• I was at a Flyers game when an 84-year-old woman appeared on the Jumbotron and stole the show.
• The crowd cheered for her and booed the mascot, Gritty, whenever the camera switched away.
• Watching thousands of strangers celebrate her brought me to tears during a difficult time.

Since our kids left for college, my husband and I have been to many Philadelphia Flyers games.

The most recent, against the Colorado Avalanche, felt magical, and it wasn't just the high of a second consecutive win after a nine-game losing streak. There was an older woman, way up in the upper section, who, in a purely joyful moment, stole the show and captured the hearts of all 18,353 of us in attendance.

I'm calling her Good Luck Granny.

People were being shown on the Jumbotron

During the third period, the Flyers were up 3-1, and the crowd was electric. Could they make it two wins in a row? During TV time-outs, cameras stationed throughout the arena pan to fans — parents holding ear-muffed babies aloft, kids jumping up and down, waving "My 1st Flyers game!!" signs — or to our beloved mascot, Gritty, in his Chaos Corner, doing what Gritty does.

I love seeing the reactions of people who make it on the jumbotron, and, yes, I may have, on occasion, attempted to wave at a camera pointed in our direction. Being at the game means losing myself and any worries I might have for a few hours in something everyone can agree on.

With less than 10 minutes left in the third period, the camera found a grey-haired, bespectacled woman, straight out of central casting, in a royal blue hoodie. She was chair dancing, arms up in the air, her bright orange Flyers microfiber towel ready for waving. The arena exploded into a unanimous uproar for this stranger.

The camera panned to Gritty, and everyone booed. Then they went back to the woman, and we watched her moment of recognition in real time along with the guy seated next to her who'd been pointing her out to the cameraman. She lit up and began pointing at herself, as she mouthed, "Oh, that's me!" This was met with uproarious cheers.

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and fought back tears as we continued to scream for her.

Everyone was excited for her

Everyone wanted more, and the camera operators obliged, cycling half a dozen times between Gritty, who played along with the boos and disappointment, and Good Luck Granny, who elicited raucous cheering, much to her and everyone's delight. I'm not sure why it made me so emotional, but the feeling remains.

After the game, fans followed and cheered her all the way out of the building, taking photos along the way.

Fans went crazy for her in the comment section, too. Under a video posted by Sports Radio 94WIP Reporter, Dave Uram, @anfieldcards wrote, "I sat right next to her and her daughter, she was crying after being on the screen. It meant so much to her. She's 84 years old but was screaming and cheering all game."

That woman was the distraction I needed

Maybe it's because 2026 has been filled with what feels like an endlessly worrisome, increasingly overwhelming news cycle, along with some personally painful moments. When my mother died in January, a few months shy of her 82nd birthday, I hadn't seen or spoken to her in 17 years. Not surprisingly, this has brought up some complicated feelings. Turning 59 this summer brought up a lot of thoughts, too (because I am a professional overthinker), about my own mortality and what the state of the world might be for my grandchildren.

For those three hours, though, being enveloped by the energy of strangers who come together for a shared, emotionally vested experience, the games have been a salve and a healing distraction. I also believe that now more than ever, we're all craving joyful, feel-good moments like cheering for an unsuspecting elderly woman in a crowded hockey arena.

So, thank you, beautiful stranger, our Good Luck Granny, for your infectious good vibes and an experience that will not soon be forgotten.

• I worked in several locations across Disney World, and fall is my favorite time to visit the parks.
• I love dressing up for the Halloween events at Magic Kingdom and seeing the characters in costumes.
• There are some great food opportunities in the fall, like the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot. 

If you're planning a trip to Disney, I suggest you look at the fall.

After years of working at Disney World and visiting during every season, fall is still my absolute favorite time of year to be in the parks.

It's usually less crowded since schools are back in session, and the Florida weather cools slightly from the oppressive summer heat. 

This is during Florida's hurricane season, which typically runs from June through the end of November, so I recommend packing a rain poncho and checking weather alerts before you travel.

Otherwise, here's my list of some of the best things to do, see, and eat at Disney World in the fall. 

I love strolling down Main Street right after the fall decorations go up.

There is nothing like walking down Magic Kingdom's Main Street USA in the fall. It's lined with pumpkins, seasonal drapes, scarecrows in funny outfits, and Mickey-shaped jack-o'-lantern wreaths. 

I like to grab a seasonal coffee at the Main Street Bakery (Starbucks) and spend time soaking it all in. 

The decorations make it feel so cozy and allow for some really cute photos. I make sure to have a little photo shoot in this area every year. 

Although they cost extra, events like Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween Party are worth it.

I think Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween Party is the best special event at Disney World all year.

It runs from the end of August through October 31, and it requires a special park ticket, which is usually a little more expensive.

However, during this event, guests get the opportunity to trick-or-treat all around Magic Kingdom and feel like a kid again. 

There are also special entertainment offerings unique to the event, such as the "Boo to You" Parade, the "Hocus Pocus" stage show, and exclusive character meet-and-greets. 

"Boo to You" is my favorite. It features all the classic characters, including Mickey and friends, the Hundred Acre Woods gang, most of the princesses and their princes, Pixar stars, Haunted Mansion maids and butlers, and a wide range of villains. 

For adults, this is also the only time of year to go all out with costumes in the parks.

Typically, only children under 14 are allowed to wear full costumes at Disney World. But when special events like Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween Party are running, adults can go all out (as long as they're still following park guidelines).

This is such a fun way to celebrate Halloween, especially because you can see all of the unique costumes that everyone comes up with. 

If you're not into wearing a full costume to the parks, you can also Disneybound by using your regular clothes to match the color scheme or aesthetic of your favorite character in a more subtle way. Park employees and other guests will usually pick up on your outfits, too, which makes for some fun interactions with fellow fans. 

I love Disneybounding different characters all year, but it's especially fun when the park is decorated for Halloween. 

This is probably the best time of year to see characters in unique outfits.

Seeing characters is always a huge highlight of any Disney trip, but it's extra special in the fall when you can see their Halloween outfits. It's the cutest thing to see Mickey dressed as a vampire or Winnie the Pooh dressed as a bumblebee. 

You never know what your favorite character will dress up as, and it's exciting to see them in something other than their typical outfit. 

I also love seeing all of the Magic Kingdom park employees in their festive Halloween uniforms.

Hollywood and Vine gets a total makeover for Halloween.

Hollywood and Vine in Hollywood Studios serves a buffet-style meal with character meet-and-greets. But in the fall, it typically transforms into a Halloween-themed dining experience. 

All of the classic Disney characters — Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, and Donald — are dressed up in their Halloween costumes. They also have Halloween-inspired desserts and festive decor throughout the restaurant. 

Haunted Mansion always gets me in the Halloween spirit.

Out of all of the rides at Disney World, Haunted Mansion truly embodies the Halloween season.

