• 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.

• 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.

• After 10 years in elementary education, I decided I no longer wanted to be a teacher.
• I wanted a more flexible job that allowed me to stay at home with my kids.
• When time allows, I'm able to make more money than I did as a teacher and have a better work-life balance.

When I went into education, I did so with the best intentions. Being a male elementary school teacher was sort of like being a unicorn. It is extremely rare for a man to be teaching early elementary. There were plenty of single-mom families in the area where I lived, and I knew many students didn't have a male role model at home to inspire them, so I thought I could fill this void. I took the responsibility seriously.

But after ten years in the field, I had to tap out for a few reasons. None of the reasons really had to do with the students themselves. The pay wasn't great (after 10 years of teaching I was still taking home just around $3,000 a month) and I didn't enjoy the politics of teaching. But, the most important reason was probably that my wife and I were ready to start a family. She often works long hours and I didn't want someone else to raise my children. I thought I could find a way to contribute financially and still be home with the children.

Becoming a freelance writer

Before I went into education, I had been a journalist for a few years. It wasn't something I really enjoyed at the time and I didn't see myself wanting to cover mundane board meetings forever. If you ever suffer from insomnia, just drop in on these meetings occasionally. It's like an instant sleeping pill.

Still, I thought I was a decent writer. I've certainly read worse over the years from people who made their living as professional writers. So while I was still teaching, I joined Upwork, a website that connects freelancers with those looking to hire contract workers. Upwork allows people or companies to search for a specific type of writer they are looking for to complete their project at hand. You are competing against other writers who are also applying, but Upwork is a great tool to use when you are first attempting a freelance career.

To begin, I set my fees low to get my foot in the door. Then it wasn't long before I had clients who were asking me to write for them on either a weekly or monthly basis. As an unexpected bonus, most of the topics I covered genuinely interested me. Health and fitness, education, and even ghostwriting children's books were all things I enjoyed writing — and I was getting paid to do it.

Fast forward four months

As I was wrapping up my last weeks in the classroom before the school year ended, I realized I could go give my notice that I would not be coming back to teach the following August.

I had just made $6,000 in one month from freelancing — and that was while I was still teaching. I would definitely miss my students and all the friends I had made, but being able to set my own schedule, work from home, and raise my kids was something I could not pass up. My wife and I were having children later on in life, and the math showed me I would probably not get the chance to spend as much time with my kids as other fathers, so I switched careers.

My plan is mostly working well

I'll admit, I underestimated how much time I would have to write while taking care of two babies at home. I've really had to narrow down my client list over the last five years, picking the ones that are truly worthwhile. Now I only accept writing assignments I can get excited about.

Though I only have about 15 hours of free time at home a week where I can focus on writing, I have made the most of it. In fact, you can find my two children's books "Ellie and Jack: Third Grade Ghost Hunters," and "Ellie and Jack: Third Grade Vampire Hunters," on Amazon and other sites. I always wanted to write children's books, and after helping thousands of children become better readers over the years, I think I have a pretty good idea on the types of stories they love to read. Weaving my teaching past into my current career has been a joy.

With one child getting ready for kindergarten and the other just a couple of years away, it won't be long before I will have more time to write once again.

• Sophie Kihm is the editor in chief at Nameberry.
• She says parents choose names they like, without worrying about what others think.
• Chappell Roan and Beyoncé are impacting trendy names for 2025, too.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Sophie Kihm, the editor in chief at Nameberry. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Working at a baby naming site, I see how much thought parents put into naming their kids. In the past, there's been a lot of pressure to consider what other people, and society as a whole, will think about a name. But for 2025, parents are confidently choosing names that they like without worrying about others' opinions.

Here are the top six trends I'm seeing and 58 baby names that will be right at home in the new year.

New and unique names

These new and unique names are really trend-driven. They synthesize different elements of historic names that parents find interesting and put their own unique spin on them.

These names aren't just invented, and they're no less legitimate than well-established names. They're putting a fresh spin on names rooted in history, giving parents and their babies the best of both worlds.

Names for boys include:

• Luxton
• Jakai
• Kyaire
• Aven
• Ryett, pronounced like "riot," but spelled with a softer touch

Names for girls include:

• Evani
• Hollyn
• Mayli
• Scottlynn
• Novalie

Names for world travelers

For a long time, American names were those steeped in English or Germanic tradition. But now, we're seeing a rise in distinctly American names that also reflect a family's specific cultural or ethnic background. These are also names that "travel lightly" and can be easily pronounced and understood in multiple languages.

Names for boys include:

• Elio
• Kenzo
• Luca
• Hassan
• Soren

Names for girl include:

• Adalia
• Leilani
• Oona
• Eleni
• Akira

Cutesy names

For a few years, we saw parents gravitating toward names that felt a bit mature for a baby. Lots of parents were reminded they were naming an eventual adult, not just a baby. But in 2025, parents are taking the opposite tact: they're embracing cutesy baby names, and they're not worried that a lighthearted name will hold their kid back.

