradition in our expanded circle as life goes on.

Most of all, I'm thrilled to expose the next generation to the soul-satisfying joy of girls' trips, a travel style that I believe nurtures friendships and supports sanity across all stages of life.

• Martins Lasmanis, the founder of Supliful, struggles with balancing startup growth and family time.
• Supliful quickly gained traction, and Lasmanis began working 16-hour days with three young kids.
• He now schedules family time and delegates work to manage 'dad guilt' and improve work-life balance.

My youngest son turned 3 this year — the same age as my startup, Supliful. As I watched my toddler playing on his birthday, I felt a strong sense of guilt creep up inside me. He wasn't a baby anymore, and I realized I'd missed out on him growing up.

"They grow up so fast!" is what all parents say. That day, this cliché suddenly felt terrifyingly real. Even worse — it felt as if, over the past three years, I'd spent more time growing my startup than paying attention to my children growing up.

That feeling was torturous

I've always wanted two things in life: a big family and my own business. Family is where I find peace and joy, and I find self-fulfillment in business. I've never been able to sit still and must be in constant motion.

In 2021, when I became a father of three and founder of a newly launched startup, I felt I was on the right path. My life goals were being met. I was nailing it.

While I didn't expect raising three kids and building a company from scratch would be easy, I didn't worry much either. I had already been there — a few years prior, I was running a successful online store while raising two preschoolers. I thought I had the experience necessary to handle the new responsibilities.

I was wrong

I soon realized my new venture had much more potential and was more complex and demanding than anything I had built before.

When I attracted serious interest from VC investors, my company was still in its ideation phase. We onboarded hundreds of users just three weeks after making our product public. By our second year in business, we were already making over $1M in revenue.

Success came with challenges and new responsibilities. I had to quickly grow our team, onboard new partners, and open a new fulfillment center on the other side of the world to ensure quality service to our clients — all while ensuring we didn't run out of money.

I spent my days on back-to-back calls with investors, business partners, and new hires. In the evenings, I sometimes had to help my colleagues pack and send out orders. I'd regularly travel between our office in Europe and the fulfillment center in Denver, feeling guilty for leaving my family behind every time.

My wife was extremely understanding

Throughout our 13 years together, my wife has always supported me. Although she wasn't happy about me staying late in the office or leaving for another business trip, she always encouraged me to pursue my career goals.

Without realizing it, my working days got longer. At one point, I worked 12 hours a day and sometimes as many as 16 hours.

I still tried to be as hands-on as possible with my kids. My wife and I had our own caregiving "shifts" — I covered mornings and after-work, taking the kids to and from school and day care. My wife handled the evening, taking care of dinner and putting the three to bed. We all tried to spend time together between dinner and my late work calls.

Eventually, a dreaded day came

"Daddy, you're working too much." My 7-year-old daughter caught me off guard. We had just finished our dinner one evening in September, and I prepared to disappear into my home office for another round of calls and emails. I responded "I know. I'm trying to build this business, but I should be more present with you."

I realized I was experiencing an enormous feeling of guilt — the feeling of failing as a parent because I wasn't there for my kids. While I saw my tight work schedule as a sprint that would eventually end, my kids only saw me working.

I had heard about "mom guilt," a term often used to describe the feeling women have when they believe they're not meeting their own or others' expectations in their role as parents.

I felt "dad guilt" — the dark side of entrepreneurship and many other demanding jobs requiring long hours. Every day, I feel guilty for not prioritizing my children or failing to build my startup.

I wish I had an easy fix to make this all balance out

I don't have a solution, but I have found a few things that make the weight easier to carry.

I make it a point to schedule family time on my calendar and never cancel it. I treat it as seriously as any work meeting and make a real effort to be present.

I set high standards, but I've had to remind myself that perfection isn't real. Sometimes, I take stock of the good I've done, balancing it against the areas I wish to improve. Reminding myself of these positives helps me feel more at peace with where I am.

I've delegated more work to my team, allowing me to spend more time with my kids this past month. We're moving to the US next year, so that will be another adventure.