If you're anything like me and like to be spooked — but are also a huge wimp when it comes to anything scary — this is the perfect ride for you. It has such a good mix of scare and fun. 

Taking a ride always gets me into the Halloween spirit.

You must pop over to Epcot for the International Food and Wine Festival.

Fall isn't complete unless I go to Food and Wine at Epcot, which usually runs from August to November.

It's my favorite festival that Epcot offers throughout the year because it's full of amazing foods and drinks inspired by cuisines from around the world.

The stands and offerings always rotate, but one of my favorites was Appleseed Orchard in the Canada Pavilion. It had an assortment of different beers and ciders along with sweet treats like a frozen apple-pie drink and apple-crumble tarts. 

Garden Grill reminds me of a Thanksgiving feast.

One of my favorite things about the fall season is all of the amazing food, and the Garden Grill buffet reminds me of a Thanksgiving meal with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, a harvest salad, and a berry shortcake.

This restaurant, located in Epcot's The Land pavilion, is another character dining experience featuring an all-you-can-eat, family-style meal.

The seasonal, Halloween-themed treats are absolutely worth getting, too.

Speaking of food, there are a lot of great seasonal Halloween-themed treats to be found throughout Disney World at the resorts, parks, and Disney Springs throughout autumn.

Although these tend to rotate, one of my favorites is the candy-corn milkshake at Auntie Gravity's Galactic Goodies in Tomorrowland.

It's candy-corn flavored and topped with a big Mickey-shaped marshmallow. Whenever it's available, I'm sure to order one.

This story was originally published on September 19, 2024, and most recently updated on October 21, 2026.

• 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.

• People often assume that my best friend and I are sisters, but our connection is a little different.
• She's the now ex-wife of my ex-husband, though we connected while they were still together.
• She has become my person, the one I turn to in good times and bad.

When my best friend Shelley and I are out together, people often ask if we are sisters, even though we look nothing alike. Shelley has dark hair, dark eyes, and very fair skin, and while I also have fair skin, I'm a blue-eyed blonde. We get the question so frequently that it's almost comedic.

"No," we tell whoever is asking, "we're ex-wives-in-law."

This always gets a laugh, and when we explain our story, it brings a moment of levity to whomever we've encountered.

Behind what we've made into a little joke for public consumption is a unique bond that a lot of people wouldn't understand. It's a bond forged by trials, reinforced by implicit trust and devotion, and topped off with a whole lot of laughter and joy.

Our connection is unique

"Our Husband," as we call him, was intent on Shelley and me getting to know each other before they married. He and I have two sons, and Shelley has two sons from a previous marriage who are about the same age as my boys.

This meant that we had many of the same interests as boy moms by default, but, as it turned out, we also shared many of the same tastes in music, art, and books.

One milestone event of my life occurred early in Shelley's marriage to Our Husband. Shelley and I went to see Prince in concert together shortly before his death. I will never forget that night, and I'm so thankful that I got to see him perform live. In retrospect, I could see the spark of our friendship starting to glow that night.

Strangely enough, though, the night that I count as the true beginning of our friendship was the night that the Diane Sawyer interview featuring Caitlyn Jenner aired. For me, this was one of those events in the cultural zeitgeist that seemed like it should be witnessed with someone else. As it happened, all four of our boys were on the swim team together, and the program aired on the night of a meet. So, I forced the situation. Our Husband was working that evening, and I told her I'd be over with food to cook dinner for all of us. I came to her house — the house that she shared with Our Husband, who was my ex, of course — and we made dinner for ourselves and the boys, drank some wine, and watched the interview. Our friendship grew from there.

Not everyone was on board at first

Shelley told me much later that she initially thought it was weird that, as Our Husband's ex-wife, I was so intent on being her friend.

She says her mother told her, "I think you might as well give in, I think she has decided you are friends." The truth is, I just plain liked her, and we had a lot in common, but her mom was right. I wasn't going anywhere.

The relationship evolved

Sadly, Shelley's marriage to Our Husband ended after four years. She has said that I put her back together after that all happened. I don't look at it that way. I simply was there for my friend. She emerged after that crisis like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, and our friendship grew, battle-hardened, to a new level. Through all this, we shared parenting crises and triumphs, career battles and successes, and personal health scares.

Then, together, we went through something foundationally shattering for both of us. We both cared for our aging mothers, and connected even more deeply after they both died.

For a daughter, losing a mother is a life-changing event. On top of that, being a family caregiver, being involved in the deeply draining day-to-day process of shepherding a loved one toward and through their transition in death, is a solemn responsibility, the parameters of which are indescribable to anyone who hasn't experienced it.

As it happened, just by circumstance, Shelley walked those paths ahead of me and alongside me, and we held each other together through tears and laughter along the way. Shelley's mother died on March 18, 2019. My mother died on March 16, three years later. Shortly after she passed, Shelley, Our Husband, and I sat in my living room and toasted her with a round of her favorite drink, gin and tonics, in recognition of the valiant battle she had just completed.

Our Husband had thoughts

So how does Our Husband feel about Shelley and I being so close? For him, it's been kind of like the five stages of grief. First, he tried to deny that we were actually friends. Surely, we were just pretending to be friends — certainly, this was just a charade, we were just doing this to spite him. Then came anger. Apparently, we were friends, which just wasn't appropriate in his view. Next, there was bargaining. If we'd stop seeing each other, he'd be nicer. Then, of course, depression. Yes, Shelley and I were friends, and that just sucked. Now, there is acceptance. Sometimes, he refers to her as my "girlfriend."

Of course, a lot of time has passed, and I like to think that all three of us have grown a great deal. Shelley and Our Husband have been divorced for 10 years. My relationship with Our Husband has gone through many evolutions. He and I have been divorced for 14 years and apart for 17. Above all else, he gave me the greatest gift one human being can ever give another in making me a mother, and we have two wonderful sons who are young men now, out in society, being productive citizens.

Little did he know he'd also give me another wonderful gift when he got divorced for a second time. He gave me my best friend for life, my person.

• I'm Gen Z and have always valued rest, leisure, and finding balance in my life.
• My 86-year-old grandfather has worked as a doctor for 60 years and refuses to retire.
• His dedication has changed how I think about ambition, purpose, and growing older.

As a Gen Z, I have struggled with my work ethic. I have learned to optimize leisure, travel, and rest, and to get into a flow state. However, my grandfather's work ethic has made me rethink my approach.

At 86, my grandfather refuses to retire. For the past 60 years, he has woken up at the same time every morning, showered, dressed immaculately, had breakfast, and left for his work as a general physician in his private clinic.

Barring sickness and rare travel, he has never taken a day off, never deviated from schedule, and has an enviable work ethic that I have not seen in anyone. My grandmother, who was 70, died last year, and he was back to work in a week.

He is the eldest son

Born in 1940 in the small town of Gonda in North India, he was the eldest of six younger siblings. In 1966, at the age of 26, he began his medical practice after completing his MBBS.