Cutesy names for boys include:

• Bash
• Sonny
• Cub
• Koda
• Albie

Cutesy names for girls include:

• Blossom
• Echo
• Dolly
• Georgie
• Aqua

Vintage names coming back

These classic names will eventually become beautiful and beloved. Think of the vintage names that haven't quite been revived yet. Parents in 2025 are ready to lean into those names, even if they're not quite ripe for revival.

Names for boys include:

• Howard
• Murry
• Morris
• Oswald
• Virgil

Names for girls include:

• Ethel
• Enid
• Rita
• Sybil
• Louis

Country rebrands

Modern parents love country-inspired names, but they're taking a more inclusive look at what it means to be country. This is inspired in no small part by Beyoncé's foray into country music this year. There's also a new spin on classics, like the all-in-one name Jessejames, after the infamous outlaw.

Country rebrand names for boys include:

• Santos
• Abner
• Enoch
• Hatcher
• Lyle

For girls, they include:

• Dottie
• Opal
• Susannah
• Lou
• Polly

Femininomenal Names

Another artist who's shaping naming trends is Chappell Roan. I haven't (yet) seen a surge in little girls named Chappell or Roan, but I'm seeing more parents leaning into feminine names that are witchy, gritty, and powerful, just like Chappell Roan's music. These are also names that reimagine the stories of women in history or lore, like Circe and Guinevere.

Other femininomenal names include:

• Amaryllis
• Cosette
• Freyja
• Lilith
• Salome

Parents naming babies in 2025 are questioning what they've been told and embracing the fact that they can choose a name that they love. It's ok to them that there are complexities to names — which matches the complexities of the people who wear them.

• I didn't understand how to set boundaries for myself and my son when he was born.
• He'd make excuses why he couldn't complete age-appropriate tasks, and I'd do them for him.
• When he was nearly 8, I was still unwillingly co-sleeping with him. I felt haggard and resentful.

I grew up on gold stars and participation trophies as an unwitting member of the self-esteem generation. When I entered motherhood in 2011, I took it even further.

My Bay Area enclave of well-to-do hippies was all about attachment parenting, which advocates baby-wearing and bodily closeness, high empathy and responding to baby's cries, and co-sleeping to keep baby nearby.

I don't disagree with these ideas. The problem was that I didn't understand how to honor my boundaries while I went about doing everything for my son.

I didn't know how to disentangle a need from a want, especially in the stressed-out throes of early, unplanned motherhood.

By the time my son was entering grade school, it felt as if he had me wrapped around his little finger. Luckily, I've learned to flex my boundary muscle so I no longer bow to his every whim.

Every moment revolved around my son's satisfaction, and I resented it

When he was nearing 8, I was still cutting up his meat, tying his shoes, and co-sleeping. He was scared to sleep alone, and I couldn't stomach his discomfort.

He'd make excuses for why he couldn't complete age-appropriate tasks like opening water bottles (it hurt his hands) or washing the dishes (the dirty sink gave him the ick). So, I'd open the bottle for him and remove dishwashing from his agenda.

Every moment revolved around keeping him satisfied to avoid arousing my own motherly anxiety at his displeasure and emotional pain.

Meanwhile, I felt haggard and resentful. I finally decided things needed to change, recognizing that if my son didn't learn how to cope now, he wouldn't be able to do it as an adult without me.

I turned things around for me and my son

When my son was 8, I started the slow, but essential, process of making him sleep alone in his room.

We started with extra goodnight hugs and keeping his bedroom lights on and progressed to a quick cuddle and single nightlight.

After months of trial and error, he was finally putting himself to bed and not creeping into my room in the middle of the night to wake me for comfort.

As I started to set more boundaries, I also learned to love the sound of my own voice saying "No." It's a slow process, though.

My son is now 12, and he still asks me to do the simplest things for him like refill his water bottle or bring him pants first thing in the morning while he stays in bed. My answer is no.

We're now working on repairing my son's sense of self

As a preteen, my son has little self-agency. We're working to repair his sense of self, his confidence in his own decision-making, and his ability to persevere.

I've learned that baby steps are key to breaking harmful patterns. I teach him to break down each task into digestible chunks that don't feel daunting or overwhelming. In the past, I'd take it off his agenda completely, but not anymore.

I've found this strategy is essential for me, too. It helps me pace myself while keeping a mostly harmonious household.

We celebrate the little wins like learning to make the school bus on time each morning with some well-placed praise, a hot chocolate, or a sushi dinner.

I frame our work as a cooperative venture that's preparing him for adulthood, and he understands — though often begrudgingly — that we're on the same team.

We used to operate under the false idea that permission equals love. I've rewritten our script to emphasize that boundaries and expectations equal love.

I now respect my son and myself. I know he's capable, and my behavior reflects this back to him so he can believe it, too.

