• After my divorce, I wanted something special for my first mother-daughter trip with my 8-year-old.
• We decided to spend a week at a luxury dude ranch in Colorado.
• The trip helped me show my daughter

Resting by the heated pool in my cowboy hat, breathing the fresh mountain air, I watched my daughter laughing with her new friends and felt something I hadn't in years: a sense of peace.

Earlier that year, my husband and I inked our signatures in separate rooms, ending our 16-year marriage. Our divorce was one that could be labeled "volatile," and not just for us, but for our 8-year-old daughter.

When it came time to plan our first summer vacation with just me and her, I knew it would likely be a splurge, but I needed it to be special. We needed activity. We needed reconnection. We needed a dude ranch.

This was our first big adventure for just the two of us

My research led me to an all-inclusive ranch in Colorado. The website had footage of horses running across a bridge over a winding stream. It looked perfect.

Although I was apprehensive about the two of us traveling from Texas during the week of July 4th, I inevitably found it liberating. Wheeling luggage stuffed with heavy cowboy boots while lugging backpacks through airports, shuttling to the rental car, and navigating unknown mountainous switchbacks could have been disastrous, but we managed it well. It was our first accomplishment in independence.

We encountered some surprises

"You have arrived," the navigation system announced in our rental as we turned onto the dirt drive lined with quintessential log cabins with thick white chinking, set on manicured lawns before the Rocky Mountain backdrop. Each porch had bright pink, purple, and red petunias hanging in baskets above shellacked wooden rocking chairs. It was just like we imagined it.

After parking our red Wrangler, we were greeted by ranch staff in full cowboy gear who guided us past the soft pink peonies nestled between the grayish-white aspen trees to check in.

At check-in, while planning our next seven days, I discovered that children eat dinner most nights with the other children and their counselors and take separate trail rides twice a day. This concept is great for families, giving mom and dad a chance to reconnect over gourmet meals, but I wasn't so sure how our new life would fit into this scenario.

Initially apprehensive about the separation, my daughter and I soon discovered this daily dose of division was liberating, forcing us to foster new friendships.

Our expectations were exceeded

Later, we met the director of equestrian operations, and she asked about our riding experience and personalities to best match us with one of her cherished horses. We were excited to meet our horses the next day.

Meanwhile, our newly renovated western chic room was complete with leather-branded throw pillows, a fireplace, and a welcome basket full of healthy snacks, a red bandana, and a bottle of wine.

We quickly fell into a daily routine, bonding with our horses, riding and grooming them each day, and creating connections with other guests. We also tried out fly fishing (I caught three trout), hiking, archery, and ziplining. I especially enjoyed relaxing at the outdoor spa in luxury tents built over the creek, immersed in nature's music of bird calls and horse neighs.

We danced into the night and our next chapter

The whole trip was exceptional, and our favorite event was an evening barn dance. We dressed in full cowgirl fringe and ended the night with an elaborate fireworks display just for the resort. Sitting on the lush green grass watching red, white, and blue explosions just a few, yet safe, feet away, she and I weren't just celebrating our country's freedom, we were celebrating our own.

I had not realized until that moment I was introducing my authentic self to her — the woman I was before my marriage unraveled — and reminding myself of that version of me. Free. Capable. And full of adventure.

• Makeup and beauty routines have never been very important to me.
• My daughter is obsessed with self-care and knows a lot more about products than I do.
• I'm always happy to indulge her interests in this area; it gives us a nice way to connect.

"Can we go to Sephora?" my daughter asks, with her rather flawless teen reflection in the mirror standing on a blush-stained rug. Excited that she asked me into her room, I think, "Sephora again?"

With no room for more makeup around her cluttered sink, I question the need for any more beauty products. At the same time, my daughter is asking to spend time with me. "Pick up the towel off the floor and pull up your Oliva {Rodrigo} playlist," I say, smiling as I walk out the door. "We are leaving in five."

I learned to embrace the suck

As the true definition of a tomboy, now in my early 50s, my makeup knowledge ends with applying lipstick and mascara — without smudging.

Walking through the aisles of makeup and skincare products, I read the labels, dumbfounded. What even is skin milk? Would I apply that before or after serum?

Just as I tell my daughter the coined elementary school phrase, "The power of yet, you can't do it yet," when she struggles with things, I have learned to accept that I don't feel confident applying makeup or following my skincare routine yet. Not long ago, she flipped those words back on me, the ones I so often tell her, as I struggled to apply eyeshadow while we got ready for a concert together: "Accept that struggle is part of the learning process." If embracing the suck means more quality time with my daughter, please sign me up over and over again.

I let her lead

Life lessons, especially in the tween and teen years, come fast and often. Relating to teen interests and experiences is also harder than it used to be in this modern, technology-driven world. My daughter's obsession with self-care has given her a chance to teach me a thing or two about what matters to her. She's created a space for us to share experiences on a platform she understands and values.

On a recent trip, I fumbled through the 20 or so shades of skin tint with SPF. Putting up my I-give-up hands, I watched my daughter take my wrist and rub a shade of tint on the back of my hand. "You need something a bit darker," she said, grabbing a darker shade and taking the lead with the confidence of a well-trained beauty store employee.

Who would have thought the back of your wrist was a good place to match your face foundation? I sure didn't. I'm not raising my hand in the back to say I know the difference between essence and face oil, but ask my daughter, and she'll exude self-assurance and rattle off the answer with a smile.

I have savored our time together

Between work and school commitments, friends, and extracurriculars, it's hard to find time to just hang with my teen. Besides a before-school Starbucks run, a trip to the beauty store is one date my daughter never says no to.