From the beginning, he has been focused on his career and his responsibilities as the eldest son of a South Asian family. He worked in big hospitals, then opened a private practice a few years later, and he also established a Rotary Club Chapter in his city, leading it many times in the decades that followed.

There has always been a deep sense of empathy in him, which has made him a very considerate doctor for those who are economically marginalized. Because he charged less, took his time to understand each patient's issue, and prescribed medicines with great care, he gained popularity in his city very soon.

After six decades, the patients who were once young men and women bring their grandchildren from different cities to be treated by him. Only two years ago, he scaled back his work, working only till lunch. So now many patients come home in an emergency. "I don't like turning them away. Helping them makes me feel elated," he told me in one of our weekly phone calls.

He doesn't want to retire

From his work, he built a home for his parents and siblings, and another for his wife and children. He paid for the education of most of his siblings and put down a significant sum when it was time for them to get married. In short, he has been responsible for every role and relationship in his life.

He has three kids, two daughters and a son. They feel as if he should take it easy. "Why don't you retire?" My mother asked him a few years ago, and he shook his head vigorously, as if the thought itself was impossible.

"There were friends who were much healthier than me. They retired early, and I have seen many of them pass away," was his response to my mom. He also feels that being in a perpetual state of rest will dull his senses. Barring a partial hearing loss in one ear and a decrease in activity level due to age, he is fit and completely Independent.

He makes time to enjoy life

He can decide if he ever wants to retire because he has built his own practice, which is a privilege. However, he hasn't denied himself the pleasures of life either. He took time off to go on vacations and spent dedicated time with his kids, parents, and wife.

From him, I am learning that having a work ethic also means having a deep respect for your own life. It is not just dedication to his work; his ethic showcases his will to live as long as he can, independently. I want to live a purposeful and robust life, helping and guiding others and being of use till it's time to go. I want to eat clean, work out every day, put in the work to nurture my ambition, spend time with my loved ones, and focus on my goals. His work ethic has also shown me how he values his time. He nourishes it, nurtures it, and uses it to build a better life for himself. An honorable relationship with time and hard work has led him here.

He wants to be a functional part of society, and it has given me a fresh perspective on how I want to live my life. It is an odd thought, but I aspire to have a work ethic just like his and not retire.

• 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.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jeff Kinney, the 55-year-old author of the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" series, who lives in Plainville, Massachusetts. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Every year, when a new "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" book hits the shelves, I'm surprised that kids keep showing up.

I started writing the first book in 1998, while working as a computer programmer and game designer. I wanted to be a newspaper cartoonist, but that didn't work out, so I set out to get my cartoons published somehow. I was inspired by my own childhood experiences.

The first generation of kids who read my books is now almost 30 years old. It's wild to me that there's a new generation of kids encountering these books and finding them fresh.

As an author, I work within a few different spheres: books, my bookstore, movies, and development. I hop from one area to another.

Here's a day in my life.

I wake up before 7 a.m.

I don't set an alarm, so I wake up at that time naturally every day. I stay in bed for a while because after an ankle injury, I have some PT to do, like ankle stretches, while I'm in bed.

I meditate for about 10 minutes, set my intentions for the day, and organize my digital to-do list before I get out of bed.

I do two hours of exercise before breakfast

Right after I get up, I do about two hours of PT yoga, then weightlifting. I do that before I eat breakfast, which is often eggs and sausages.

I'm really committed to my morning physical routine of PT, PT yoga, and exercise. That's now become non-negotiable. I also do some journaling because it orients me toward the day, and it's a calming mechanism.

I've just had my most productive year, during which I wrote two books and two screenplays, so I attribute that to my morning routine. It grounds me.

I stay organized with a habit tracker

I've tried a million different to-do list apps that didn't work, including the pomodoro method and all sorts of others. Then I found a digital habit tracker.

I'm pretty diligent about checking off my daily habits. These include eating enough fiber, drinking enough water, waking up by a certain time, meditating, and doing stretches and yoga.

My workday starts at around 9:30 a.m.

I have about five or six workspaces, and I like to balance between them. One is a really colorful studio with my whole staff on the top floor of my bookstore, which is about three miles away from my home. When I'm not touring or working on a script, I go into the bookstore.

The bookstore is always top of mind for me, though the day-to-day operations are handled by the staff. Every so often, I'll get involved because we'll have a big author that comes to the store, and I'll interview them.

Another is my guest house, where I sit in the quiet living room. I also have a dark room in the basement where I'll go if I need to shut out everything. The other one is sitting in my car at the cemetery, where it's also very quiet. I can't listen to music because it occupies the same part of my brain needed for creating.

Sometimes I write for 8 to 12 hours a day

I feel most creative in the early morning hours, but sometimes I might write for eight to 12 hours a day.

If I'm illustrating, which I basically do all summer, I'll draw from maybe 9 a.m. until about 9 or 10 p.m. every day for months.

When I'm working on a book, I'll write the jokes first, then the manuscript, and finally I'll illustrate. I do all the illustrations myself. I don't usually combine those activities together.

I'm always stuck creatively, so I use a system

When I get stuck, I use something called systematic creative thinking, which helps me to produce material even if I'm not feeling creative.

I start with the components. If I'm writing about an airplane, I'll list the parts of the plane inside and out: the wings, the pilots, the lavatory, everything. Then I'll go through each component with a few different tools like subtraction and multiplication, and that's what gives me my raw material.

I'll use my iPad or my computer, or I have this device called a Freewrite, which is a super simple word processor that's not connected to the internet.

I don't stop for lunch

I only eat two meals a day, so I don't really step away for lunch — this is how I roll.

I do have an energy drink, but it's more of a habit than a need. I also don't typically take breaks.

I don't have many work boundaries

A good day is when I can get my to-do list to under 200 items, which is really hard to do. When I'm not illustrating, my wife might say, "Hey, let's have dinner," and that's my backstop for when I stop working.

Work is always on my mind, and I really don't have any boundaries. I don't tell people when I'm going on vacation because they'll reach me anyway, and I don't want to stop them from making progress. I usually make myself available, even if I'm away.

My team mostly communicates with me by text

Texting is how my team communicates with me. Email has become less useful for me because I get so many emails in a day that I feel like I'm a hockey goalie, and pucks keep whizzing past me.

I can really only answer emails right when I get them. Once they get too far down my list, I'll forget about them. I have a lot of challenges with executive functioning. I really struggle with having a lot of choices.

I've always answered my own emails, and I don't use AI to write.

I'm not often bored; I need stimulation

I don't play a lot. I sometimes go to Celtics games, or I'll go out to dinner with my wife, my friends, or my kids. I'm not often bored.

In fact, I feel very understimulated. I often feel like I'm not getting enough information, or there's not enough that's happening. For example, if I were to drive through the McDonald's drive-thru and get my food, I'd turn on the radio, tune in to some news program, and eat while reading the news on my phone.