• Every year, our list of holiday traditions grows.
• We get a Christmas tree from the same farm every year, do an advent calendar, and more.
• It takes a lot of effort to stay organized, but it's worth it.

My childhood was a little tumultuous. Because of how often we moved, we didn't have many traditions that continued year after year. So, once I became settled, I began creating traditions for myself. One of my favorites has been making a celebration out of the entire month of December.

From "bad" holiday romcom-watching parties to a habit of collecting tree ornaments every place I travel, I go all in on Christmas. Since becoming a mother, I've embraced this tendency, which has made the list of our holiday traditions get longer and longer. While it's chaotic, I love everything about the experience.

We start our Christmas traditions the day after Thanksgiving

Our traditions start the day after Thanksgiving when we trade our gratitude tree for a Christmas tree. Our family has gotten a tree from the same farm for over a decade, and once we get it home, we put on holiday songs while we decorate. At this point, so many of our ornaments come from places we've visited together that it's a fun walk down memory lane, too.

We also have a family advent calendar that I fill with small candies, new board games, and Christmas pajamas for the kids. I also add notes to the calendar that take us on outings throughout the month of December, including outdoor ice skating, trips to see Christmas light displays around town, and a holiday movie marathon. Finally, the final day of the advent calendar holds the first clue of a scavenger hunt for our kids on Christmas morning that leads to a shared present for them.

We also look for ways to give within our community, like sponsoring families or elders for the holidays, participating in toy and clothes drives, and creating bags with socks, hand warmers, water, and snacks to hand out to homeless people throughout the month.

Our traditions take a lot of effort but I work to keep it manageable

Just the act of listing what we do throughout the season makes me feel a little extra. But by now, I've created a system that helps keep all the magic-making manageable for me. I'm a self-proclaimed organization nerd who loves using Asana to keep tasks organized.

I have created a "Holiday" project board that outlines everything we do each year, along with deadlines, a budget, and ideas we did in previous years that I can pull from. In mid-November, I sit down to look at my board and our budget to create our advent activities schedule, figure out if I'm missing anything, and plan from there.

Our kids love our traditions and getting in the holiday spirit really

The traditions we're creating as a family take a lot of effort on my end, but now that our kids are getting older, I'm seeing the benefits of the work. Last year, my youngest asked "Santa" to bring him an advent calendar. This year, he filled it with leftover Halloween candy and notes about board games to play as a family each night. Then he set it out for all of us.

My oldest recently started a business selling handmade goods, and she gives a portion of her earnings to a local nonprofit. And my middle tackles gingerbread house-making, holiday decorating, and Christmas caroling with the zeal of Clark Griswald.

Our kids seem to embrace the spirit of Christmas continuously rather than focus on one big day or presents alone. We manage to avoid the holiday hangover feeling so often associated with December 26. Our family genuinely looks forward to holiday activities all year long. And our kids are learning the joy of giving to others during the holidays and beyond. Even though the experience demands a steady supply of holiday magic and more than a little organizational effort, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

• Katharine Horgan is a 30-year-old who recently lost her mother's locket on her way to work.
• The locket had been given to her by her mom, who died when Katharine was 7.
• After retracing her steps in London, Katharine found her mom's locket.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Katharine Horgan. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I was nearly at my office in London when I looked down and couldn't see the locket I had been wearing around my neck.

I panicked, lifting up my top in the middle of the street, thinking it had dropped into my bra. Tears were running down my face as I saw people looking at me, wondering what was going on.

It wasn't just any locket that I'd lost. My mom, who died of cancer when I was 7, had left the locket for me.

She left me beautiful memories

Mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was 18 months old. They gave her five years to live.

For the years she had left, she made beautiful memories with me. I remember getting my ears pierced when I was 5. It was one of the few girly things she'd be able to do with me. She knew she would miss me starting my period and all the other things that come with becoming a woman. She got some slack for it from my aunties, with them saying I was too young to have my ears pierced. But it was purposeful — she knew she wanted me to remember doing it with her.

She'd written cards for me to be delivered on each birthday until I turned 21. There was a memory box for me too, with a special message from her.

During her time at home, while I was in school, she'd work on tapestries and paintings that she'd later pass on to me.

Without my knowing, she'd curated a jewelry box for me to be given to me by my dad when I was 18. Some of the jewelry had labels. There was a ring that was clearly never worn, which she said was an anniversary gift from Dad that she hadn't had the chance to wear, and she hoped I was able to wear it.

The locket was among the jewelry. It wasn't labeled, and I don't know where she got it. But it has been precious to me since I had it.

I feel connected to her

She imprinted herself on me so strongly that there has never been a single day that I haven't tangibly had a mother. Even though she's not been alive for 23 years, I still feel her with me because of the way she so strategically left parts of her with me.

I've chosen to live in London, where I can walk along streets her feet have touched. The cards, the jewelry, the memory box, the art — all of it makes me feel connected to Mom, even though she isn't here.

