The Workspace for Children

A few years ago, we moved states with a 3rd grader, a 7th grader, and a 10th grader. Mornings were... a lot. Some days, I wanted to bundle everyone up in cozy blankets and let them stay home forever. Other days, I wanted to scream, “Just get your shoes on and GO.” They cried, I cried. And not just once. A lot. Year five just started and so far, no one is begging to stay home. But I remember that dread-in-your-stomach feeling like it was yesterday.

Not everyone will agree with me on this one, and that’s okay with me. But as a mom of three teens and a former teacher, here we go: When my children were in the early years, we didn’t really do homework. There were some exceptions and I will get into all of it below. They are 13, 16 and 19 now. Most of the time, they all do their homework. One is in college, pursuing professional flight.

There is a vivid memory that lives in the corner of my mind, of being a preschool teacher in a tiny downtown nursery school in the financial district. Every day at 11:45, the lobby filled up with the chaos of strollers, nannies, parents, and grandparents, arriving to collect their young children. The NYC air would push its way into the tiny lobby: warm pretzels, street smog, and the mixing of perfumes in a crowded space.

This post is a paid partnership with Melissa & Doug. #ad. Thank you to Melissa & Doug for keeping it paywall free so every one of you can read the whole thing. It is officially back to school season here on the North Shore of Boston. There are a few eager leaves falling onto my lawn, and we are getting ready to trade in our beach bags and sunblock for backpacks and hand sanitizer.

When art supplies are shoved in a drawer in the kitchen, they don’t get used. We all know it. We all do it. Even me. And when I want to reset our too many screens, too much whining, too many ‘can you buy me this’ moments, I open the drawers and cabinets, and set the toys and supplies we already have free. Because when toys and art supplies are accessible and in sight, everyone dips in and out of play.

On Sunday afternoon a question came into my Q and A box on IG: My answer opened up a can of worms I wasn’t expecting... When the questions came in, I didn’t even really think about it. I just answered honestly, same as always. Most, if not all, of my hobbies live within the scope of work and kids. And I love that about my life. But when I was a much younger mom, I used to think there was something wrong with me. Continue reading this post for free, courtesy of The Workspace for Children.

Hi! I don’t usually email on a Saturday, but so many new people showed up here this month that I want to say hi properly, and I figured that the rest of you won’t mind hearing how I parent again.. My favorite thing about Substack is the room for nuance. I am so over clickbait and rage bait and everything else that gives you whiplash and then never explains itself. So this is me, explaining myself. I’m Lizzie, I’m really glad you’re here, and there are a few things you should know about how I parent.

Oh wow, I am tired. I don’t know if it is run-of-the-mill, end-of-summer tired, or my-oldest-just-left-for-college-and-my-heart-aches tired. I don’t know if it is the we-live-at-the-beach-and-we’ve-had-nonstop-visitors-every-week-since-early-July tired. But I took a nap today, on a Thursday, in the middle of the workday. This summer I have had my sister and my three nieces from CO, and my brother, his wife, and my niece and nephew from NJ. My son’s girlfriend came from Texas, twice.

There’s a phrase trending right now that I love (sort of): children are washable. Paint and mud come off, even the glitter mostly comes off eventually. And also? Children are washable does not mean messy play should be a free for all. Not having rules doesn’t make you the chill mom or the artsy mom. It makes messy play a one hit wonder at your house, because things can get out of control fast, and then messy play becomes one and done.

I was holding my breath all morning after preschool drop-off, and I didn’t even know it until I started to feel shaky and a little dizzy in that way that only arrives from too much caffeine on not enough sleep and/or a straight shot of breath holding anxiety. Was he crying? Did he pee his pants again? Would he talk during snack this time or just sit there like a baby deer in headlights?