Chicken McNuggets with sweet and sour sauce are probably my guilty pleasure. As far as watching TV goes, Survivor is always a staple in our house.

I go to sleep around 9:45 p.m.

These days I go to bed pretty early. I get in bed around 9:45 p.m., put in an earbud, and fall asleep with the news in my ear.

• As a sommelier, wine is my job — and sparkling wine is my favorite. Costco's a good place to get it.
• Costco has solid prosecco and cava, plus fancy vintage Champagne like Henriot
• There are also great sparkling wines from brands like Roederer Estate and Moët & Chandon.

I wasn't sure if my husband and I would be able to get the full value out of our Costco membership, but I was wrong.

Although not every location sells alcohol, our local Costco does — and I've found this bulk retailer has some of the best wine prices.

This comes in handy because, as a certified sommelier, I buy a lot of wine for tastings, events, and even my own collection. And every time I go to Costco, I seem to discover something new, whether it's a unique variety or an especially great deal.

Here are some of the best sparkling wines I've found at Costco so far.

Editor's Note: Prices and availability may vary.

The Kirkland Signature Prosecco feels like a steal.

Typically around $10 a bottle, Kirkland Signature's prosecco is one of the most affordable sparkling wines I've seen at Costco.

Don't let the price fool you, though. This wine is from the "Superiore" area of the Italian prosecco region, meaning the winemaking standards are higher.

The Kirkland Signature bottle is on the sweet side, and it's perfect for brunch mimosas.

Moët sells millions of bottles of its Champagne every year.

Moët & Chandon Champagne is probably the most iconic wine on this list.

As a sommelier, people often ask for a glass of Champagne whenever they want something fizzy. However, true Champagne has to be made in the Champagne region of France — trust me, it actually makes a difference.

The flavors are much more complex and layered than a standard sparkling wine. There's also something special and luxurious about Champagne.

This bottle is amazing on its own, but also shines with salty snacks such as potato chips, mixed nuts, and popcorn.

Kirkland Signature's Champagne is also hype-worthy.

You may not expect much from the Kirkland Signature brut Champagne, but it's hard to find another bottle like it.

It's true Champagne that I've typically seen for about $21 — it's rare to find a large bottle of the stuff at such a low price.

This variety is a little lighter and fresher than some Champagnes, but if that doesn't bother you, it's a total winner.

Roederer Estate makes a stunning $20 sparkler.

If regions don't matter to you, try this pick from Roederer Estate.

Some big Champagne brands purchase land and make Champagne-style sparkling wines worldwide. In this case, Louis Roederer bought property in Northern California's Anderson Valley.

Its sparkling brut is a delight and I've seen it for $20 to $30 a bottle. In comparison, the brand's true French Champagne goes for closer to $60 to $80.

I like the Californian Roederer Estate stuff so much that I served it at my own wedding.

If you've got Champagne taste on a beer budget, try cava.

Choosing cava is a great way to save money on sparkling wine.

The Spanish sparkler uses the same production method as Champagne but rarely costs more than $20 a bottle. Costco even has one from Blanchard Perez that I've seen for under $10.

Cava is generally dry, with little to no sweetness. I love serving it with appetizers and tapas.

I've also found solid sparkling rosés at Costco.

The only thing more on trend than sparkling wine is sparkling rosé, and Scharffenberger Cellars has a bottle for around $20 at Costco.

The affordable Californian wine is made from grapes grown in Mendocino County and has a cheerful effervescence.

It pairs well with light dishes such as salads, shrimp cocktail, and smoked salmon dips.

For when only fancy vintage Champagne will do, turn to Henriot.

I wanted to include one special, pricier wine on the list, and that spot went to the $150 bottle of Henriot I found at Costco.

It's a vintage Champagne, which means all the grapes were harvested in the same year.

Henriot has been around for over 200 years, and it's one of the few larger brands that's still independent and family-owned. For me, this Champagne hits all the marks for complexity, flavor, acid, and finish.

This story was originally published on February 19, 2025, and most recently updated on October 19, 2026.

• 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.

• I made chili recipes from celebrity chefs Ina Garten, Ree Drummond, and Giada De Laurentiis.
• Garten's recipe, which didn't call for any beans, didn't really feel like traditional chili.
• One of my favorites had white beans and chicken, a far cry from a traditional beef chili.

Cold weather is always better with hearty meals, like a warm bowl of chili.

In search of the best one to make on repeat all fall and winter, I tried recipes from celebrity chefs Ina Garten, Ree Drummond, and Giada De Laurentiis.

Here's how the dishes turned out, and which ended up being my top picks.

I started with Garten's recipe, which didn't feel familiar to me at all

Garten's chicken chili recipe, which I found on the Food Network website, seemed fairly straightforward.

I needed easy-to-find ingredients like yellow onion, minced garlic, red bell peppers, yellow bell pepper, chili powder, cumin, dried red-pepper flakes, cayenne, basil, chicken breasts, and cans of whole peeled plum tomatoes in puree.

I simmered the onions and garlic until translucent, added the spices and herbs, diced bell peppers, and whole tomatoes, and cooked for about half an hour.

This mixture was very similar to a chunky pasta sauce.

Instead of roasting the chicken breasts, I sautéed them in a pan

Though the recipe said to split olive oil-covered chicken breasts and bake them in the oven, I decided to sautée them in a pan since it seemed more efficient.

I sautéed them for about 12 minutes on each side, diced them, and combined them with the tomato-and-pepper sauce.

I let the chili simmer for another 20 minutes.

Garten's recipe didn't quite satisfy my chili craving

This recipe wasn't as hearty as a typical chili and had a strong tomato flavor and a lot of bell-pepper chunks.

The chicken was juicy but could have benefited from a different, more potent seasoning blend.

Topped with shredded cheese, it was filling, but not what I would want if I were in the mood for a traditional chili.

A few of my Filipino relatives tried this chili and loved it on top of white rice without cheese, though.

The next recipe I tried was Drummond's, which felt like a traditional chili

I followed a recipe for Pioneer Woman's "simple, perfect chili" that I also found on the Food Network website.

Its ingredients seemed very classic for a chili with things like ground beef, chopped garlic, tomato sauce, chili powder, cumin, oregano, cayenne pepper, and canned beans.

I was surprised to see masa harina, a dried maize-based flour often used as a thickening agent, as an ingredient.

Drummond's recipe was super easy, though I made a substitution

To start, I browned ground beef in a large pot with minced garlic and drained the fat.

I added chili powder, cumin, oregano, and cayenne pepper to the meat and incorporated the tomato sauce.

After stirring, I let the chili simmer for an hour, adding a half cup of water when the mixture looked a bit dry.

I didn't have masa harina, which needed to be turned into a paste for this recipe, so I substituted it with corn grits.