I know the last time we do our Sunday self-care routine of gossip, masks, and eye patches will come. Some day she might even want to shop for makeup just with her friends. For now, I'll keep singing Olivia at the top of my lungs with her in the car on the way to and from the store. Even if I always feel like a fish out of water in a beauty store's sensory overload, I will embrace it all for some one-on-one time with my daughter. Plus, my skin has never looked better.

• My husband and I enjoy hiking, but our kids, 7 and 10, often complain along the way.
• On a visit to Finland, we went hiking with a guide, and my kids were engaged the whole time.
• It encouraged me to change a few things about the way I approach and plan family hikes.

It was an hour into our hike through Southern Konnevesi National Park in Finland, and neither of my 7- and 10-year-old daughters was complaining. It was glorious.

Normally, within the first hour, I would have already heard the question "How much longer?" One of them would also declare, "It's boring. We're just walking."

So what was different about this hike? Why weren't they complaining? It's because I took a different approach to this hike than I have with past ones — and it worked. Here's what I did.

A stranger motivated them more than I ever could

For this hike, we had a local guide with us, and my kids hung on her every word. They were asking questions non-stop and following her down the trail without a single complaint.

I almost laughed when I saw them literally stepping in her footprints and mimicking every move she made. This is not what my husband and I were accustomed to.

When she leaned on a rock to hear "the whispers of the forest," my kids did the same. When she found edible berries, my kids rushed there to try them first.

I do my best to make hikes interesting for my kids, but I am also a first-time visitor to most of the places we explore. No matter how much I research beforehand, I usually can't predict what they will find interesting along the trail. By contrast, this local guide knew exactly how to keep them excited, which kept them moving along.

Having a job kept them interested

I also noticed that the guide occasionally gave them "crucial" jobs along the trail. Who could find the next patch of berries, who could spot mushrooms growing on a log, or who could hear a bird singing?

When we are alone, I try to do these things too, but I cannot always answer the questions that ultimately follow: "Are these berries edible?" "What kind of mushroom is that?" or "Which bird is singing?"

I know my kids are naturally curious, but I wondered why my kids seem uninterested when it's just us. I began to realize they stopped asking me questions because they knew I didn't always have answers. Since our guide did this time, they asked her. They were eager to learn.

I tailored the goal to their needs

I also noticed they had not asked the dreaded question, "How much longer?" Not even once on our 2.5-mile hike.

I kept thinking about my usual responses. I say things like, "Look at the beautiful forest. Just enjoy the view and breathe in the fresh air," or, "Come on, we're almost there. It'll be worth it when we arrive."

Kids care about what's happening in the next five minutes in a way that's different from how my husband and I approach things. I was expecting them to hike like adults, getting from one point to the next. If they can discover something new at every step, they will relish the journey and won't feel time passing slowly. That's something I'm planning to incorporate into our future family hikes.

On a different trip, we tried forest bathing with a local guide in Austria, which lasted over three hours. When it ended, my kids frowned and said, "That was so short. Can we keep going?"

We allow time for free play along the way

After these experiences, I became much more careful about which trails I choose when hiking with my kids.

I know now that the best trails for my kids are the ones that offer exciting experiences along the way: a lake where kids can swim with tadpoles, a stream to cross, or rocks to scramble over.

I've also learned not to rush the stops. My daughters love spending time throwing rocks into a lake, sending leaf rafts down a stream, balancing on fallen logs, building hearts from flowers, or watching frogs or insects.

The biggest change for me has been to stop measuring a hike's success by how far we get and start measuring it by how much fun we had.

In Finland, I realized my kids already enjoy hiking. They just enjoy different things during a hike than I do as an adult. I should never forget that sometimes the part they remember most has nothing to do with the trail itself.

• I love the fall, and every year, my family and I visit the Catskill Mountains.
• To make the most of the trip, my two sons usually take a day or two off school.
• However, missing the time sometimes causes stress, and I wish they had personal days.

Fall is my favorite time of year, and it just so happens that our most loved destination — the Catskill Mountains — is breathtaking in October. When we first started our Catskill family getaways in 2020, we went in the summer when the landscape was lush and green. We've been there in winter to witness snow-covered mountains and in spring, when the ground is thawing. However, my favorite time to visit is during peak foliage in autumn. I refuse to miss the colorful mountainscape simply because my kids don't get a fall break.

But taking a couple of days off is not as simple as it should be.

Making up the work can be daunting

This year, my boys are in middle and high school, and we wanted to take two days off school to extend a weekend; however, a hefty workload left them uneasy about missing more than one day. I encouraged them to ask their teachers for work ahead of time so they wouldn't be scrambling to catch up later, but most teachers didn't have lesson plans completed in advance.

While away, they logged in to their school program in between activities to complete some work remotely. When we returned home on Sunday, they finished some lingering assignments, but they weren't completely caught up from the one missed school day until later that week.

My 15-year-old is less fazed by having to complete makeup work. A day away from school doesn't stress him all that much. But my 12-year-old reminds me of myself when I was a student; he worries about the work until it's completed. I wish we could escape for a day or two without the stress of math worksheets and language arts passages looming over his head. Kids deserve a few days away from school each year, no questions asked.

There's value in spending time with family

This year, again, we escaped to a fall wonderland that my children will never forget. We took a short walk to an overlook to see the foliage from above, visited the Sundown Wild Forest where a yellow canopy covered Peekamoose Blue Hole, and continued our yearly tradition of visiting the Bethel Woods Center for their Peace, Love and Pumpkins festival after dark.

The next day, we took a ski lift to the top of Hunter Mountain to admire the fall views from another vantage point. At night, we spent time around the fire pit listening to water rush over rocks in the nearby stream. We had family meals together at restaurants and a night in, cooking at our cabin in the woods. It was a cozy experience that no school day will ever provide.