Through it all, I'm beyond grateful for my wife. She's my best friend, and her unwavering support allows me to pursue my entrepreneurial dreams.

• Stanford University recruited my son to be a college athlete.
• He feared he wouldn't fit academically at the school.
• My son decided to drop out and transfer, but at the last minute, he found friends and stayed.

My son has always been an athlete, and sports have always come easily to him. However, he has had a problem with confidence ever since he was 8. That was when he lost the use of most of his body due to Guillain Barre, an autoimmune condition that left him paralyzed and forced him to take almost a year out of his life to re-learn to walk.

That was a huge setback, both physically and mentally, and it left him with doubts about his ability. Still, Fabian has persevered and exceeded all expectations. Not only has he become an incredible athlete, but he became the state discus champion as a sophomore in high school. He went on to claim fourth place at the National Championships in Eugene, OR, in 2021. Still, that was just the beginning of his journey.

Following Nationals, we received our first recruiting call. It was from the coach at Stanford University, and while I could not contain my excitement, my son paled.

He felt like he hadn't earned the right to be a Stanford student.

My son had doubts from the onset

I encouraged Fabian to go with the process. It was still early. I told him to just talk to the coach and that no decisions needed to be made just yet. We scheduled the first recruiting call. As we sat on the couch, side by side, my son sweating profusely through the hour-and-a-half phone call, we heard about all the exciting things that Stanford could offer and watched videos of the incredibly beautiful college campus.

When we got off the call, I couldn't wait to talk to my son about this incredible opportunity. This is what he has worked so hard for. As I turned to him, he said, "I am not going there," with a note of finality in his voice. He walked into his room and shut the door.

As we talked, it became obvious that the old feelings of inferiority that started as an 8-year-old surfaced. He wasn't sure he could cut it at Stanford academically. He didn't think he belonged as a student; he thought the school only wanted him for his athletic ability.

We continued talking about his accomplishments, amazing grades, and growing accolades in his sport. He agreed to give it a chance, especially after we visited campus on a recruiting visit. The chill campus atmosphere seemed perfect for my laid-back son.

His imposter syndrome made his freshman year difficult

As we moved Fabian into the dorms at the start of his freshman year at Stanford, he seemed excited to begin his journey. I left California to return home to the East Coast feeling excited and hopeful for him. This lasted all of two weeks.

In our daily phone calls, I heard sadness in his voice as he told me how homesick he felt. I tried to hear and understand his feelings. Over and over, the theme of not feeling like he belonged there echoed in our conversations.

When Fabian came home for Thanksgiving, he sprained his ankle and tore a ligament in his foot. When he returned to school after the break, he became outright depressed as he sat in his room alone while his teammates traveled to competitions.

Already feeling like he didn't belong academically, he felt even more lost because the only reason he was at Stanford was to be a recruited athlete; now, he could not even participate in his sport.

When Fabian came home for Christmas, I received the message loud and clear: He was not interested in returning. He was done with Stanford.

Without the pressure, he's now thriving at Stanford

I was torn on how to support my son through this. I wanted him to understand he should not give up on this amazing opportunity that would open doors for his future.

We finally discussed options and settled on finishing the trimester and then transferring colleges. As the end of the trimester approached and I became increasingly anxious about my son's future, I noticed a change in him. The closer it came to him being able to come home, the more relaxed he became. It was as if the pressure was off. He excelled in his classes. He had a solid group of friends, and they were inseparable.

As my husband and I planned to leave for our cross-country trip to pick Fabian up from Stanford for the last time, he decided to stay. When the pressure was off, he could finally experience the sense of belonging that was missing all along.

He finally found his place at Standford and on his team. Fabian now has the chance to compete as a college athlete this year.

• My fourth-grade teacher showed up to school with painting materials one day.
• She told me she wanted me to paint something for her and my mom for the holidays.
• My teacher made me feel seen and included, and I still remember her.

There's a moment when you receive a compliment, and you shrug it off immediately as though an insect had just landed on your shoulder. That happened to me when I was sitting on the floor of my fourth-grade classroom, painting a poster for a school project.