To do so, I mixed the grits with water and stirred them into the chili. Then, I drained and rinsed my cans of pinto and kidney beans, and added them to the mixture along with more seasonings and salt to taste.

I let all of that simmer for about 10 minutes.

Drummond's recipe made an excellent traditional chili

Drummond's easy-to-make recipe was meaty, hearty, and filling.

It was nice and thick, and I liked the ground beef and texture from the pinto and kidney beans. The cumin and spices added a warm flavor, too.

For me, it checked all the boxes for a tasty chili.

De Laurentiis uses ground chicken in her chili recipe

Next, I tried De Laurentiis' recipe for white bean and chicken chili as found on the Food Network website.

The ingredients were fairly simple, including ground chicken, onion, cumin, chili powder, Swiss chard, canned cannellini beans (or other white beans), frozen corn, fennel seeds, chicken stock, and red-pepper flakes.

For serving, she suggested topping the chili with Parmesan and chopped parsley.

To start, I simmered chopped onions and minced garlic until translucent and added ground chicken, salt, cumin, fennel, oregano, and chili powder.

After the meat cooked through, I added the roughly-chopped Swiss chard, beans, corn, and chicken stock.

Per the recipe, I made sure to scrape the browned bits off the bottom of the pot

I let the mixture simmer for about an hour, added chili flakes, and cooked for about 10 more minutes.

When plating, I sprinkled Parmesan and parsley on top.

This chili had some great flavors

De Laurentiis' chili wasn't particularly conventional — with the Swiss chard, ground chicken, and Parmesan — but I thought it was tasty.

I enjoyed the savory flavor of the crunchy corn, tender white beans, and vegetal Swiss chard. The stock and ground chicken gave this a rich, meaty taste, too.

I thought this was the perfect, comforting bowl of chili.

For me, the recipes from Drummond and De Laurentiis tied for first place

I loved both Drummond's traditional chili and De Laurentiis' chicken version for their hearty, savory, and complex flavors.

They were different types of chili, but equally delicious for game day.

Though Garten's recipe wasn't bad, the chunky texture wasn't my favorite, and it just didn't do it for me in terms of what I look for in a chili.

Check out the other celebrity-chef recipes we've put head-to-head so far.

This story was originally published on February 11, 2022, and most recently updated on October 19, 2026.

• 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.

• 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.

• Chris Williams was the VP of HR at Microsoft and is now an advisor and consultant.
• Williams uses a broad range of AI tools and encourages his clients to do the same.
• "Perhaps you'll find, as I did: AI can be better at deletion than creation," he says.

Practically every company is making AI tools available to their employees. As the former VP of HR at Microsoft and a leadership advisor with over 50 years of business experience, I'm amazed at how quickly this rollout has progressed.

Some people are all in, using the tools for nearly everything they do. Others have barely stuck their toes in the AI waters. I've been using a broad range of AI tools and encourage my clients to do the same.

AI isn't without controversy, and if someone is strongly against using it — for whatever reason — I'm not going to convince them otherwise.

But if you're wondering how and why you should use these tools, I'm here for you. Let's talk about three ways I advise all my executive clients to use AI effectively in the workplace.

1. Use AI as a second opinion

Use AI as a way to see things you might not have seen. Ask it, "What am I missing?"

I agree with many that AI is lousy at most creative efforts. Whether written or visual, AI results can be generic, mediocre, and often embarrassing. The output usually deserves the "AI Slop" label it gets. But to dismiss it entirely misses a core value.

AI is useful with, perhaps even because of, that generic, often obvious other perspective.

It can be amazingly helpful to simply ask: what am I missing? Since AI has a tendency to agree with me, I explicitly ask for pushback: "review this and tell me what I'm missing, tell me where I'm wrong." The fact that AI is so obvious, so average, is actually a core value here. I'm often surprised at the points I missed and the viewpoints I overlooked.

Even if AI doesn't find things you missed, a contrarian angle can be very helpful to shore up your own case. You'll be able to say, "Yes, I considered those things, and here's why my take on this issue is better."

In that way, AI can also help you prepare for your discussions with colleagues. With so many letting AI draft their arguments, it's very valuable to see their perspective in advance.

So no, I don't let AI make my case, but I always look for another perspective in what I do — wherever it comes from. Having a tool that can give me that on a moment's notice is incredibly useful.

2. Ask AI to summarize dense information

Long before AI, we all had that colleague who always told you far more than you needed to know. With some now using AI heavily, it can frankly be overwhelming.

You ask a simple question and get a blizzard of AI-generated noise in response. AI can be the worst over-explainer when simply left to run. You see the results in a seven-page response.

When I'm faced with one of these walls of text, I've learned there are really only two ways to respond. I can, and often do, ask the person to try again. What does this all really mean? Can you summarize your point in a couple of sentences? I occasionally get snarky and ask for the "non-AI slop" version.

Another way to deal with this is to ask AI to summarize it, whether AI tools or a wordy colleague wrote it. Importantly, I don't trust the AI summary to be the full explanation, but it helps me understand the key points. Which I then work to find in the original blizzard response.

Yes, this is a little circular. After all, why not just have the two AI systems have the discussion? Leave me out of it. But in a world where it seems everyone has a hard time getting to the point, any tool to cut through the noise is welcome. And AI is very good at that.

3. Let AI help you with tasks

In a similar vein, one thing AI does incredibly well is organize. This kind of rote task of sorting, filtering, and filing is right in the sweet spot for most AI systems.

I'm wary of letting AI systems automate tasks like filtering or filing things without my supervision. I'd never let an AI system automatically send emails, texts, or documents without my careful review. But I often have AI systems help me sort through mountains of accumulated debris.

I recently moved to a new computer system and had AI review what I was planning to move over. I discovered decades of accumulated cruft. Simply from a comprehensive list, I found gigabytes of programs, files, and settings, 90% of which I just left behind.

So if you have 8,000 emails in your inbox, or a documents folder that has grown a second life, let an AI system take a look for you. Don't just tell it to "deal with it." Your judgment is needed.

Rather, have it give you a review of it and another perspective. And once you've reviewed it, perhaps you'll find, as I did: AI can be better at deletion than creation.

So when your company rolls out the next new AI, use those tools to your advantage. AI can help you see another perspective, find the important points in the blizzard, and cut through the mess. I've embraced AI, use it with great care, and encourage everyone to do the same.

• Isaac Persky used a creative video to land an internship at Tarte Cosmetics in 2024.
• Maureen Kelly, the CEO of Tarte, was impressed by Isaac's video, leading to his internship offer.
• He returned for a second summer internship and started a full-time position this June.

When I was in college, I wanted a summer internship in New York City, specifically at one company: Tarte Cosmetics. My mom sent me a video of Tarte's founder and CEO, Maureen Kelly, calling on college students to apply to their summer internship program, and it sparked my interest.