And then I lost her locket. Inside the locket, there were chocolate wrappers she'd crunched up, not photos of her beloved family, which makes me laugh. She had once touched and worn that locket, and the thought of not having it at that moment when I realized it was gone was incredibly upsetting.

The idea of losing more of her when I had already lost her was incredibly upsetting.

I retraced my steps in hopes of finding it

While I was walking to work, I remember hearing something "clink" on the ground. It sounded like a bottle cap, but perhaps it was the locket?

Even though I was nearly at work, I decided to retrace my steps. I asked a friend to meet me to help me look for it, and I posted a message on social media, hoping someone would find it and return it to me.

As I walked, I glared at the ground, desperately looking for it. My friend and I couldn't find it on the ground anywhere.

I thought I would go to a café near where I had heard that clinking sound. I asked one of the guys working if someone had handed a locket in. He said no. But then another guy who worked there came in. When we asked him if he had seen it, he pulled it out of his pocket and said something had been handed in.

It was my locket. My mom's locket.

I burst into tears and completely freaked the two workers out. I just kept telling them, "Thank you!"

The whole thing reminded me that there are nice people around, people who want to do the right thing.

I've bought a new chain for the locket now and will keep it close to me forever, especially after this incident.

I don't have her yearly cards anymore, but putting on her locket and spraying my neck with her perfume grounds me, reminds me of her, and connects me to her.

• I was certain that I knew the correct and only way to celebrate Christmas.
• Spending the holidays with my husband's family showed me that people celebrate differently.
• I adopted two boys and realized there's no one and only way to celebrate.

Visiting my husband's hometown in Southwest Missouri over 20 years gave me more culture shock than studying abroad in Europe.

Raised in Northwest Iowa, my stoic upper Midwest upbringing frequently contrasted with the Southern culture in his hometown, not far from the Arkansas border. Strangers I met just five minutes prior inquired about my plans for babies, pushing me to discuss topics I rarely brought up with my closest friends. The smiles, sincere or not, were as sweet as the tea.

I persevered, however, because I loved this man, and therefore, I would learn to love and accept this different way of life.

Their way of celebrating Christmas was not my way

My positive attitude changed when I experienced their Christmas traditions.

Even at our most raucous, my family of origin's celebrations were orderly. Yes, larger family gatherings sometimes devolved into wrapping paper wars in a living room crammed way beyond fire code capacity. But that happened only after the well-organized gift opening.

In my family, Christmas revolved around our fresh-cut tree, its pine scent filling the room as we opened gifts in an orderly fashion. Starting with the youngest, each person unwrapped one present at a time, allowing for collective admiration and expressed appreciation. The day unfolded with quiet rhythms — Bing Crosby on the record player, Christmas movies on TV, and plenty of time to enjoy our gifts and each other's company.

This, I was sure, was the proper way to celebrate Christmas as a family.

Imagine my shock, then, when I attended my first Christmas gathering at my husband's house, ready for an orderly unwrapping, only to walk into a gift-opening melee. Everyone took their pile of gifts and, without fanfare, opened them all at once. There were no turns. There was no collective gasping, no posing for photos with my new sweater so Grandma could see how much I loved it, no feigned "thank yous" when I really didn't love the new sweater. Instead, every gift in the entire room was unwrapped unceremoniously in a matter of less than two minutes.

Did my new mother-in-law like the pink Angora sweater I gave her? How did my father-in-law feel about his work gloves? I had no idea because their reactions were lost under the wrapping paper.

This chaotic scene unfolded in front of an artificial tree that had become permanent in their dining room.

After the wild unwrapping and a shared meal, everyone put on coats and prepared to head outside. It was time for the next holiday tradition — a trip to the movie theater.

I could count on one hand the number of times I had been to the movies with my family, and we never went on a holiday. That was sacrilegious.

There was a correct to celebrate Christmas; this Missouri version wasn't it.

Raised to be "Iowa Nice," I didn't say a word about my disapproval, but my facial expressions said enough.

When we adopted 2 kids, we did the holidays our way

Later, a few years into our marriage, those "babies" finally arrived in the form of the 7 and 8-year-old sons my husband and I adopted.

That first Christmas, we worked hard not to overwhelm our children. Born in Ethiopia, they weren't used to the overstimulation that comes with large family gatherings. We kept the celebration simple and small, paring down the menu, the number of gifts, and the size of the gatherings.

It felt good.

The simpler, quiet rhythms of the season allowed me to focus on what really mattered. The four of us created new traditions that evolved over time. Sometimes, I roasted a turkey, and other times, we dined on delicious Ethiopian food. Some years, we binged NBA games after opening gifts, and other years, we'd laugh at but secretly enjoy Hallmark movies. Maybe we'd play a game, or maybe we'd hop in the car to look at Christmas lights.

With my parents, gifts are opened in turn; at my mother-in-law's, it's a fun-spirited free-for-all. My sons appreciate that there is no expectation to have the just-right reaction to packages of socks and underwear. Together, we've learned about flexibility and fluidity.