The poster-maker job fell into my lap after I lost a game of "Not it." Truthfully, I was happy to sit quietly and draw instead of fussing with my classmates about how to do our book report.

When my teacher came over to check on our progress, she leaned in and told me how much she liked my painting. I felt a mix of embarrassment and disbelief at being singled out for such praise.

I was even more surprised when Miss J, as we called her, showed up at school one day with a large shopping bag. Inside were paint brushes, watercolor paints, and two sheets of paper rolled up and held together with an elastic.

She said she wanted me to paint her something and that the second canvas was meant for my mom so I could make her a Christmas present.

Deciding what to paint

A blank canvas can be anything you want. It's a scary thought for someone like me who overthinks everything, but that's precisely what Miss J wanted me to do: paint anything of my choice.

At 9 years old, I had dozens of paintings under my belt, but never this size and not on paper that didn't buckle and warp as soon as you touched it with a wet paintbrush. The paints seemed too nice and new to use on something other than a school project.

I thought of the books my mom would read to me and decided to paint something from "Winnie the Pooh." I chose the original version of the character for my teacher and the Disney version for my mom since she had a certain fondness for the Pooh Bear look, as you can tell from baby photos of me wearing a top with no bottoms.

I had a VHS tape of a Winnie the Pooh movie and set out to recreate the cover for my mom's painting. I sketched the design in pencil first.

Then, I began the daunting task of trying to fill this oversized canvas using my once pristine tubes of paint, now squished and dented.

What my teacher's gift meant to me

When you're from a different cultural background, sometimes people overlook what you have in common. For example, a colleague asked me what my family does this time of year despite encouraging everyone else to share their Christmas plans. Remarks like these single you out, and not in the caring way of a teacher who pays you a genuine compliment.

As one of a few kids in my fourth-grade class from an immigrant family and a single-parent household, everywhere I looked, there was someone whose life looked different from mine. But instead of assuming I didn't celebrate Christmas, which I did, my teacher just wanted me to feel included.

Her generous gift showed me I had a talent worth buying and actually using quality art supplies. She even had my painting professionally framed like my mom did.

I saw it once when we drove by her house in the sixth grade. It was, just as she said, right in the middle of her living room, surrounded by custom matting.

Memories fade, but colors endure

The teacher I saw every day, who introduced me to Maya Angelou and Jane Goodall, took a leave of absence when she found out she was having a baby. I moved on, too, starting high school a year early.

As an undergraduate student, I bumped into Miss J one evening. She was sitting in her car like she was waiting for someone, and I felt hesitant to approach her.

Maybe she wouldn't recognize me until she pointed at me and smiled. Her son came out of a nearby building, and she pointed at me a second time and told him, "That's the girl who painted the Winnie the Pooh picture in your room."

In grade six, I gave her a second painting as a baby gift. Thirty years later, I can't remember exactly what these paintings look like.

I just know that I wanted to capture the feeling of playing in the Hundred Acre Wood, the fictional place where Pooh Bear and his friends would gather.

My teacher's gift reminds me of something we all want: someone to acknowledge and remember us. I'll never forget her.

• My kids are teenagers now, but they believed in Elf on the Shelf for more than a decade.
• When I was deep in my elf years, I complained about the work, and now I miss it.
• These days, my elves are literally sitting on a shelf, and the holidays aren't quite the same.

My kids are 14 and 16 now, but they held onto their belief in Elf on the Shelf for over a decade. When they were preschoolers, I'd set up elaborate displays showing Jingle and Garland (each kid had their own elf, naturally) pulling all sorts of pranks. Over the years, the elves toilet-papered the bathroom, hung everyone's underwear on the Christmas tree, and made snow angels in flour on my kitchen counter.

I have always been, if nothing else, organized. Each year I'd make a spreadsheet with the elves' activities for the entire month of December. December 3? Fishing in the kitchen sink with Goldfish crackers. December 18? Stealing Baby Jesus from the nativity set. The ideas varied from maximum mom effort to simple. Like Christmas gifts, I'd buy the supplies in advance and store them away so I had what I needed for a month of elfin shenanigans.