I've been posting videos on social media in both the beauty and comedy niches for years, but I thought I'd left that behind when I started college at Chapman University to pursue a more 'serious' career. I was double majoring in economics and public relations and figured Tarte would be a fun way to spend the summer after my sophomore year before turning to a more traditional business or finance path.

I had one problem — I had no connections to Tarte, no family in the beauty industry, and no obvious way to stand out among thousands of applicants. In today's job market, especially for a sought-after position in beauty, it felt more likely I'd get struck by lightning than land an offer.

When I submitted my application in January 2024, I knew I barely had a shot.

This is where most applicants stop

They repeat the process with hundreds of applications, hoping to win the lottery of landing an interview and, ultimately, an offer.

I'm from Nebraska and attended school in Southern California. To be frank, going home for the summer was not an option. I didn't want to trade my glamorous coastal lifestyle for corn and county fairs. I couldn't rely on pure luck to be selected for an interview. I knew that if I could get in front of them, they would see how perfect I was for the role.

I decided to make a video

Since posting videos felt natural to me, I figured, what better way to show that I'm qualified for a marketing job at Tarte than by successfully marketing myself to Tarte. I decided to make something fun and entertaining. Inspired by the iconic Harvard admissions video from Legally Blonde, I created an "Elle Woods-style" application video.

I showed Tarte that I was passionate about working for them, willing to put myself out there, and could actually do the job that I was applying for. I admit, it felt a little ridiculous. I knew that all my friends would see it, and that there was a good chance it wouldn't work out the way I intended, but it was worth a try.

The video got the attention of Maureen Kelly

I woke up one morning in January 2024 to a notification that made me check whether I was still dreaming: a comment from Maureen Kelly on my post. It was a simple 'I 👀 u! OBSESSED,' followed by an email from Tarte's HR team saying they enjoyed my video and wanted to schedule an interview.

From there, I landed a paid internship with Tarte Cosmetics on their social media team. I moved to New York and worked at Tarte for three months. What started as a creative experiment became my entry point into the beauty industry.

The following winter, they offered me the chance to return for the summer of 2025. Despite my initial thoughts that my summer at Tarte would be a one-off adventure, I accepted their offer. It felt like I had found a career that combined my interests in comedy, public relations, and storytelling.

The experience also challenged some assumptions I had about internships

I expected to spend my summers doing small administrative tasks. Instead, I found myself contributing to campaigns with household-name brands and learning from the professionals who had built Tarte. I was particularly struck by Maureen Kelly, who took my ideas as seriously as she did her VPs' and shared her personal advice and can-do attitude with me regularly.

This spring, as I prepared to graduate, I received a full-time offer from Tarte without having to apply again. I officially started my full-time role with Tarte in June.

In college, much of the career advice my classmates and I were given emphasized professionalism and networking, but when employees at your favorite company are getting dozens of 'coffee chat' messages each week from people like you, that advice becomes outdated. Sometimes the best career move isn't sending another application; it's doing something creative with the skills you already have.

For most people, the idea of posting a video to get a summer internship feels embarrassing

To be honest, it was embarrassing. Putting yourself out there always carries that risk, but sometimes that discomfort is the price of trying something others might not.

Even if it doesn't work out, don't let it reflect on you. I find it best to maintain the mentality that they would be lucky to have you, and frankly, what a disappointment it is that they didn't get you.

Most importantly, I must acknowledge that all of this advice is coming from someone who has the job and got the internship. Yes, I was strategic, and I give myself credit for that, but I was also lucky.

• Heidi Widmer is a 35-year-old who moved into an apartment building in Los Angeles in July.
• For the first two weeks, she heard a loud sound from the apartment above and was annoyed.
• She found out the noise was being made by her neighbor, who has Parkinson's.

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

In July, I moved into an apartment in Los Angeles, exhausted from a six-day drive across the country from New York. All I wanted to do was get into the apartment and sleep, and luckily, my bed had been delivered on the same day I arrived.

Trying to fall asleep at 2 a.m., all I could hear was a loud noise coming from the apartment upstairs. It sounded as if someone was bowling. Although I was tempted to shout for them to be quiet, I held my tongue — I was the new neighbor and didn't want to be difficult.

But the noise just didn't seem to stop. Whoever lived up there also never came downstairs. Who lives up there? I thought to myself.

I realized my neighbor had Parkinson's

Two weeks after moving in, I heard someone coming down the stairs and had to get a glimpse of who lived above me.

Peeking out of my door, I saw Carole for the first time, slowly making her way down the stairs, shaking badly from what was clearly Parkinson's, and trying to carry a bunch of bags full of recycling.

Just as I was about to open the door to see if she needed help, she dropped all the bags with only a couple of steps left. I burst out of my apartment to help her.

"Oh my gosh, thank you," she said in her sweet British accent. "Did you just move in? Am I too loud for you?"

In that moment, I felt totally and completely humbled.

Having grown up in the Catholic church, I was taught never to judge a book by its cover, and with Carole, I hadn't even seen the cover. I judged her simply by the noise she produced upstairs. How could I be so judgmental?

It turns out that sound had been Carole rolling a three-wheeled, broken chair across her floor to get to her mini fridge — the mini fridge social services had given her when her refrigerator broke. She had to hoist herself out of her broken chair to get down and access the mini fridge.

That was the noise.

I was determined to figure out what I could do to help

Two days after we met, I knocked on her door. She peeked through and nervously let me in. The conditions inside weren't great.

Although she can live independently, she just needs a little help. I later learned that she doesn't like accepting help from people, especially social services. The fact that she is frightened of the very people meant to help her breaks my heart.

That day, I took all of her trash out for her, reassuring her I wasn't judging her at all.

In the weeks and now months that have followed, I have been up to Carole's to help with the trash, cooking (she'd only been having microwave meals), cleaning, and contacting the landlord to get him to replace and repair items in the apartment. We've decorated her apartment, too.

I raised $80,000 to help her out

Together, we made her an Amazon wish list, and I shared it on social media so that people could order things she needs and have them delivered directly to her. People have been so generous, purchasing things like an expensive Buddhist "butsudan" that Carole didn't expect anyone to buy.

We set up a GoFundMe, which has raised about $80,000, and we plan to use the funds to have a stair lift installed for her. Any leftover money will be spent on in-home care as she continues to age and her Parkinson's Disease progresses.

I know I've been helpful to Carole in these last few months, but she's been the perfect person at the perfect time for me, too. Moving to LA, I had hardly any connections. Lots of Carole's family members are either no longer living or back in the UK (she moved here in her 20s as an au pair).

Carole became the family I haven't had, and I became hers. We text back and forth each day, and I see her most days. She calls me granddaughter, and I see her as my grandmother.

When I've had a hard day at work teaching at a local middle school, Carole is ready to give me a big hug when I get home. She's been my safe space, and I've been hers. The universe knew we needed each other.

