• As my maternity leave after having my fourth child was ending, summer was starting.
• I wanted to spend the summer with my kids, and I looked for a solution.
• I ended up taking a 20% pay cut for 8 months for another 73 days off.

Our fourth child was a happy surprise, and arrived on the scene when we were busy putting out metaphorical fires with our 4-year-old twins and our 2-year-old daughter, who seemed to spend most of their time playing and fighting.

We felt like we already had a lot of kids. Not too many, but enough. When I learned I was pregnant, we asked ourselves, what was one more?

As my maternity leave was ending, I still wanted more time

Nine months later, the real party began. My maternity leave started coming to an end just as we were facing a very long summer: 12 weeks, from June 20 to September 8, with no school. We live in Spain, and were about to face one of those eternal Spanish summers I remember so well from my own childhood: long, hot days full of sand, sea, salt, swimming pools, and, yes, boredom.

Our monthly expenses were already higher than ever (diapers, onesies, baby food, and all those brand-new baby things I'd previously gotten rid of because I thought we were done having kids). Still, I decided to take a 20% pay cut in exchange for more time, simply so I could get us through the summer.

That decision meant more time with the baby, obviously, but also with the rest of my kids, who are still just older than babies themselves. The difference is that 40 years ago, in many families, one salary — usually the man's — could support a household. Today, both parents often need full-time jobs and want to have professional lives of their own. This is the case for us, and it's not particularly compatible with looking after four very young children for 12 weeks.

Taking a pay cut gave me an extra 73 days off

By agreeing to a 20% pay cut for eight months, I was able to combine my reduced working hours into 73 full days off instead of working shorter days each week. Together with my maternity leave, weekends, and public holidays, those extra days allowed me to stay home with my children much longer than I ever expected. I didn't have to return to work until my baby was 10 months old. It was a financial sacrifice, but it gave me something I couldn't put a price on: more time with my children. Face to face.

It sounded stressful when I thought about it. In reality, it turned out to be a dream. I've had the best summer of my life, and I'm afraid I may never get another one quite like it.

Since June, the weeks have passed slowly, as we looked for activities to fill the days: painting, drawing, gluing things together, doing yoga or gymnastics, trying to get everyone to nap at the same time, and, obviously, spending hours by the pool and at the beach.

There were moments when the baby wanted to breastfeed while my little girl needed a diaper change at the pool, with me sitting on the edge, trying to manage both. Or one kid suddenly needed to pee while the others were happily playing in the water. It has been a crash course in patience, caregiving, and motherhood.

But the interesting part isn't just how much fun we had. It's how much money we saved by doing it this way.

We saved so much on childcare that it didn't make much of a difference

I lost €10,000 (about $11,200) by taking the pay cut, which is a lot of money when you have this many kids. But I also avoided paying for the baby's day care, which costs around €700 a month. Over three months, that's about €2,100. Summer programs for the other three children would have cost around €200 per child a week. Over 12 weeks, that comes to €7,200.

Put it all together, and we would have spent about €9,300 on childcare over the summer anyway. So, in practical terms, we gave up roughly €700 so I could spend an entire summer with our four kids.

It a good trade.

Then there's everything that doesn't fit neatly into a spreadsheet: everything we learned together about being a family, sharing things, expressing ourselves, respecting each other's rhythms, and simply waiting for things to get done, something you do a lot of when there are four small children involved.

Financially, it turned out to be a good decision for us. Emotionally, it was even better.

The question now isn't really how much we saved or lost. It's what we're going to do next summer.

We'll see.

• Dr. Katie S. Davis is a clinical neuropsychologist who evaluates children for learning disorders.
• She said some parents are rushing to diagnose their children for normal kid behavior.
• She suggested some softer interventions before booking an evaluation appointment.

Over years of evaluating children for learning disorders, Dr. Katie S. Davis noticed an interesting phenomenon: Some parents seemed visibly disappointed when she told them their kids didn't meet the criteria for ADHD or autism.

"I found that those conversations can be more difficult to have than with a parent whose kid is really disabled and whose needs are very high," Davis, a clinical neuropsychologist and author of "Actually, You're Fine," told Business Insider.

Though she would try to reassure those parents that their concerns about their children's behavior were valid and worth addressing even without a formal diagnosis, "it's not as tangible or concrete as parents want, and they often leave the conversation feeling dissatisfied."

Parent-reported diagnoses of several childhood developmental and learning conditions have increased in recent years. For example, the estimated share of US children ages 3 to 17 with a current ADHD diagnosis rose from 8.6% in 2016 to 10.5% in 2023. Separately, a study of children ages 6 to 17 found parent-reported lifetime learning-disability diagnoses rose 16.4% over the same period.

While some argue that greater awareness of learning disabilities and disorders accounts for the increase, Davis doesn't feel that explains the full story. From what she's observed, ever-growing expectations for kids — and parents desperate for explanations for why their child is lagging behind — also play a role.

She said rushing to a diagnosis can have negative long-term implications for everyone.

"People don't think that ADHD means anything, people don't think dyslexia means anything," Davis said. "Then those people who are truly disabled by those conditions have enough battle to justify their need for accommodations and services."

Higher and higher expectations

In order to qualify for a diagnosis such as ADHD, symptoms must be present in at least two major settings, such as both at home and at school. For autism, they must be persistent across multiple contexts.

But some parents focus on how their child behaves in the classroom, in part due to ever-increasing expectations around academic success, Davis said.