Giving kids personal days would make much-needed family getaways more accessible

Our school district — in compliance with state laws — focuses heavily on attendance. They communicate their strict attendance expectations during orientations, back-to-school night, and via email. In fact, in the past, when we were unaware that a doctor's note was required for sick days, our kids accrued the 10 allowable guardian-reported absences, and then, alarmingly, a truancy note arrived in our mailbox.

But what if kids were given personal days? What if they could take a few days off each year without having to make up all the work? We should recognize that resetting in nature is self-care. Spending time with family in the great outdoors should be encouraged.

I want them to be able to escape stress-free

Many companies provide their employees with a few personal days each year. We recognize that situations arise — aside from illness — that may require someone to take a day or two off. Why do we fail to provide the same for our kids? With the growing demands and complexity of childhood today, they may need it even more than we do.

Our fall visits to the Catskills are perfection, and they will always be worth a day or two away from school. But I wish we could escape completely, free from quizzes, book reports, and math worksheets. Perhaps one day sneaking to the mountains will be stress-free just as it should have been all along.

• Gen Zers are much less likely to have at least one kid than older generations at the same age.
• Not wanting kids, affordability problems, and medical challenges are plausible reasons.
• Having at least three kids is becoming less common across income percentiles, except in the top 1%.

Birth rates in the US have been falling for decades, but there's been an especially large drop in the likelihood of Gen Zers in their 20s having a kid compared with their older peers at the same age.

For 26-year-old Gen Zers, the likelihood of having at least one kid was 26%, down from 47% for millennials, 50% for Gen X, and 46% for boomers at that age. There were also differences between Gen Z and older generations in the probability of wanting another kid.

That's based on an analysis by a group of researchers published by the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta. Julie Hotchkiss, a research economist at the Atlanta Fed, told Business Insider the analysis controls for education, partnership status, and some health conditions. The analysis uses National Survey of Family Growth data up to 2023.

From affordability challenges to concerns about the future, there are several likely reasons behind the lower probabilities. Hotchkiss said that a lower desire to have kids is one explanation.

Gen Zer Brooklen Farley said in an as-told-to Business Insider essay in 2023 that she decided during college she didn't want to have kids. Farley is worried about issues like the economy and climate crisis.

"Many people call us Zoomers, but honestly, a lot of us are doomers: We feel pessimistic about the future and don't want to subject our children to it," she said.

The research also notes that there's been a rise in medical challenges related to having kids. The researchers looked at impaired fecundity, or trouble becoming pregnant or carrying to term. The average probability of impaired fecundity at 26 was 18% for Gen Z compared to 10% for boomers at that age. The probabilities are higher for older ages — the likelihood for 40-year-old millennials was about 30%, higher than the 26% for Gen Xers at that age.

"If we want to talk about birth rates, we can't just talk about preferences," Hotchkiss said. "It's not just that darned younger generation not wanting, just being selfish and not wanting to have children. There's also really a very real medical issue that needs to be addressed."

Another problem is all the financial costs that come with being a parent. LendingTree found the cost of raising a kid for over 18 years adds up to $303,418 after tax exemptions and credits, or about $17,000 a year.

Affordability issues aren't just a Gen Z problem. Surrounded by a large family growing up, millennial Lizzie Lawson said in a Business Insider essay that she assumed she would also have a large family one day.

"When I was a kid in the early 2000s, my dad was an electrician and sole provider for our growing family of eight," Lawson said in a Business Insider essay, adding that her family got by with the help of coupon cutting and hand-me-downs. "Money was tight, but we also owned a house in a safe suburb, and my parents sent six kids to Catholic school from K-8."

Lawson, a college instructor whose husband is a physical therapist with $100,000 in student loans, said the economy is different from the one she grew up in.

"We can't afford to have one of us stay at home, and there aren't enough coupons in the world to cover the rising cost of day care," she said.

Having large families is rarer than in the past

Michael Konczal, vice president of policy and research at the Economic Security Project, said in his newsletter that across income percentiles, families with at least three kids have become less common since the 90s, except at the top 1%.

"A third kid isn't new for them; what's new is that it has become rarer for everyone else," he said. "Compared with the 1990s, families with three or more kids became less common overall and among the rest of the top 10%. The top 1%'s estimated share barely changed, though the uncertainty is substantial. Maybe all the stresses that made childbearing more difficult over the past 30 years just bounced right off the 1%?"

The US fertility rate has cooled to 1.6 births per woman, below the 2.1 replacement rate, which Hotchkiss said would translate to slower population growth. The Congressional Budget Office projects that just a few years from now, the number of births in the US could fall below the number of deaths, which could have implications in future decades.

"Over time, the negative net contribution of births and deaths increasingly offsets the positive contribution of net immigration, until population growth slows to zero in 2056. The population is projected to shrink thereafter," the CBO said.

• Caitlin Conway is a mom of two who lives in Colorado.
• She sends her two kids, ages 8 and 5, to a forest school and homeschools them.
• She says the impact on them physically and emotionally is unparalleled.

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

Years ago, when my oldest was an infant, my husband and I had seen a documentary about outdoor schooling in Nordic countries. It really resonated with us, but it also felt intense because we're not used to seeing that kind of setup here. It was cool, but also terrifying — kids were using knives in the woods.

Then I found a forest school in Colorado, where we live.

We started forest school when my oldest was 4.5

We started my son on the coldest day of the year, in February, and I was nervous. We sent him out, and when he came home, he didn't say anything about the weather. He never even mentioned that it was cold; he was immediately engrossed.