It's an unlikely connection, but it shows that when you lead with kindness rather than judgment, the person you were ready to judge can become someone you can't imagine your life without.

• My family of five moved from a small country town to a city earlier this year.
• I wanted to spend more time with my parents, and there is plenty to love about the city.
• However, I miss the slower pace of life and the close-knit community.

I've always been a city mouse, so when we decided to move from Melbourne, Australia, to Bright in country Victoria in 2021, I wasn't sure how long I'd last. Our family ended up falling in love with the slower pace of life and the people, and spent four years in the small alpine town at the foothills of the Victorian Alps.

But in January, we moved from Bright to the Gold Coast, where I grew up. My parents' health was declining, and I wanted to spend quality time with them before it was too late.

Moving from a small regional town of fewer than 3,000 people to a city of almost 700,000 was a profound lifestyle shift for our family of five. We had to make new friends, learn how to navigate a traffic light again (joking!), and get used to the buzzing city life.

Overall, we've gained a lot from moving to the city, and I feel it's been especially beneficial to our kids, as it's helped build resilience. But there are definitely things about country life that I do miss, if I'm being honest.

Life is full of trade-offs, and we've definitely made a few.

We've gained convenience and accessibility

In country Victoria, our nearest major retailer was an hour's drive away. If the kids needed new shoes or I needed new underwear, off we'd drive to the nearest major town. It often felt like a mission just to access simple amenities.

Nowadays, everything we need is at our fingertips. If we want to eat Italian one night and Nepalese the next, we can. The Gold Coast has all the amenities we need, and a good mix of beaches, hinterland hikes, nightlife, festivals, and an up-and-coming food scene.

There are more career and education opportunities

Cities generally offer better career and education opportunities, without a doubt. In our family, my husband has probably benefited the most in that regard.

When we moved here in January, he expanded his Muscle Freedom remedial massage and myotherapy business and started a clinic on the Gold Coast. Since then, the opportunities have been incredible, and he's treated some of Australia's biggest sporting identities. That would likely never have happened in country Victoria (unless they were holidaying there).

Likewise, our kids seem to be thriving at school and in their extra-curricular activities, many of which were unavailable where we used to live.

I enjoy the anonymity, and the diversity here is also a big plus

When I was having a bad mental health day in Bright, there was no escaping friends and family (bless them). Once, at the supermarket, I was weeping in the bread aisle, only to be greeted by my husband's cheerful colleague, who was keen to chat about the weather. I wanted to scream and run away.

In the city, I quite enjoy the anonymity and being a number in the crowd, especially on harder days.

I also love having access to a diverse range of art, music, entertainment, and food on the Gold Coast. After four years living in the country, I began to feel a bit starved of culture.

My kids are also mingling with children from different backgrounds and walks of life, which I am really happy about.

However, we miss having nature at our doorstep, and wide open spaces

Bright is surrounded by mountains, forests, rivers, and cycling trails, with gorgeous national parks a short drive away. It really is a smorgasbord of activities for outdoor enthusiasts.

The Gold Coast has plenty of sunshine and offers some spectacular natural scenery, but you do have to drive to access it. I've actually put on a few kilos living in the city, and I think it's mainly because I'm not walking or cycling as much.

When we recently returned to Bright for a family holiday, I realized how much I've missed those wide open spaces. The air seems to feel fresher there.

Living in suburbia on the Gold Coast, the blocks are tighter, and some areas feel like the properties are on top of each other. Even as I write this, I can overhear the next-door neighbor arguing with her husband about his messy household habits.

I also miss the close-knit community and slower pace

I've been lucky enough to make some wonderful friends on the Gold Coast. The kind who check in on us when we're sick or offer to babysit if my husband and I need a night out. But it also seems that people are busier in the city, and get-togethers happen less often.

In a small town like Bright, it's easier to catch up with people because everyone lives close by. I found that living in the country helped me form deeper connections with friends. That brought a sense of security, knowing that someone always has your back.

Since moving to the city, life has felt frantic. For the first six months, every weekend was jam-packed with catch-ups with family and new and old friends.

In a small country town, the pace of life was much slower. Recently, while we were holidaying in Bright, I felt my shoulders relax, and my stress levels decrease. There's something to be said for a simple life.

What our next chapter holds

We'd intended to give the Gold Coast 12 months and then make a call about where to base ourselves long-term. But now that we're almost at that mark, we've realized it's too soon to make a decision.

And so, we'll be spending 2027 here, then reassessing our options late next year. Part of me craves the open skies, fresh mountain air, and the stillness I took for granted in the country, but I'm also enjoying having Aldi a kilometer away and more choices overall.

I suppose at the end of the day, there's no perfect place to live, just places that suit you at different life stages. For now, the Gold Coast is giving us convenience, variety, and time with my folks, and I intend to enjoy the best of what city life has to offer.

• 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.

• Of course I'm a fun aunt, but I've figured out a way to be so much more to my nieces and nephew.
• Spending meaningful one-on-one time with each of them has deepened our relationships.
• My "Auntie Emily Days" let each child enjoy personalized adventures based on their unique interests.

You know those TikToks about the childless, traveling aunt? The one who's somehow always at an airport, has a suspicious amount of money, occasionally shows up with gifts she definitely didn't need to buy (while carrying yet another new designer purse), and is never quite sure what time zone she's in? Yep, that's me.

For years, I happily embraced the stereotype. I'd swoop in for birthdays and holidays, always say yes to dessert (and extra dessert), create a little chaos, then head back to my own wonderfully independent life.

I assumed I understood the assignment. Bring the snacks. Buy the birthday presents. Show up to holidays with something fun tucked under my arm. Be loud, be silly, make them laugh, then hand them back to their parents when the day was over. It was the best kind of job. I got all the joy without much of the responsibility.

Or so I thought.

As my nieces and nephew got older, I realized something that surprised me: I wasn't really getting to know them as they were maturing into their own people. I had to ask their moms what they wanted for birthdays, or worse, I just bought out the toy section at Target and hoped something would stick. I also didn't know who they were when they didn't have to compete for attention or weren't trying to impress me with the farthest throw, the coolest dive into the pool, or the biggest burp. That's when "Auntie Emily Days" were born.

Their day reflects their personality

Rather than trying to squeeze meaningful time into crowded family gatherings, I started planning one-on-one adventures with each child — all seven of them.

Before we get together, they give me a guideline of what they want to do, and then I execute. Sometimes it's easy; dinner at The Melting Pot and a few hours spent at a cat café. Sometimes it's a bit more complicated with a sleepover at the Freehand (it has bunk beds!) and sightseeing in New York City.

Yes, I pull out all the stops I can, like ice skating at Wollman Rink and dinner at Bad Roman for one; an Oheka Castle lunch and manicure/pedicure with Starbucks for another; calling in a favor for on-field access for my nephew. Then each goes home with a little gift to remind them of the day.