"Doing well in school is no longer good — you have to be at the top of the pack," Davis said, noting that similar patterns have arisen in higher education settings with parents arguing for their teenagers' grades to be inflated. "Parents want excellence, and if it's not excellent, it's bad."

When worrying about their child's behavior, some parents zero in on their child's behavior in class while overlooking how their child compares to others, Davis said.

"If you're in a kindergarten classroom, probably all of the kids to some degree are going to have trouble sitting on the rug for 30 minutes at circle time," Davis said. Most will cluster in the middle of the bell curve, while some will get antsier earlier or later. The kids who consistently stand out compared to their peers are the ones who should probably be evaluated, Davis said.

Otherwise, "for nine kids out of 10, that sounds like a kid in an elementary school."

Labels are a double-edged sword

Whether they're diagnosed with ADHD or not, a child being hyperactive in class isn't a parent's fault. Still, parents can feel like they're personally responsible.

"There is an eagerness to medicalize the feelings of insecurity, because if it's due to a diagnosis, then it's not a knock on your decisions," Davis said.

Whether or not their child is formally diagnosed, Davis warned against treating it as a catch-all explanation for everything your child does.

"Despite our best intentions, if we put a label on the kid and the kid is aware of that label, they are given the message 'there is something wrong with how you are developing,'" she said. Even positive spins, like "ADHD is a superpower," can send a message to the kid that their life will be forever defined by struggle, she said.

It can also imply that symptoms like difficulty focusing or reading can't meaningfully improve with the right interventions.

"We all want to develop resilience in our children, to make them feel like they have agency and control and they're in charge of their own destinies," Davis said. "Especially when kids are very young and don't understand the fluidity of these labels, we could potentially be working against them."

Try softer interventions first

Davis wants to be clear: Diagnoses such as autism and ADHD are real. There are children who are unambiguously and significantly impaired by them in every setting, who need clear support academically and socially. "There are evidence-based interventions at our disposal that are enormously helpful," she said.

However, for parents who believe their child falls into some gray areas, Davis recommended trying a few things before booking an evaluation appointment. She compared it to a young child with a mild fever: A responsible pediatrician would guide parents through modest steps, such as taking a temperature and offering plenty of fluids, before rushing to the ER.

Instead of assuming your child might have autism if they struggle to make friends or always hang out alone at recess, Davis suggested first making other plans with their parents to set up playdates. You can also sign up your child for a karate class or call the school's teacher to see if they can intervene and help the kids play together more.

Alternatively, she said, if you immediately seek out a diagnosis and place your child into therapy and social skills groups, you could be taking away from more enriching social activities.

If a child continues to struggle, Davis recommended getting a neuropsychological assessment — a form of standardized test that is broader than getting an autism or ADHD evaluation.

While not perfect, she said neuropsychological assessments can measure a child's motor skills, sensory processing, attention, cognitive efficiency, language, memory, and social functioning. Their scores are typically compared with norms for peers of the same age.

More importantly, it helps parents know which interventions are the best. "If your kid perceives life to be very stressful or upsetting, they're not making it up. Let's talk about what we can do to support them better in that environment," Davis said. "But we don't need a diagnosis to do that."

During one of his son’s hockey games, Nick Paumgarten watches as his eight-year-old is hit from behind, only to rise to his feet and use his stick to hit the side of his opponent’s head. Alongside his concern for his son’s head and neck, Paumgarten, who has written about his own hockey-related concussions, rapidly processes the outcomes of the exchange: a game-deciding penalty, his own reflexive rationalization, and the evaluation of other parents who “held me in some way responsible, as both father and coach, for the violence and loss of self-control.” Paumgarten’s essay is rich with such moments of parent-coach double-consciousness, and sensitive to the numerous ways, some of them awful, in which those two identities intrude upon each other.

That Sunday, it wasn’t yet 8 A.M. when a Rye player shoved James from behind into the boards. James went down awkwardly and stayed prone a moment, then leaped up and, with an implausible ferocity, cross-checked the other kid in the ear. The Rye boy collapsed to the ice, and the other kids poured in and began grappling with one another, while parents shouted and pointed. Soon there was a pile of mites, with the two referees pulling players off and flinging them aside like puppies. Through the windows, you could see that the sun had risen over the Long Island Sound. I thought of my son’s fellow second graders back in the city, likely still asleep or watching cartoons in their pajamas or getting dressed for church or whatever the unrinked got up to on weekend mornings, but here at Playland my boy had instigated a munchkin brawl.

A Chinese man hired a Florida surrogate, then didn’t pick up his kids because of visas issues, sparking a custody battle that could upend the lucrative, largely unregulated industry. Emi Nietfeld spent more than a year reporting this rollercoaster of a feature. One particularly harrowing turn involves the father hiring people to retrieve the babies for him:

As the men continued knocking on her door, Simpson’s phone convulsed with notifications. Zhou messaged her nonstop. He called 53 times. “If you don’t give my babies to us, we have to report to the police. And you will be arrested immediately,” he warned. Then came pleas—or were they threats? “Think about your daughter,” he wrote, referring to Simpson’s 5-year-old. “I don’t think you want to have her be live without you for several years!”

Halfway across the world, Zhou paced in his apartment, chest seizing in panic. Over and over, he’d tried to explain his predicament to Simpson. He was still waiting for his visa interview; without her help, he couldn’t get his kids home. Running out of money and options, he’d hired the handlers as a last resort. Now, as his calls and messages went ignored, he feared she’d fallen in love with his children and would never let them go.