It turns out there's no formula for the perfect holiday, even if I'm still not willing to budge on the fresh-cut tree. The magic of the holidays isn't in the tree, the gifts, or even the order of opening them; it's in embracing the people you share them with — chaos and all.

• Jennifer Takos was in the intensive care unit for three weeks after her son was born.
• After she was diagnosed with a rare disease, she felt a close bond with her doctors.
• She was shocked to see the doctor who saved her life when she moved her son to college.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jennifer Takos. It has been edited for length and clarity.

After my son John was born, I was relieved that he was healthy, and I was healthy, too. Or at least, that's what I thought.

I had a planned C-section at NYU Langone Health. The night before I was set to be discharged, my husband Dimitri went home to spend time with our daughter, who was 2. We wanted her to be ready when we brought home her little brother.

That night, I started having difficulty breathing. I started pacing the halls, almost like I wanted to get some air. I stopped at the nurses' station to let them know something wasn't right. Then, suddenly, everything went very wrong.

My lungs had filled with blood

I don't remember much after that. There were so many doctors and nurses standing above me. Later I learned that the doctor called Dimitri and told him to get to the hospital immediately.

I had lost the ability to breathe, and doctors determined that my lungs were filled with blood. But they didn't know why that was happening. For three weeks, my husband, brother, and father were close by in the hospital as doctors in the intensive care unit worked to save my life.

Eventually, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease: ANCA-positive vasculitis. It had been triggered by childbirth. Doctors stabilized me enough to send me home, but I was very sick for the early years of John's life. I ended up in the ICU five more times.

I regularly visited the doctor who saved me

Because of that, I became very close with my doctors. Dr. Ronald Goldenberg, a critical care specialist, had told my father, "I'm going to save your daughter." He did that not just after John's birth but each time I was back in the ICU.

When I went to the hospital for a checkup, I would visit Dr. Goldenberg. There's just no way to explain the connection and gratitude you feel when someone not only saves your life but does it in such a compassionate way.

Eventually, about 13 years ago, I moved away from New York and lost touch with Dr. Goldenberg. My dad still kept in touch with him occasionally, sending him a box of chocolates each year on the anniversary of the first time Dr. Goldenberg saved my life.

I didn't see him again until my son's college move-in date

Over time, my health stabilized, although I'm still on medications. John grew up. After graduating from high school, he took a gap year to play hockey. Then, he enrolled at Indiana University to study business.

As we pulled up to his dorm, I saw a familiar face. John was driving, and I practically leaped out of the car, saying, "Dr. Goldenberg?"

It was more than a coincidence. Dr. Goldenberg's son, Jake, is a year younger than John, but they're both studying business and were assigned to the same dorm. On a day when thousands of families were moving their children in, we happened to pull up just when they were out front. I know, for sure, it was meant to be. I felt a peace, knowing that John was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Recently, Dr. Goldenberg visited Jake. They met up with John and sent me a picture. Through this experience, John has learned more about my health condition and just how terrifying the weeks after his birth were. For me, reconnecting with Dr. Goldenberg is a reminder of why I have this beautiful life: because of him and the rest of my amazing healthcare team.

• My first Christmas as a mom, I spent $150 on gifts for our almost 1-year-old.
• Now things are more expensive than 19 years ago, and we have more kids.
• I create a budget and ask for gift wish lists early in the year to determine my spending limit.

I remember my very first Christmas as a mother. We spent about $150 on our almost year old son. Toys were cheap and purchased in fits and bursts at Target and local toy stores. The rest of our Christmas money went to purchasing family gifts in a sort of Yankee swap.

Nineteen Christmases later, things look much different. The holiday I once loved has become an expensive endeavor. Gone are the days of shopping for others. Christmas is tough, especially with four kids to shop for and rising prices due to inflation.

Working as a special education teacher in Maine roots me firmly in a middle-class income bracket. After almost two decades of shopping for multiple kids and balancing the budget to make sure it is done equitably, I have found several ways to make Christmas work for my family without going into debt or breaking the bank.

I start planning early

Saving and creating a budget is vital when shopping for Christmas. When I was young, the grandmother who raised me put money away each month into the local Christmas Club at the bank. When Christmas came, she was set. For my family, it is tight all year, and every cent matters. I do my best to save, but that isn't always realistic.

Instead of saving, I start early. This means making sure to create Christmas lists in late summer or very early fall. Once I have the Christmas lists, I can work on my budget and figure out how much money I need to try to pull each month, and I can slowly chip away at shopping. Using Google Docs or apps like Wish allows my kids to provide me with links to their Christmas wishes.

I do a lot of research before buying

Another important step in creating a special Christmas is research.

Once I have my lists, I go online and search for the item. This allows me to find the best deals. Sometimes, I have to go in person, and sometimes, I order online. By researching, I am not only saving time but also money. I can organize which stores I have to go to and make lists so I can group gifts by store. This also cuts down on what I spend on gas.