But the itinerary is never really the point. The point is that each child gets a day built entirely around their interests. For a few uninterrupted hours, they don't have to compromise with a sibling or wait their turn. They feel seen, heard, and don't have to compete for attention. And that's when I started seeing parts of their personalities I might have otherwise missed.

They're different when they're one-on-one

While I have a firm grasp on all of their personalities, it was shocking to me how different they were one-on-one. Emma is the coolest kid and thankful for every experience, treating every moment as if it's the best she's ever had. Zoë can turn almost anything into a joke and somehow finds the fun walking through the most crowded street in New York. Jessica is analytical and technical, but away from her sisters, her wonderfully goofy sense of humor takes over. Jocelyn has a confidence and spunk that's impossible to ignore, yet she's remarkably intuitive. JJ is quieter than the rest, preferring to observe first and ask thoughtful questions later. Isabelle is sweet, demure, and quiet, and simply a joy to be around. And baby Isla is a force of nature I know I'm going to love hanging out with when she gets a bit older.

Without siblings or parents nearby, they open up completely. They tell me about school friendships, worries they haven't shared with anyone else, and things they're excited about. I may not run back and tell their parents everything, but it may give me a little sway over the Christmas list. It's amazing what children reveal when they feel like someone is listening only to them.

Connection isn't built at birthday parties

The biggest surprise wasn't how much I learned about them; it was how much they began trusting me.

I'm not their parent. I don't have to enforce bedtime, nag them to do homework, or beg them to get off their tablet. But I'm also not just the adult who appears a few times a year with presents.

Over time, they learned that our conversations stay between us unless they need my help. They've discovered that they can tell me about a bad day without worrying I'll immediately relay every detail to their parents. That doesn't mean I keep dangerous secrets. It means I respect them enough to let them own their stories. That trust changes everything and, I believe, will be vital as they age.

The moments that matter most stay with us

When I think back on our days together, it isn't always the tickets or the destinations that stand out. It's sharing French fries while they tell me their new favorite joke or something silly their sibling did. It is being absolutely frozen on the deck of the Staten Island Ferry staring at the Statue of Liberty because it was on our list. Or hearing an unfiltered opinion about school, extracurriculars, or something bothering them. It's watching them become confident enough to order for themselves at a restaurant — and then hearing they are doing that at home, too. It's nice when you realize a conversation we had in the car or a little encouragement during one of our adventures didn't end when I dropped them off.

For a long time, I assumed choosing not to have children meant I'd miss out on watching kids grow up. I couldn't have been more wrong. I get a front-row seat to their lives, just from a different seat. I get to celebrate their milestones, encourage their interests, answer the occasional hard question, and then, yes, send them home to their parents at the end of the day. It turns out that's exactly the role I was meant to have.

Showing up is more than just being around

I don't make every baseball game, I'm not in the audience for every cheer competition, I can't be there every Saturday. But now I know that the intentional time I had with each child carries a bigger weight than just showing up, saying hello, giving them a hug, and going home.

By carving out uninterrupted time with each child, I've been able to create something that doesn't happen naturally in the chaos of their family life, or in my own solo life.

Yes, I will always be the fun aunt, but instead of just "she was around," my intention has become "she showed up." I want them to remember having someone who listened without interrupting, who asked questions because she genuinely wanted to know the answer,; who made space for their interests, even when they weren't her own. Not someone who just said, "Sure, you can have another piece of cake, I don't care." (While still also allowing them to have more cake.)

• I've made it nearly 10 years into motherhood without telling my daughter a lie.
• I don't believe in white lies, even when telling the truth makes parenting harder.
• I think being honest has helped my daughter trust me and brought us closer together.

From where I stand, it seems like most parents lie to their kids, at least once in a while.

I am of the mindset that lying, whether to adults or to children, is wrong. Because I view it this way, I am uncomfortable with it and refuse to do it. My husband respects my stance, though he doesn't always follow suit and has told our child a handful of lies. But in the past decade since I became a mom, I have managed to avoid it.

I don't think I'm better than other parents, and I don't think anyone else is bad for harmless untruths. I just knew going into this that I wanted to approach parenting differently in a lot of ways, and this is just one of them.

Not lying doesn't equal to sharing every detail

This doesn't mean I divulge every secret. Kids don't need to know every detail about everything, even when they ask questions.

I was rather vague when she wondered why one of our relatives split up with her husband less than a year after the marriage, for example: "He did something really bad, and it hurt her a lot. She's not able to forgive him," I said, that was the end of the conversation.

I believe it is OK to keep some things a mystery indefinitely, to delay certain conversations or, when choosing to reveal things, to do so in an age-appropriate way (for example, where do babies come from?). But as far as not speaking any falsehoods, I have been consistent.

She asked me if Santa was real

I didn't tell her that Santa existed, but of course, as a toddler, she started believing through other friends, family, and Christmas marketing. I thought it was lovely and let her believe. Why spoil her fun?

But when she was a little older and asked me point blank if Santa was real, I replied in a curious tone "Hmmm, what do you think?" and instead it turned a situation where she started wondering aloud and trying to reason whether it was possible. I listened in the car, nodding along in the parent drop-off line at school. I also told her that a lot of people — including kids in her class — do believe in Santa, so it wouldn't be nice for their parents if she expressed her doubts to her peers. She agreed and went along to the classroom. Granted, I got lucky that it went in this direction. I was able to stay true to my "no direct lies" approach while not shattering a very magical childhood belief — one I remember fondly from my own youth.

And other common ones — like lying about a pet fish dying, or telling the truth when asked about a dinner ingredient, knowing there'd be resistance, or whether I remembered to do everything she asked of me — I don't lie about those either.

These were not always easy conversations (those situations alone resulted in her first lesson about death, her stubbornness to try some foods, and me disappointing her and admitting that "no sorry, I didn't babysit your stuffy while you were at school; I forgot this time.").

Honesty has brought us closer together

If she questions what I think of the makeup she did on my face, I enthusiastically compliment her creativity and say how fun it was to be in her makeover chair; I don't lie and say that the electric pink eyeshadow is the best color ever. I feel that it has built more trust between us and brought us closer. She knows that when she asks mommy something, I'm going to be straight up with her. She doesn't seem to doubt me or second-guess what I say.

As a parent, I understand that we are wired to protect our children. But with lying, I think parents are often trying to protect themselves. We want things to be easier, understandably. We want to say the place is closed instead of just telling the truth that we are just too tired to take them today. We want to tell our kid, "Yeah, the spider is gone now, honey," so they'll sleep well instead of saying that I actually have no idea where it went.

But avoiding discomfort is not a strong enough reason for me to lie to my daughter. It's not just that I believe lying is immoral; it's also about feeling that she deserves the truth. Plus, if honesty is one of the values that I'm trying to teach her, I want to set a good example by being honest with her.