It was his primary source of education until two years ago, through first grade. They age out of a full-day program around then, so we now homeschool and leverage a homeschool enrichment program for him because we were not ready to leave the program. My youngest attends forest school three days a week and is also homeschooled the other days.

The school goes from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. every day as long as it's 15 degrees Fahrenheit or warmer. Sometimes they have a shelter; sometimes they don't. They learn how to keep their bodies warm.

The primary focus is on social and emotional development. It gives kids opportunities to test their capabilities, both physically and emotionally. The guides are there to keep them safe, but they're not there to solve a kid's every problem. They learn to negotiate conflicts with each other and can get help when they need it.

When at home, we also prioritize being outside

We don't follow a strict homeschooling curriculum. Our main focus is on exposure. We homeschool so they can continue to stay outside and strengthen their bodies and minds. We've also found a group of people through forest school that we call our homeschool co-op. It's two other families, and we all help facilitate "adventure days" outside.

I'm not sitting at a kitchen table with them all day. We do an art program, and both kids also take piano lessons and swim. We also do our own work around reading, writing, and math.

I never expected to be homeschooling my kids, but they love it

I don't have an educational background. I come from early-stage start-ups and am currently a real estate agent. But I continue to double down on this method because I see an incredible impact on my kids' ability to adapt to different situations. They can sit still at a restaurant, but they can also jump off a cliff into a river. They know that bravery has a great payoff.

The hardest part is other people's opinions. We've had to defend what we're doing, something I'm sure every homeschool parent has had to do. An instant reaction to me sharing that my kids are in the woods all day is, "But how are they learning if they're not in the real world?" That can be frustrating, but I think it's important to make sure people know there are other options for early childhood development.

• While pregnant with my second child, an RTO mandate was issued at work.
• Going into the office five days a week wasn't going to work for me, or for my family.
• I decided to take the leap and build my own business instead.

I never imagined myself starting a business, but after a return-to-office mandate that wasn't going to work for my family, I had to rethink what should come next in my career. I spent a lot of time networking on LinkedIn, and after some encouragement, I started asking myself, "Why not?"

I worked in marketing as a content writer, and I've always been ambitious. I was a top performer at my company, receiving glowing reviews and setting a record for campaign performance. However, there was always a constant pull between time at the office and time with my family.

Being required to show up to the office five days a week simply wouldn't work for me

The office was about an hour from my house, which was fine for two to three days a week, especially with the flexibility to work remotely for additional days as necessary. When they instituted the expectation for a full five days in office with no flexibility at the beginning of the year, I knew it wasn't going to work. I was expecting my second child, and my 5-year-old had a weekly appointment and some commitments I didn't want to miss.

Showing up to my kid's events often meant working from home an extra day or leaving the office early, and even though I was crushing performance metrics, those absences made me feel like I wasn't doing enough at work, especially as my department began focusing on new goals. Worse, as departmental pressure increased, my boss made a few comments that left me wondering whether he felt I wasn't sufficiently dedicated to the new direction and my role, adding a layer of fear about my job when I was trying to be present with my family.

Then, there were the moments I felt like I wasn't doing enough as a mom. I apologized on more than one occasion for a school closure or my kid getting sick, and I found myself checking messages while he napped in my arms. It was uncomfortable to acknowledge the guilt I felt across all aspects of my life.

The tug-of-war had become a constant since becoming a mom, and I kept thinking there had to be a way to be true to my high-achieving nature while still being the kind of loving, involved parent I aspired to be. After a series of coffee chats with other "mompreneurs" and marketing colleagues, I realized building a business, like motherhood, isn't about having it all figured out. I could chase entrepreneurship like I once chased accolades.

I've always been a writer. Communication and storytelling have been the constants in my career across industries and roles. I'd helped friends and family with marketing for their law firms while still working full-time; I'd worked in education, both in the classroom and in marketing. I realized my experience would translate to the kind of business I wanted to build: brand development, content strategy, and ghostwriting in higher education and law. I spent most of my third trimester balancing business planning and baby preparation.

I took the leap and started my own business

My LinkedIn community encouraged me to take the leap and supported me again as I began shifting my personal brand to support the business after my son was born. I signed my first client before he arrived, and had two referrals come in during my first couple of months in business.

By the time both my children started school and day care earlier this year, I'd built something that would support the life I wanted without requiring an apology. My first client was recommended in AI overviews after only 30 days. I was a guest on a podcast about AI visibility called Found In AI and invited on a few others focused on motherhood and ambition.

I build my own schedule. I work between pickup and dropoff, and I don't feel the need to check my phone while volunteering or at school events. I relish the details I get when my oldest hops in the car: the games at recess or the math facts that fascinated him in class. I build Magna Tiles cities and go for "treasure hunts" around the neighborhood without guilt or explanation. Sure, there are days when I'm logging back in after bedtime, but instead of putting in those hours to chase titles or prove something, I'm simply putting the work where it fits for me or pursuing something I'm genuinely excited about for one of my clients.

I spent a lot of my career frantically trying to prove that motherhood didn't lessen my capability, while simultaneously feeling guilty for every ask that mattered: the Halloween school parade or my child's sick days. I was afraid of losing respect at my job and afraid of missing out on my kids' childhood.

Now, I recognize that fear was holding me back from building a life that feels much more fulfilled. I've let go of the competition between the roles of "Mom" and "Career Woman." Three ghostwriting clients alone equal my monthly salary from corporate, which was the goal, and anything after that is a bonus. The control of my time is priceless; I'll never have to ask permission to be fully present with my children.