I don't buy useless stocking stuffers

I have given up on buying knick-knack-type stocking stuff for my kids. This filler winds up gathering dust or finding its way to the trash. The things I buy for my kids are things they need and can use. I may buy cute socks or fancy lip gloss, nail polish, or other beauty necessities.

Just because things are useful doesn't mean they can't be fun. Hand warmers were a saving grace for my kids while waiting for the bus in the cold New England winters. Gum is a necessity for one kid who battles anxiety, and fidgets have become a must for another who often loses focus. My older kids get car air fresheners and body spray.

Sometimes, stocking stuffers are things I normally wouldn't buy, like expensive shampoos or soaps. Not only will my kids use them, but they also are bigger items that fill up the extra large stockings my mother-in-law knitted by hand for all four kids several years ago.

I find other ways to make extra cash for Christmas gifts

For me, this means working hard to find freelance writing opportunities. I have also taken seasonal work. Everywhere from Target to the Post Office to FedEx hires seasonal workers and usually at a decent hourly rate. Applying is often done online, and some interviews are held virtually, so picking up a new gig requires little time and effort.

For parents with little ones, some jobs even allow you to work from home, like I do with my writing assignments. This means I can make money from the comfort of my living room after my kids go to bed or even as I sit watching their sports practice. While taking on a second or third job can be tiring, it is just for a short while and helps save me from debt.

As a parent, I have often wished for Christmas to come once every two years. Since I know that isn't a possibility, I've learned to find ways to make filling under the Christmas tree a more affordable and less stressful endeavor. This allows me more time to focus on what is most important: spending the holidays surrounded by family and friends. That's what the season is all about.

• I'm a very different parent to my youngest, who is 13, than I was to my eldest at that age.
• Some of that change is due to technology, but I also understand child development better now.
• I monitor all online activity for my teen but have learned to relinquish control where it matters.

I gave birth to my first three children between 1998 and 2000. When they were growing up, I knew enough about the internet to remind them never to share their personal information online, but that was the extent of it.

Then, I gave birth to my fourth child in 2011 and quickly realized how much had changed over a short time. I had to adjust my approach to parenting in the digital age.

I'm more strict with monitoring online activity. However, I've learned to relinquish control in other instances where I never would have before.

Parental controls these days are much better

When my eldest three were growing up in the 2000s, parental online control tools were limited.

I also worked outside the home, and so was was unable to monitor everything they did on the family desktop computer, which I strategically placed in a common area. I just had to trust they were being honest about their online activities.

In contrast, my 13-year-old's access to the internet is significantly limited.

I'm chronically online because I now work remotely, and this has helped raise my awareness of online threats and in turn drastically changed the way I parent my youngest.

His personal laptop — like the desktop his older siblings used — stays in a common area. However, I no longer have to rely on the honor system because of improved parental control options.

I now have an app that alerts me of any seemingly suspicious activity. It looks for certain keywords that could align with self-harm, bullying, violence, and anything else inappropriate.

I also limit his cell phone access to texts from his father and siblings and a few select friends, and it too is monitored by parental controls. Apart from that, the phone remains in my possession.

This helps me breathe a little easier, but I know I can't protect him from everything. I also try to give him resources so he can protect himself when I can't.

For example, I keep our home library stocked with books and workbooks for teens on perspective, bias, and how to properly wade through disinformation.

The shift in my parenting style goes beyond technology.

I wish I gave my eldest the same freedom my youngest has

Twenty years ago, I never would have considered placing a bow and arrow in the hands of my 4-year-old, let alone a carving knife.

With age comes wisdom, though, and since becoming a work-from-home parent I've had more time to read parenting books and seek advice from experts in child education and development, which has broadened my perspective.

For example, I made sure my youngest spent his earliest years taking part in a forest school. Afternoons meant nature walks in the woods, identifying insects, and practicing archery with a real bow and arrow.

He was carving wooden creatures with a whittling knife and building fires before he could read or write his full name.

Now, as he enters his teen years, I continue to encourage him to unplug, engage with nature, and explore his creative interests independently.

My eldest kids didn't have that freedom. The activities they participated in were adult-led and centered around indoor, structured playgroups, leaving little room for free play and independence.

Looking back, I wish I would have let them take the lead and hovered a bit less. Today, they're all independent and successful adults, but I sometimes sense they're hesitant to try new things. I can't help but attribute that to my former parenting style.

I hope that by allowing my youngest more freedom to explore the world around him, he'll gain confidence and trust in himself and his abilities that carry him through to adulthood.

Parenting is an ever-evolving journey. If there's one thing my kids have taught me, it's that learning and growing alongside them is essential to maintaining a strong relationship.