Now that my kids have outgrown Elf on the Shelf, I miss it

I'll never forget times when, as we sat at dinner, my 6-year-old daughter would dreamily say, "I wonder what the elves will do tomorrow?" or the moments I'd hear my 8-year-old son exchanging stories with his friends at school about what everyone's elves did the night before.

We were an all-in elf family: We watched the "Elf on the Shelf" holiday cartoon special, we owned EOTS pajamas, we added Elf Pets — like a reindeer and a St. Bernard — to the fold, and I … well, I was exhausted keeping up with it all.

"I forgot to move the elves," I'd sometimes groan, warm under the covers and ready for bed. More times than I care to admit, I was up at midnight sneaking around the house, setting up scenes to make my kids think the elves drew mustaches on our family photos or were taken hostage by their Lego minifigures. Later, on bleary-eyed coffee dates with mom friends, we'd commiserate over our hatred of the elf, which always seemed strange to me, considering it was an evil we willingly brought on ourselves.

I don't regret telling my kids the elves weren't real, but it's still bittersweet

My kids' disbelief in Santa Claus and all the magic that comes with him came later than other kids. In fact, after a particular Christmas of wearing myself out with the magic-making, I told my husband, "I am so sick of an imaginary man getting credit for all the hard work I do as their mom." Tired of the Santa-run patriarchy, I decided if they were still living in the world of make-believe by Easter, I'd spill the beans.

When Easter rolled around, I had to sit my 11 and 13-year-old kids down and tell them the truth. They admitted they'd suspected it for a while and, of their own accord, asked my husband if they could make me an Easter basket that year. Inside were all my favorites: lottery scratch-offs, lip gloss, Hot Tamales, and a copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit," my favorite children's book. Inside, they'd written, "Mom, thank you for all of the magical holidays."

These days, the elves are, quite literally, on the shelf

For the first few elf-free Christmases, we jokingly moved Jingle and Garland from room to room. I'd slide the elves behind the mirror of my daughter's dresser then, the next day, find the creepy little felt creatures staring up at me from my office desk. These days, however, the elves are stationary. They are quite literally on the shelf, sitting on a bookshelf with some other holiday decorations as a relic of Christmases past. And, hear me out: I miss them.

Raising two teenagers is wildly fun and I'm not the mom who often laments how "fast it all goes" and pine for the toddler years. Still, there's a bit of magic missing from my home during the holidays — magic that left with my kids' belief that Jingle and Garland, two scout elves from the North Pole, returned to Santa nightly to report on their behavior and came back to pull silly pranks each morning while they slept.

Making holiday magic is a lot of work, but it's worth it

I'll never be the parent who tells younger moms and dads to "enjoy every moment," because parenting is stressful and hard. But I will tell you this: Enjoy those late nights waiting for your kids to fall asleep so you can move your Elf on the Shelf to its next destination. Relish in those little voices shrieking in delight about elves found having sack races with stuffed animals or tea parties with Barbie dolls. Memorize the faces and the giggles and the joy that Elf on the Shelf brings because, believe it or not, you will miss it one day.

And pro tip? Set a reminder on your phone to move that darn elf before you get snuggled into bed for the night.

• Our home is within walking distance of a good school, but it wasn't the best fit for my daughter.
• To get to her school, we learned she would have to rely on Washington, DC's public transit system.
• She was just 10 at the time, but the experience taught her independence and confidence.

Just before my daughter was born, our family purchased a house in a quaint neighborhood in Washington, DC. We stretched our budget to buy a home on a quiet, tree-lined street in a "good" school district. Like many families, schools were the driving force behind our decision.

Our house is within walking distance of what were then well-regarded elementary, middle, and high schools. We thought we had created a perfect lifestyle, one that included our children walking to and from school until they graduated from high school. I was grateful for the privilege to be able to do so. The plan worked brilliantly for my daughter's elementary school years. We made the seven-minute walk to school and back together until she was in fourth grade. Then, she preferred walking with a friend. No one batted an eye in our nearly crime-free neighborhood.

