Author: Melissa Thorson

Meaningful vs. Manic Bedtime Routines

I’m a loose cannon at bedtime. I can be running through our upstairs hallway playing chase like Mary Poppins at 7:07pm, but as that clock creeps closer to 7:30 my screws begin to tighten and my inner Ms. Hannigan comes out. I might as well have a whistle and a megaphone because I start pacing through the halls like the short-shorts high school coach who you can tell enjoys the authority a little too much.

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Fake It Till You Make It

I’ve heard before that when feeling insecure in a new job you just have to “fake it till you make it.” But I seem to have mixed luck with my attempts—especially in my role as a parent. Mostly, I just end up exhausted when I allow insincerity to take over.  I was able to “fake” my way through three months as an eternally chipper Chick-Fil-A cashier, and I only remember getting nuggets thrown at me across the counter once. As a first year teacher, I faked that I wasn’t a fresh-outta-college rookie who was intimidated by the 17 years...

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Share Your Kids

I’m learning that friendship, as a parent, is even more life-giving (life-saving?) now than ever before. And this says a lot coming from a friendship-nostalgia-freak who has a file box of every single note I received in middle and high school organized by name of the sender. (If anyone under 25 is reading this, a “note” is a piece of paper that was meticulously decorated in milky gel pens and folded into the shape of a Chinese star, passed discreetly during Mrs. Lombardi’s lecture on hypotenuses.) Friendship back then had a narrow span of depth—the easy stuff was choosing...

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The Humbling Moments of Raising a Strong-Willed Child

My son peed on my friend’s pants. It wasn’t an “Ooops!-My-lil’-sweet-pea’s-diaper-leaked-some tee-tee!” kinda-pee. My almost-three-year-old pulled down his pants, set up his aim with precision, and fire-hosed the folded jeans.  Every parent has laughable potty-training stories. But this incident wasn’t just a learning-bladder-control mishap; it was a desperate act of attention-seeking and defiance by the two-year-old tyrant “future leader” that was currently running my life. Everyone else in the room laughed. I stifled tears as I frantically whisked the jeans away to the laundry room. I’ve heard, “Don’t break your strong-willed child’s spirit.” But my oldest child has come close to...

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