• Trina Read got her doctorate degree in sexology 23 years ago.
• She has two sons, who are 15 and 17.
• Parents should tailor their approach to talking about sex to each child, she said.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Trina Read, a sexologist and cohost of the Sensational Sex podcast. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When people learn that I'm a sexologist, they think that I'm an expert in talking to my kids about sex. Unfortunately, that's not the case. If I'm talking to clients about their sex lives, there's distance and objectivity. When I'm talking with my sons, who are 15 and 17, that goes out the window.

Still, I know I have an advantage over many parents. I'm lucky that my sons and I have had ongoing conversations about sexuality and sex for years. Some of those talks have made me squirm, but I'm glad we can have them. Here are the tips I've used to keep the conversations flowing.

Accept you're never fully ready for this conversation

Almost every time my kids bring up something they need to discuss, my attention is focused elsewhere, like on work or my long to-do list. My first response, internally, is usually, "You want to talk about this now?!"

But I have to remind myself that it doesn't matter how uncomfortable or inconvenienced I feel. When your child brings something up, you have to compartmentalize everything else and meet them where they are. If you delay the conversation the moment might be gone, and next time they might not be brave enough to ask.

Create a space for conversation

Each day, I take a 20-minute drive with the boys to school. Over time, the car has become our safe place to talk about tough topics, including sex. My sons know what's talked about in the car stays in the car, so they feel safe to ask me anything and everything.

The car is a great place for difficult talks since there's no need for eye contact, and no one can get up and leave. However, your safe space might be on a walk, at home, or while doing an activity you both enjoy. The key is to find out what works for you and your kids.

Keep their trust

Oftentimes, it's just me and the boys in the car. They might tell me something that they're not comfortable telling my husband. I have to respect their wishes, even if it sometimes means keeping secrets from their dad. I don't like that dynamic, and it feels like a heavy weight, but the trust my sons have in me is worth it.

Tailor your approach to each child

One of my kids is a very analytical thinker, who likes data, research, and methodical conversation. The other is a free spirit who isn't afraid to take a deep dive into any topic. Because of that, they need two very different approaches to talking about sex.

For my analytical child, I might leave books about certain topics in his room, and then broach conversations about them later. My free spirit, on the other hand, will shut down a conversation if I try to start one. I have to wait for him to bring it up, then we can go deep.

Find the approach that's best for your child, and remember that siblings might need entirely different tactics. Give information in a way that's comfortable for them, even if that's not the most comfortable for you.

Keep answers short and sweet

As parents we feel a lot of pressure to impart knowledge to kids before they start being influenced by their peers, the internet, and other social forces. Because of that, I sometimes found myself rambling. Over time, I learned to say less, which seems to keep my sons more informed and engaged. Now I just say what needs to be said, then stop.

Pause and clarify for questions that seem too mature

At one point, my sons were asking questions that I felt were beyond their maturity level. I said, "I could tell you the answer, but I don't think you're ready for the answer." They continued to ask and beg, so I told them, to some awkwardness and embarrassment for both of us.

Now, when I say something is beyond their maturity, the boys consider truly consider that response. One of my sons usually decides to hold off on the conversation, while the other prefers to still get the information in an age-appropriate way.

Accept that you'll have frustrations

Sometimes my sons have misconceptions, shame, or guilt around sex and sexuality. It's incredibly frustrating as a mom who's worked really hard to not pass guilt or shame, and to make them well-informed about sex.

When this happens I try to clarify with facts, research, and information. But to be honest, it doesn't always work. That can be disheartening, but I'm glad to be able to engage in on-going conversations with them.

• My parents have given me subtle and not-so-subtle hints that they want me to have kids.
• But honestly, I have no interest in having kids of my own.
• Being child-free has allowed me to have friends of different ages and backgrounds.

A few years ago, when I was in my late 30s, my dad sent me two birthday cards with the identical message — "Have a child. It's the best investment you can make in your life!"

My dad's wishes for grandchildren weren't new. Over my adult years, I've received subtle — and maybe not-so-subtle — proddings of having progeny from both my parents. That said, they didn't stir any newfound desire in me to have children. Maybe it's the simple fact that I love having plenty of alone time and pursuing my passions, but having a family has never really been a bucket list item for me.

And while I appreciate, love, and respect my friends and cousins who have decided to have children, I've found that asking whether I want kids is like asking whether I want a peanut butter and sardine sandwich — not on my radar, and doesn't stir up any interest or intrigue.

As a proud childless cat lady, I've found that I have a greater capacity for different types of friendships.

I'm able to have friendships with friends of different ages and backgrounds

I can say that being child-free has likely allowed me to have the time, space, and energy to make friends of all ages and backgrounds.

For example, I am friends with folks in their late 50s through 80s from my morning water fitness class. My good friends Sally and Melanie and I have co-hosted nature healing parties and other gatherings at their house, and we go out to eat when we can.

I've also developed close relationships with fellow stationery and sticker lovers. We're a gaggle of folks in our 20s to 50s who are single, married with kids, divorced, or recently separated from their partners. We try to get together in person every few months to exchange "happy mail" and engage in sticker chatter and snobbery.