The middle school in our neighborhood wasn't a good fit

Everything changed when my daughter started middle school. Although we originally intended to send her to our neighborhood school, we found a charter school that was a much better fit for her. I rejoiced when she got in. However, my joy was quickly replaced by despair when I realized there was no good way for her to get there and back. For the first time in my daughter's life, she wouldn't be able to walk to school.

Our school district doesn't provide transportation to students. Because my four kids attended four different schools, each in different parts of the city, driving her wasn't realistic either. Nevertheless, I wasn't willing to let this logistical nightmare get in the way of sending her to a dream school.

I realized putting my daughter on the city bus was the only feasible option

Washington, DC, is a city with a robust and reliable public transportation system. As I frantically searched for a solution, it became clear that taking the city bus was the best, and perhaps only, solution. My daughter, who has a late summer birthday, was only 10 when she started middle school. I worried about sending a child so young on the bus alone but decided we would have to give it a try.

My daughter has taken public transportation around the city since birth, but never without an adult. Even though she is a born-and-bred city kid, I still worried about her navigating public transportation alone at such a young age. Although she had already been walking to school without supervision for two years, she had done so safely enclosed in a familiar neighborhood, surrounded by families I knew would have treated her like their own if she ever needed help. Now, I was thrusting her alone into a big city. I worried but took a deep breath and committed to the plan.

We taught her the ins and outs of public transportation

My husband and I did our best to prepare our daughter for her new responsibility. We took her on a few practice runs, not telling her when she made mistakes like missing her stop and guiding her as she course-corrected on her own. We taught her lessons about safety, like always keeping her backpack on her lap to avoid theft, sitting near the driver so she could ask for help if anyone bothered her, and never wearing flashy jewelry. We made sure she understood how to use our transit system's app so she could check what time she needed to catch her bus and plan her route.

The first day of school arrived, and she was on her way. She had a couple of mishaps during the first few weeks. Once, she got distracted and rode right past her stop. Another time, she got on a bus going the wrong way. When these mistakes happened, as I knew they would, she called and we talked her through a solution. She always found her way home, more confident in her navigation skills and ability to adapt if something went wrong.

My daughter loves her independence

Some other parents thought I was being irresponsible by allowing my 10-year-old to ride the bus alone. However, my daughter rose to the challenge and thrived. Now, she is 14 and in 9th grade. She not only takes the bus to get home from school, but deftly navigates all forms of public transportation around the city. She loves her independence, and so do I.

When we travel, my daughter is adept at navigating new public transportation systems with ease. College, and even more independence, is approaching faster than I would like. Seeing my daughter find her way in vast, unfamiliar places gives me confidence that she will be okay on her own when she eventually launches.

If I had listened to those who thought my daughter was too young to handle this type of independence, she would not be at the fantastic school she goes to today. She would not be able to zip around the city, go shopping, see movies, or visit friends with such ease and without her Mom's help. She wouldn't have as much confidence as I see daily, confidence that spills over into other areas of her life. It's bittersweet to see my daughter so deft at a skill that takes her one step closer to complete independence, but it's one she needs. I'm glad she developed it early.

• I am a single mom and allowed my son a lot of independence growing up.
• I was leaving him home alone when he was 7. By his tweens, he was navigating the city on his own.
• My parenting may be unconventional but it worked because of how I raised him at a young age.

I wanted my kid to have many of the same freedoms I had growing up in the '80s in the country — full of tree climbing, go-cart driving, and playing outside until the lights came on. My parents were relatively carefree and let us roam with minimal supervision, as long as our chores were done.

By the time my baby boy was 18 months old, I was a working single mother in the city and his sole provider, which meant my approach to parenting was going to take a different direction than I had imagined.

I didn't have the luxury of a partner for help, so I was constantly on duty. In order to coexist peacefully, I needed my son's cooperation, especially since he had a fierce need for independence at a young age.

I let him problem-solve, which sometimes led to a skinned knee

Cooperation required clear, age-appropriate communication of my expectations for him and his capabilities.

When he was 2, he was one of the youngest in our local park to climb the Jacob's Ladder. When he would get stuck at the top, I would explain to him that if he could get to the top by himself, he had to be able to get down by himself, too.