Manuel Merino, de 33 años, llevaba mucho tiempo acariciando el sueño de una vivienda para poder emanciparse. Pero cuando, por fin, resultó agraciado en el sorteo realizado entre los muchos aspirantes a una Vivienda de Protección Oficial (VPO) en Jaén, el sueño se transformó en pesadilla: “Creía que el precio era una broma”, dice el joven jienense, al que pedían 350.000 euros más gastos de gestión por un piso de apenas 90 metros cuadrados.

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• My older son got a phone when he turned 12.
• I ended up regretting it and wishing we'd waited another year.
• Still, our younger son got a phone at the same age, and I was glad we got it for him.

When our older son was 12, getting a phone seemed to be the trend. Many of his friends had phones before 6^th grade, but those who didn't received one at the start of middle school, so we purchased one too. Looking back, I regretted our decision, and wished we'd waited another year.

He didn't truly need one until school sports began in 7^th grade, when he was staying after school for practice and traveling around our county for track meets. Without a true need, a phone simply felt like another connection to the dangers of the internet; protecting him felt impossible.

Our younger son started middle school in September, and ever since his brother got his phone three years ago, he's expected to receive one at the same age.

I didn't want to give in

"He doesn't need it," I told my husband in August. "We know that now," I reminded him. He takes the bus to and from school, and I can track his morning and afternoon bus routes with the Here Comes the Bus app. School sports don't begin until next year, so we are responsible for transporting him to rec soccer practice and games ourselves; we don't yet need to communicate about exact locations or pickup times.

But like with our older son, his friends either had phones or were getting one, and he felt left out. I've found that much of parenting today involves striking a balance between what I feel is safe for my children and giving them the freedom to feel they belong.

I was concerned about him having consistent access to the internet and worried he wasn't responsible enough to keep track of a phone. Remembering the time he'd left his backpack on the bus, I pleaded with my husband, "He might misplace it — and then what?" But that was two years ago, and I wanted to believe that he was maturing. For his mental health, I also didn't want him to feel left out.

My son convinced his dad, who then convinced me

Convincingly, my son argued that it wasn't fair that his brother got a phone at 12, but he would have to wait. "I want to be able to text you if soccer is ending early and let you know when I'm on the bus in the afternoon," he reasoned. I thought these were simply persuasive tactics. I didn't believe he'd follow through, but he did.

Ultimately, my son convinced my husband, who then convinced me that it might be OK. And I'm so glad he did. He already has an iPad, and both devices are protected by parental controls, so we don't feel as though having a phone increases his susceptibility to online dangers. On his own, he devised a plan to responsibly keep track of his phone during the school day. He places it safely in his backpack when he reaches a certain point on his morning bus route — and it stays there until he gets back on the bus in the afternoon.

I'm actually glad we got him a phone

Each day around 3 pm, I receive the text, "I'm on the bus," and my heart feels content. Sometimes he also texts me about how a test went or his plans for tackling that evening's homework. Often, I send him an animated GIF to remind him that I love him, and I'll keep doing that until he asks me not to.

When he had an after-school event last week, I was able to tell him I was running late and that his grandmother would be picking him up. If he's arriving home before me, I can simply let him know that I'll be home soon. Giving him a phone has made him more responsible, given us the freedom to communicate schedule changes, and made him feel confident in his growing maturity. And best of all, his location is only a click away.

• I thought it was important to teach my three kids obedience.
• Now that they're older, I know it's important to teach them boundaries, too.
• When one of my children respectfully says no to something, I make it a point to validate them and their choice.

As soon as children learn to follow instructions, we start teaching them obedience. I know that's what I did with my kids.

I asked them to share their things, take turns, and compromise even when they're not always ready to do so willingly. I pushed them to cooperate not only because I felt it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted to keep the peace and be seen as a good parent.

Sadly, it seems society only sees agreeable, generous children as good ones, so parents raise them with a give-in mindset. I followed that path until I realized just how my actions were shaping my children's personalities.

Now I am strongly focused on improving myself while developing a parenting approach tailored to what works best for my children.

I wasn't seeing the whole picture

At some point, I realized that constantly pushing my children to say yes to everything, acting like good children are meant to, is affecting their personal boundaries.

When my children were not allowed to say no, I noticed they felt uncomfortable, frustrated, and even angry. My older son had no interest in his weekend archery class, yet I kept forcing him to attend. Every Saturday morning became a struggle, as I spent a lot of time convincing him to go. Within a few weeks, I realized that instead of building discipline or a skill, it was creating unnecessary stress for both of us. So I let him opt out.

Since then, I make it a point to ask my children before enrolling them in extracurricular activities, so they spend their time doing things they genuinely enjoy rather than ticking boxes for me.

They're learning to set boundaries with others, too

I also noticed that my children were happy to share snacks from their cabinet with visiting friends, but became upset when someone opened it without asking. I taught them that there is nothing wrong with saying no when someone crosses a boundary or takes something that belongs to them without their permission.

Setting physical boundaries was another challenge. When relatives and friends would lovingly ask my children for a hug or a kiss on the cheek, I could see them becoming uncomfortable. I could see that they felt obliged to agree, not wanting to be impolite. Without questioning anyone's good intentions, I now let my children decline physical affection when they are uncomfortable. I simply remind them that they can respond with a high-five, a wave, or a smile instead. It helps them respect others' kindness without feeling they have to give up their own boundaries.

People sometimes judge my approach

I have been told I am spoiling my kids by letting them have their say. But because my children know their voice matters, I have watched them handle peer pressure with remarkable maturity.

Recently, when my son's friends urged him to climb a high wall and jump off it to retrieve a lost ball, he confidently refused. They began teasing him, but he later told me he stayed calm and simply replied that he wasn't going to risk a fracture for a ball. Standing up to peer pressure is hard, but because he knew he could set a boundary, it made things easier.