I can make the time to maintain longer-distance friendships

For a while, I was able to trek across Los Angeles County to see my friend Marie, which would often take an hour each way and back.

When I first got to know Marie, she was newly widowed. We met at a meditation sangha when I lived in West LA. In her 80s, she had acquired a new friend: a then-late 20-something-year-old me. What started as short conversations after meditation blossomed into a decadeslong friendship. Despite our over 40-year age difference, we were kindred spirits. Over the years, we enjoyed many happy hours, meditation retreats, and camping trips together.

Despite moving from West Los Angeles to Pasadena, which meant hourlong drives to see one another, our friendship endured. And when she passed at 88 several years ago, it hit me hard.

I have more time to volunteer

Since I am not busy raising a family, I've had more free time to contribute to community efforts that are important to me. I'm an active participant in my Buy Nothing group, where I've been deemed "The Sicker Fairy" for delivering happy mail to the neighborhood kids during holidays throughout the year.

My mom and I also volunteer at a local botanical garden. We get to dig in the dirt and spend time in nature, and we've both made new friends through the program.

On occasion, I help out on an on-call basis at a food pantry. On a given day, 200 people wait several hours to receive their weekly allotment of groceries. In the coming months, I'll be putting together a money workshop for women in transition. Giving back to the community in different capacities has been greatly rewarding, and I hope to continue volunteering as much as possible.

Not having kids has afforded me greater space to be present for others — as a friend, daughter, partner, cousin, and "auntie." Growing up in a single-parent household where my mom worked two full-time jobs, time could be scarce. I can practice the tenets of compassionate presence and deep listening and cultivate relationships with the potential for an authentic connection.

• I've always been a perfectionist, pushing myself to the extremes for success.
• I felt like a failure when I became a mother, so I had to shift my perspective.
• I now want my daughter to embrace failure and be resilient.

I am a trifecta of eldest daughter stereotypes: overachiever, people-pleaser, and perfectionist. I have always been a rule follower, and as a teenager, I rarely challenged my Indian immigrant parents' strict rules.

By some combination of nature and nurture, I channeled these traits into academics in high school, spending inordinate amounts of time obsessing over my grades (especially that one B+ that ruined my high school valedictorian dreams).

Academic success became the cornerstone of my self-esteem as I entered college, and my priorities reflected this. I turned down invitations to socialize, travel, and explore in order to study, study, and then study some more. I lost more sleep worrying about a possible B or C grade than over developmentally appropriate partying.

Even though my perfectionism helped me get into graduate school and pursue my career of choice as a psychologist, by my 20s, I knew intellectually that putting all my self-worth eggs in the external achievements basket was a recipe for disappointment and anxiety.

However, without a constructive perspective on failure, I was unmotivated to take risks. What I didn't realize until later was that my fear of failure would also affect my parenting.

Achieving my highest professional goal left me unfulfilled

After earning tenure at my university, I was euphoric but soon felt restless. I didn't understand why the achievement was so anticlimactic, but with the help of my therapist, I discovered that I wanted something more, something more meaningful. It turned out that after having spent my entire adult life firmly in the child-free zone, I wanted to have a baby.

A few years later, at age 38, I got pregnant. At the time, I was working six days a week, so I couldn't do my usual overpreparation by reading dozens of books about pregnancy and parenting. I told myself that this was actually a blessing in disguise because it forced me to curb my overachiever tendencies.

Well, even if I had read a library of books on parenting, I would not have avoided the inevitable uncertainty of being a parent. I struggled with breastfeeding, as many mothers do, and in my postpartum period, I filtered this experience through my default lens of success vs. failure. I carried guilt about my breastfeeding challenges for many months, counting them as failures.

A lactation consultant transformed my perspective on parenting

Thankfully, the next day, my daughter's pediatrician referred me to a lactation consultant to whom I will forever be indebted.

She met with me via Zoom, and her long white hair and confident smile instilled hope. She normalized my feelings of failure, imparted an attitude of experimentation and grace, and helped me refocus on the task at hand. She helped me see that what really matters is learning how to be the parent that my daughter needs, not the parent that I or others think I should be.

Of course, this is no easy task. The lexicon of modern parenting styles continues to grow. At the same time, both parents and youth are struggling with mental health, and social media glorifies success. Our educational system further reinforces the connection between self-worth and achievement through grades.

I hope to set a good example for my daughter

While we work on changing our systems and culture to be more compassionate, there are many immediate ways to foster resilience in ourselves and our children.

Some of the strategies I've been implementing include trying things that I'm not good at. I recently took a satire writing class and won't be pitching The Onion anytime soon. I'm also allowing myself to meet an 80% standard on any task that is not related to a current priority and practicing grace toward myself, my husband, and my daughter.

My hope for my daughter has always been that she sees her innate worth reflected in the love of her family and support system and that she is equipped with the tools to face challenges with confidence and courage. Now I know that this starts with me.