He soon became aware of his limitations and strengths. He would occasionally fall and skin his knee or the palm of his hand, but this never deterred him from going back for another climbing round.

Just because he got scuffed up a bit didn't mean I wasn't diligent about paying attention to him — I just let him problem-solve on his own through gentle encouragement and minimal interference.

With this approach, I successfully kept him out of the ER despite multiple spills off his skateboard and jumping from the top of the jungle gym.

The day I'll never forget

While I encouraged him to be independent and self-confident, I still felt the need to keep him close when he was a child.

That's why I'll never forget the day when he was 7 and ventured to his friend's home alone without telling me.

He scootered down one of the busiest streets in the city and crossed a huge intersection to get there.

I thought he was in our condo complex riding his scooter. When he called me 30 minutes later to tell me he was at his friend's house, I asked him why he hadn't told me where he was going.

He said it was because he knew I wouldn't have let him go alone. He was right.

Then he added that I'd taught him how to push the crosswalk button and he knew what he was doing. It dawned on me that he was also right about that.

That day, my trust in his abilities grew exponentially. I began letting him stay home while I ran errands.

By his tween years, he was confidently navigating the city bus system and biking across town — activities none of his friends were doing.

Other parents often questioned my free-range parenting approach, but I wasn't concerned. We had a reliable check-in system, and I trusted him completely.

I set clear boundaries and delivered consequences if he broke the rules, like if he didn't call me as soon as he arrived somewhere, he wasn't allowed to go again.

I don't regret how I raised my son

My style might have been unconventional, but now, at 19, he's still marching to the beat of his own drum and we have a strong and trusting relationship.

Watching him fly the coop with the tools and confidence I instilled is one of the greatest achievements of my life, and I can't wait to see where the next 20 years will take him.

• Susie Coughlin was concerned when her daughter struggled with reading skills at her public school.
• The mom of two was disappointed her district didn't teach phonics as part of its literacy program.
• She switched her child to a Catholic school where the girl thrived after being taught phonics.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Susie Coughlin, 43, an interior designer from Falmouth, Maine. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When our daughter, Carter, started struggling with reading, we thought it was related to her late birthday and the fact that almost everybody else in her class was a whole year older.

Her father, Paul, and I decided that she should repeat kindergarten in her public school. In her first year, she'd been put in a Response to Intervention (RTI) program to improve her literacy skills. However, at the parent/teacher conference during her second year, we were told she wouldn't receive RTI.

It didn't make sense because she wasn't progressing. Her self-confidence was low because it seemed like everyone else around her could read.

What I heard from the teacher was, "It's OK. We're gonna let your kid slide through." Being a child myself who was allowed to slide, I hit the brakes. At that moment, I thought, "My kid's not going to be the kid that's just going to slide through."

We had to employ a reading tutor

A key issue was the school district didn't teach phonics for reading. Instead, the kids are taught to scan the page for picture clues to the word — often at the expense of pronunciation and spelling.

For example, Carter wrote in her homework, "I went to the osen," rather than "I went to the ocean." The teacher hadn't corrected the mistake because the emphasis was on visual cues — a picture of the ocean — rather than spelling.

With phonics, you learn to sound out the word. It's a much more practical and efficient method of teaching literacy. It didn't seem like the district was going to adopt the method anytime soon. We had to search because private reading specialists are in high demand in our area, but we found a tutor for Carter.

She finished her second kindergarten year in public school before beginning first grade at a local Catholic school. It cost $10,000 a year, and we were fortunate enough to be able to budget for that.

We're glad we switched to a private Catholic school

The curriculum is very old-school, and they teach phonics. Carter, now 8, still has a tendency to look for picture cues on the page when she's reading, but she's getting there. It broke my heart when her confidence was in the toilet at her previous school. But her bucket of self-esteem is filling up.

We were so happy with the Catholic school that we sent Huddy, Carter's younger brother, there, too. He's attended for two years and has a good grasp and understanding of phonics.

In fact, at 6, he has excelled past his sister in reading because he has never been subjected to a nonsense visual cue program.