This practice starts at home, even with me. I now allow my children to respectfully say no to low-stakes matters involving personal preferences. Like it's fine if they choose to stay behind with their grandmother rather than attending an outing they won't enjoy. As their parent, I want to teach them that respectful disagreement is acceptable.

I'm also validating their choices

Whenever one of my children respectfully says no to something, I make it a point to validate them, reinforcing that their boundaries matter.

Of course, setting boundaries isn't a free pass for entitlement. It doesn't mean being extra picky about eating or saying no to their assigned homework and household chores. They know that while they are developing these healthy boundaries, I still expect them to demonstrate basic manners.

I want them to be confident individuals who show genuine kindness, but no one should be allowed to exploit it. They should be able to resist unhealthy pressure and hold firm even when saying no feels uncomfortable. I hope that this helps them live a life built with courage, clarity, and true self-worth.

• Barbara Palvin walked the Victoria's Secret runway six weeks postpartum.
• The model told outlets that she's just doing "what every woman does in America."
• The US is the only wealthy country to provide no national paid maternity leave.

Barbara Palvin is getting praise for walking the Victoria's Secret fashion show in lingerie six weeks postpartum, but she doesn't want it.

In multiple interviews, the Hungarian-born model downplayed the feat, saying it's common for new mothers in the US to be back at work within a similar timeframe.

"In the US, maternity leave is six to eight weeks. I'm six weeks tomorrow, so nothing major here. I'm just doing what every woman does in America," the 33-year-old told USA Today backstage at the fashion show, which took place in Los Angeles on October 18.

"And I only have to walk down a runway," Palvin told Page Six.

In 2025, the US was the only country among the 38 OECD countries, including the UK, Australia, and Japan, to have no national paid maternity leave, according to the OECD Family Database.

New mothers in the US are entitled to up to 12 weeks of unpaid, job-protected leave under the Family and Medical Leave Act, but they must meet certain eligibility criteria. The new mother must have worked for their employer for at least 12 months, worked at least 1,250 hours in the previous 12 months, and their employer must have 50 or more employees within 75 miles of their job site.

Federal workers are generally entitled to 12 weeks of paid leave, but private companies are not legally required to pay employees on parental leave. Some states, including California, New York, Massachusetts, Minnesota, and Maine, have paid family leave programs, but the majority don't.

Data released this year from the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis suggests mothers in the US took an average of 7.2 weeks off to care for a new child.

Palvin, who has been married to actor Dylan Sprouse since July 2023, gave birth to her first child, a girl called Sylvie, on September 7.

Palvin was named a Victoria's Secret Angel in 2019. She first walked the Victoria's Secret fashion show in 2012. At the 2025 Victoria's Secret fashion show, Sprouse told reporters that Palvin had broken her foot four weeks earlier and was walking the runway with a "half-healed foot."

The first Victoria's Secret Fashion Show took place at The Plaza Hotel in New York City in 1995. It was broadcast online for the first time in 1999, and was so popular that the host site crashed.

• On paper, everything was going well with breastfeeding.
• However, even with a good milk supply and a latching baby, I felt intense rage during sessions.
• When I learned that there was a name for it, I realized I wasn't alone.

I had finally gotten the hang of breastfeeding: My milk had come in, I had a solid supply, and my baby was latching well. On paper, everything seemed to be going smoothly. But during nursing sessions, I wrestled with a nagging agitation I hadn't been prepared for. Sometimes, during the final feed of the day, it bordered on rage.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," I texted my husband one afternoon while he was at work. "I feel like my skin is crawling. I want to run through a wall."

Though those feelings went away as soon as the nursing session was over, they kept returning during feeds more often than not.

Finding a name for what I was feeling helped me feel less alone

When I brought this up to my doctor during a postpartum checkup, she seemed puzzled. Eventually, Googling "breastfeeding rage" led me to accounts of "breastfeeding aversion" that sounded startlingly familiar.

One 2023 survey of more than 5,500 Australian women found that about one in five respondents had experienced this.

Finding a name for what I was feeling was validating — it helped me to stop questioning my love for my baby, or spiraling into shame every time I watched the clock, desperate for a feed to end.

But it also left me wondering: Why hadn't I heard of this before?

I tried to make nursing more manageable

After I learned a little more about breastfeeding aversion, I experimented with a few different strategies to help me cope with the negative sensations and emotions that kept coming up.

Distracting myself — say, with a podcast, a show, or soothing nature sounds for those middle-of-the-night feeds — definitely helped.

I also suspected that overstimulation might be part of the issue, so when distraction didn't work, I'd try nursing in a quiet room without a lot of sensory input.

But on occasions where I just didn't feel up to muscling my way through the discomfort, I gave myself permission to take breaks. That meant handing the baby off to my husband for bottle-feeding while I pumped.

Switching to pumping brought relief — and some guilt

About three months into my nursing journey, the agitation became so overwhelming at times that I had the urge to abruptly yank my baby off my breast.

And that's when it hit me. Breastfeeding was supposed to be a positive experience for us. But now, I wondered if "pushing through" the distress might actually do the opposite, breeding tension and resentment rather than bonding. I knew it was time for a change.

The decision to stop nursing was a complicated one — and one that came with a gnawing guilt. I knew so many moms who were eager to breastfeed, but struggled with supply and latching issues, so I felt I didn't have a "good enough" reason to stop. Within days of switching to pumping, though, a dark cloud lifted. For some reason, pumping didn't induce the same emotions and bodily sensations that breastfeeding did. More importantly, I no longer dreaded feeding my son.

My only regret now is that I didn't make the transition sooner. The idea that motherhood meant making sacrifices had cemented into my brain before my son was even born. I was so concerned about his needs that I hadn't given much thought to mine. But my experience mattered, too.