As for Carter, she has continued to study with a tutor at home, and we help her at night. The best thing is that she finally seems to be enjoying books and the written word.

Do you have an interesting story to share with Business Insider about the way that children are educated in school? Please send details to this reporter at [email protected]

• Nicole Chan Loeb is a 38-year-old photographer, videographer, and a mother-of-two.
• She and her husband prioritize experiences over gifts, so they invest for their kids in lieu of toys.
• They want to teach their children financial literacy and set them up for a secure financial future.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Nicole Chan Loeb, a photographer and videographer from Boston. It's been edited for length and clarity.

My kids are 1.5 and 4 years old, and I've never bought them any physical presents for birthdays and holidays.

For birthdays, I'll make a cake, and instead of buying toys and clothing, I invest money for them to set them up for a more secure financial future. Plastic toys and knickknacks are temporary fun, but they cause clutter and landfill waste.

My mom taught me about stocks when I was growing up

Growing up, my mom used to tell me about the stocks or funds she invested in for me. Every week, we'd take the figures in the newspaper, chart them on graph paper, and stick them on the fridge. We mostly invested in mutual funds. That was fun, and I especially loved the special time my mom and I spent together. I similarly want to teach my kids financial responsibility and literacy.

My husband and I met in college in 2004. We both worked in the finance and accounting industry — I was in management consulting, and he was in internal audits — before deciding it wasn't for us. I quit in 2010, and he quit shortly afterward, and we both became entrepreneurs. I'm a photographer and videographer, and he owns an escape room company.

It was a considerable risk and I was absolutely terrified. But since my parents taught me financial literacy, I've learned how to save to be comfortable no matter what. Plus, the flexibility and fulfillment this lifestyle provides is very worth it.

We gift our kids investments instead of physical gifts

My husband and I don't exchange gifts in general. If we want something, we'll just purchase it for ourselves — after all, our money is pooled — so I find gift-giving challenging. Instead, we share and enjoy dinners, experiences, shows, and vacations. We give each other cards — it's more about the sentiment.

This year, my husband and I maxed out our kids' custodial Roth IRAs and deposited $7,000 each. My kids have been models for children's clothing lines, toy companies, and hospitality campaigns in my work as a commercial and advertising photographer, so the money is considered their earned income.

We decided to start investing for the kids last year because, from conversations with friends, we realized that we all wished topics like taxes, saving for retirement, and smart investing were taught in high school or earlier. We decided not to wait and agreed to start teaching these concepts as soon as our kids could grasp the basics.

Also, both my husband and I were lucky to leave school without a massive amount of debt because of our parents. These investments will allow our kids to graduate from college without an insurmountable amount of debt.

We're focused on Roth IRAs for now, but we plan to open investment accounts for them within the following year. If they don't have earned income in future years, we will set up a custodial brokerage account and invest for them that way. Because we both own our businesses, our salaries and incomes fluctuate, so we look at our finances each year and decide how much to invest.

Our kids are happy with spending time together

My kids are young, so the concept of expecting gifts has yet to solidify. And they don't really need anything. We're lucky to live in a great neighborhood where the parents pass on toys when their kids have outgrown them. I rarely purchase large toys or gifts, but I don't hold back from ad hoc purchases of crayons, markers, kids' card games, and board games.

Our children are happiest when we spend time together, doing things like lunch dates, playing board games, and baking. Happiness comes from experiences and relationships, and fewer material things promote creativity.

They spend a lot of time outside making up their own games, and we often play with things like sticks, stones, water, acorns, and pinecones. We want contented, balanced kids who aren't overwhelmed with things and toys and chasing the next new shiny object.

My husband and I find a lot of interest and joy in investments, and we hope our kids will as well. My four-year-old is very bright, and in the next year or so, he'll understand that you can put money in specific vehicles to grow, learning the concept of delayed gratification.

I'm hopeful that our kids will start making their own side income in high school and start to learn to invest for themselves as teenagers, just as I did while growing up.

If you have a unique way of teaching your children financial literacy and would like to share your story, email Jane Zhang at [email protected].