Funny enough, the closeness I expected with nursing didn't come until I stopped. One quiet afternoon at home, as I cradled him in my lap and fed him a bottle, he wrapped his tiny fingers around mine. I finally felt the connection I had longed for.

• Kathy Davidson, 61, is raising her two grandsons, ages 8 and 11, in North Carolina.
• She receives $997 a month in disability benefits, while her husband works as an electrician.
• She works hard to give both grandchildren a stable, loving home despite financial strain.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kathy Davidson, 61, who has raised two of her grandsons in North Carolina since they were born. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

I raised three children, two girls and a boy. My son and older daughter have been doing well and are working hard. I left my ex, and then I met the man I'm married to now. We've been married for 26 years.

I worked in construction and hotel housekeeping. You name it, I've done it. I used to work with my uncle laying bricks and painting houses. I hurt my back and shoulder at work one day in 2015, and now I'm on disability. I've been on a limited income since, earning $997 a month, and it's been very hard.

My husband works as an electrician, and he's 66. He earns $18 an hour, which works out to about $615 a week after taxes.

I have custody of my 2 grandsons

My younger daughter was born three months early. She got into modeling, and at a competition with 4,000 women, she came in the top 10. She was doing well until my husband lost his daughter to cancer. She left my house by the time she was 18.

She had two boys, who are 11 and 8, and they were both born with medical issues. I started taking care of the older boy when he was 5 months old. He was found in unsafe conditions and wasn't healthy at all. His mom went to jail and wrote out a paper saying that she gave me custody and had it notarized, but it took forever because she was still reluctant to give him up. At 3, the court decided to give me custody of him. I got the younger one straight out of the hospital.

When I finally got custody, the judge decided that their mom would have no visitation.

We didn't even think about foster care when we got them. My husband decided that we would take them in because he raised two of his kids by himself. He helped me raise my soul.

We can't do whatever we want anymore

We used to go wherever we wanted to, and now we can't. We look for things that we can do without breaking the budget. We have taken the boys hiking and camping, the stuff that I grew up doing, and they love it. Their grandpa has definitely spoiled them in whatever way he can.

We didn't get child support until six months ago, and we get $236 a month now for each boy through the state. It's not much, but it helps pay for a few things that they need, and we set aside some of it in their savings accounts for college. My parents and my aunt would help me out with birthdays and holidays. My mom gives each of them $20 a month, and I don't let them spend it. They put it in their piggy banks.

We pay $1,050 a month in rent, and the power is included, but it took everything to come up with that amount. I would do some housekeeping for a friend's mom to make extra money to buy clothes, and the church we go to has a clothing bank. One of their mom's past boyfriends is still around and will help the boys out and spend time with them.

I've tried to raise them as well as I can. I told them that, first of all, you do not lie. I put this into their head. I put them in timeout and take their phones a lot. My husband is a lot more lenient on them, but I've decided to be tougher. It's important to discipline them while they're young. I've also encouraged them to work for everything they want.

I've also learned to listen to them. The boys will sometimes stand their ground, but other times they'll tell on themselves. It's important to work with them and hear them out.

I'm very proud of my grandchildren

I'm very proud of the boys, and they know it. They both are on the autism spectrum, and the older one has Tourette's and ADHD. Both made it onto the honor roll. The older one is getting ready for middle school and gets some extra help at school. He's very quiet, and it took him until last year to start making friends. I am scared of what will happen when he gets to middle school.

It took some time for him to get more confident. He believes he isn't smart because kids in his class say so. I told him he's capable of going to college and having a future. I need him to believe that he can do whatever he wants, but he has to really want to do it. He has a journal where he writes down what he wants to do and the steps he has to take to get there.

My husband and I try to set aside as much as possible to get them what they want, like gaming systems, even though they know it's hard for us. We don't lie to them about our finances. We know the boys make sacrifices, and they shouldn't have to. They should be able to be children.

It's just as hard on the grandkids as on the grandparents. They feel their parents don't love them. They go through a lot of emotions.

• Lauren Antonoff is the CEO of Life360 and uses the location-sharing platform with her family.
• She says she tried to mimic her mom's somewhat hands-off parenting with her own two kids.
• Giving kids space can help them develop agency and independence, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lauren Antonoff, CEO of Life360. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My mother was an awesome parent, but she was a person first. It was just the two of us for a lot of my childhood, between the time my dad died when I was 8, and my mom remarried when I was 14.

During those years, my mom was parenting while also in school, working, and dating. She was always there for me, but she wasn't trying to manage my childhood. She didn't do homework with me, for example. She made sure I was happy, loved, and well cared for, all while living her own life.

A lot of single moms might not have been open about things like dating, but mine was always transparent. I liked that I got to do my thing while watching my mom do hers.

My mom's benign neglect helped me develop agency

I didn't grow up knowing I wanted to be a parent. When I met my now-husband, he was already a father. Our daughter, who is now 27, was 5 at the time. I say I got her the easy way.

From the beginning, my husband was the primary parent. That really opened the door for me to feel comfortable having kids. About three years later, we had our son.

Once I became a parent, my mom and I would sometimes talk about this idea of benign neglect — the benefits of letting kids do their own thing, and figure it out. In my childhood, my mom's benign neglect allowed me to develop independence and problem-solving skills.

Because my mom was less involved than some parents, I created a sense of agency that's served me well throughout life.

I wanted to change the world, but didn't expect to be in tech

My interest in tech was an accident. I thought I would become a civil rights lawyer and change the world.

While I was in college in the early 90s, I purchased a Mac to write papers with. I was living in Berkley, and got sucked into this community of Mac enthusiasts. I understood the technology — though not as well as some people — and I could articulate things well.

My techie friends diagnosed me as a product manager. I had a desire to advance technology that was both intelligible to humans and useful to them. I started working at a startup that was bought by Microsoft.

I thought it would only be for a few years, until I went to law school. I ended up spending 19 years at Microsoft before joining other tech companies like GoDaddy and now Life360. I realized along the way that I have an impact on people's quality of life, at scale, by advancing technology that makes day-to-day life easier.

Location monitoring keeps my in-person connections close

At Life360, we talk a lot about agency, which was so important in my childhood, and which I tried to encourage for my own kids. For me, and a lot of our users, the platform creates agency while helping people boost their real-life connections.

Here's my favorite use case: my husband is still the primary domestic partner, and he brings me lunch most days. If I'm at work feeling hungry, I can check his location and see if I need to get myself a snack, or if he's around the corner with my meal.

Recently, I got a flight notification from Life360. It showed that my brother — who doesn't live locally — had touched down in LA. I hadn't known he was in town, but since I got the digital signal, we were able to get dinner. Ultimately, the platform keeps us closer in real life by creating those opportunities for connection.

I'm cautiously optimistic about the future

I've never seen tech as a bad thing. I had a TV in my room growing up, and a simple coding game that was so basic I had to retype the code each time I turned it on.

I was pretty liberal in how I let my own kids use technology. Looking back, I got my son — who's now 19 — a phone when he was probably too young. At the time, we wanted to play Pokémon Go as a family. I didn't think about how harmful some aspects of tech can be. I'm lucky that he turned out good despite that.

I'm cautiously optimistic about the future of technology. I'm also an activist. We get to shape what the future looks like, for our children and us — and there's a lot of power in that.

• Sometimes I have to take my child out of school for healthcare appointments.
• Perfect attendance can depend on health, access to care, and whether a parent can leave work.
• I'd rather schools reward kids for showing up after hard times than for perfect attendance.

Whenever I schedule an appointment during the school day, I feel guilty.

I ask for their latest available appointment. If that doesn't work, I pull up the school calendar. Then I start doing the ridiculous parent math: How long is the drive? What class will my child miss? Can I get them back before the final bell? Is there some magical way to make a 10:30 appointment happen without blowing up half the school day? Usually, there isn't. So I take the appointment.

I'm a mother in rural North Carolina. Healthcare providers aren't always five minutes down the road, and appointments that fit perfectly between school dismissal and dinner aren't exactly falling from the sky. Sometimes the appointment you need is at 10:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. And sometimes you take it. I still feel guilty about it almost every time.

I want my child in school. Of course I do. I know how quickly one missed class can turn into a missing assignment, which then becomes another assignment they don't understand because they missed the first one. But I also have to take care of my child. Sometimes those two responsibilities bump right into each other. And that's probably why perfect-attendance awards have always bothered me.

My child is my priority

I understand why schools care about attendance. Kids need to be in classrooms. They need instruction, routine, relationships with teachers and classmates, and all the little pieces of school that are hard to recreate at home. When a child is missing a lot of school, I absolutely think families should be supported in figuring out why and helping that child get back into a routine.

But perfect attendance is something different. An unbroken attendance record isn't necessarily a measure of how hard a child tried. Kids don't choose when they get the flu. They don't control when the specialist finally has an opening. They can't give their parents paid time off, fix the car when it won't start, make the school bus come down a road it doesn't serve, or move a doctor's office 45 minutes closer to home.

The certificate may have a child's name printed on it, but there's a whole lot of family circumstance behind that streak. I work for myself, which gives me more flexibility than many parents have. I can move things around when an appointment pops up. That doesn't mean the lost work hours don't matter, but I can usually make it happen.

A parent working an hourly job may be making a completely different calculation. Can I afford to lose three hours of pay? Will my boss be irritated? How many times have I already had to leave early this year?

And that's before we even get into transportation, housing instability, access to healthcare, chronic illness, or any of the other things families may be dealing with that nobody sees when the certificates get handed out. Those circumstances matter. They just aren't evidence that one child tried harder than another.

One sick day shouldn't erase a year's worth of effort

As parents, we already have to make enough judgment calls when our kids are sick. Is this a stay-home sick or a send-them-and-see sick? Are they actually exhausted or just really, really not interested in going to math?

We're told attendance matters. And it does. We're also told to keep our kids home when they're contagious because sending them to school sick exposes others to illness. Both things can be true.

Then we turn around and give an award for never missing a day. That's where I get stuck. One fever in October can knock a child out of the running for an award handed out in June.

I don't want to hesitate before keeping my sick child home because some part of my brain is thinking about an attendance record. And I definitely don't want my child learning that dragging yourself through school when you feel awful is proof that you're more dedicated.

Sometimes staying home is the responsible choice. Sometimes missing school for an appointment is the responsible choice. And sometimes the impressive part isn't never missing school at all, it's coming back.

I'd rather see schools recognize persistence

I'm not suggesting schools stop caring whether kids come to school. Chronic absenteeism is a real problem, and families dealing with it may need more support, not less. But perfection doesn't have to be the prize.

Recognize the kid whose attendance improved from one grading period to the next. Celebrate shorter milestones. Acknowledge the student who had a rough stretch and worked their way back into a routine.

Despite my views, I know I'll keep doing the school-day appointment math. I'll keep asking for the latest opening. I'll keep checking the calendar. I'll keep trying to minimize what my child misses and help them catch up when missing school can't be avoided. And I'll probably still feel a little guilty every time.

My child may never earn a perfect-attendance award. I'm fine with that. I'd much rather they learn that taking care of themselves is responsible, staying home when they're contagious is considerate, and showing up again after a hard stretch is something worth being proud of.