Parenting
parenting · the day's top 5 · june 12th
storyflo · parenting
Jun 12, 2026 · 17 min listen
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parenting · the day's top 5 · june 12th
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Originally published on The Humbled Homemaker in June 2014. Forty-five-year-old me cringed at some of the writing here, but I've decided to leave this post untouched and allow 33-year-old me to speak for herself. Dear Little Girl, Right now, you’re snuggled up against my left side, similar to the way you curved your little body next to mine during your first few hours on earth. Then, you nuzzled your head toward my breast, and your tiny fist grasped tightly to my finger as I nursed you. Now, I can barely lift you, and your long, slender fingers stretch halfway down my hand. Last week, you turned six. Six isn’t traditionally a milestone birthday. But for your mama, it is. You see, six means the elusive formative years are over. They say your personality is set. And who you will become has largely been determined. Oh, it doesn’t mean that you can’t still change. We all continue to throughout this life. At 33, I laugh at what I thought I knew in my 20s. So, just because I might have messed up with trying to potty train you too early or not knowing how to handle your strong will when you turned three, I don’t think all is lost. But you turning six reminds me that these years are fleeting. In many ways, your childhood is just beginning. But the baby years, the toddler years, the preschool years even...are gone. And there are no do-overs. This is it. May I remember that as I think about how... You turning six means we only have two more sixes. Each childhood only gets three. One set of six years down. Two more to go. And you’ll be 18 and grown. These six have sped. And those two sixes will fly. One third of your childhood is already over. One third! When you entered the world on June 12, 2008, I barely knew how to mother. I fumbled with trying to direct your little head to my breast to nurse. I grieved and deemed myself a failure when it took days for my milk to arrive. But then I went on and breastfed you for almost two years. As a baby, you were a screamer. Perhaps it was because, as a brand-new, first-time mama, I tensed as I held you. And you sensed it. When you writhed and cried for no apparent reason, I lay you on your blanket in our living room, walked into my bedroom, and shut the door. I sat on my bed, called our church nursery director, and wept. “I don’t know what to do with her,” I said. “She just won’t stop crying.” And later, I simply held you close and cried with you. You...a tiny ball of fire...filled your lungs with air and screamed. And I just cried right back. You’re still a pistol. And I’m glad. When I just started figuring out how to care for an infant, you became a toddler. Breastfeeding became a habit, and I had to learn how to take care of tantrums. I faltered. I failed. (Or so it felt.) When I said “no,” you said “yes.” When I said “go,” you stayed put. And when I said “stay,” you ran away and giggled. I’ll never forget the last day of you being our only. I took you to the park for one final time for me to push you on the swing, watch you build in the sandbox, and chase you (albeit with a waddle) undivided. I had stopped at the playground on a whim that day. We had no idea your sister would come the next. How glad I am for that sweet memory of spontaneity with just the two of us. I know it wasn’t easy when your first little sister arrived. You were but 28 months old. “Mama, carry me down the stairs,” you’d say. And I struggled with holding you on one hip and cradling the baby in the crook of my other arm. Sometimes I made you crawl down the steps by yourself—fearful I would stumble and drop one of you. The baby wasn’t mobile, and so I sat you down. You whined and reached out your arms for me, but eventually obliged when you saw that I could not hold you both. And then one day—who knows when—you quit asking me to carry you down those stairs. I’m not even sure I could lift you now if you wanted me to. The other day I took you to the grocery store. It had been a long while since just the two of us had gone somewhere, seeing that baby sister number two joined us not long after you turned four. I asked if you wanted to ride in the cart. You giggled and said no. And inside, I knew what a silly sight that would have been for your long legs to dangle. They would probably almost touch the floor. Who knows the last time you rode in the grocery cart. And I guess you never will again. This thing called growing up: It’s gradual, but it’s also quick. You are so much like me. Even though we waited to send you to kindergarten, you’re already a bookworm. You pile your bed full of books each night, and “read” by flashlight under your covers. You’re a drama queen, dressing up as your favorite storybook and movie characters and both directing your sisters and acting out performances yourself. You’re a little mama in the kitchen.
Raise your hand if you’re tired: of work, of parenting, of scary headlines, of grocery prices, and more than anything, of cooking f*cking dinner. If you’re one of those people who loves spending time in the kitchen perfecting a recipe, more power to you. Some of us would rather eat a pair of jeans for dinner than have to plan and execute another meal. For nights like that, I fall back on sheet pan dinners so simple they basically cook themselves. Because slow cooker meals take forethought, and meal prep should’ve happened over the weekend — now we’re here, the fam is hungry, and I will scream if I have to stand over a stove. Marinate chicken. Bake chicken. Mix together yogurt sauce. Chop veggies. That’s the gist of All The Healthy Things’ chicken shawarma bowl recipe, which even the most reluctant cooks can agree is simple enough to pull off and tasty enough to repeat. Damn Delicious has some incredible sheet pan recipes, including this sheet pan shrimp boil that would be so fun for a summertime family meal. Who needs to wait for a massive pot to boil and cook everything in batches when you could just throw it all in the oven? Budget Bytes’ sheet pan BBQ meatballs with charred pineapple rings, peppers, and onions would be so good served over sticky white rice or on some slider buns. It’s also not the kind of combo I think of when I’m putting together my weeknight meal rotation, so it’d be a welcome change of pace on a random Wednesday. Family Fresh Meals’ sheet pan quesadillas are the perfect way to make a quesadilla dinner for a family without standing over a skillet and making them one at a time. This recipe calls for refried beans, but you could easily swap in ground beef or chicken, black beans, or fajita veggies to fit your family’s preferences. Tender salmon, sweet potatoes, and Brussels sprouts in an easy garlic and honey glaze? Ev’s Eats’ recipe keeps the ingredient list short and sweet and the execution simple, while still yielding a delicious and nutritious meal you’ll be happy to sit down with. If you want a crowd-pleasing meal that gets in all your veggies and protein, try Feel Good Foodie’s sheet pan steak fajitas. They’ll only take you about 10 minutes to prep and 12 to cook before you’re stuffing your tortillas with steak, bell peppers, and your toppings of choice (pass the cilantro, please). If you’re craving something tangy but sweet, savory and satisfying, go for it with All The Healthy Things’ BBQ chicken and ranch bowls. You get barbecue chicken, sweet potatoes, avocado, and pickled onion in every perfect bite, and you can top it with as much ranch as your heart desires — no judgment here. Shrimp fried rice is the kind of takeout I crave on a random weeknight but wouldn’t think I could pull off well at home. Damn Delicious’ recipe makes it seem easy, though, and it’ll help you use up any leftover rice and veggies taking up space in the fridge. If you have 30 minutes and zero f*cks to give, try making Entirely Emmy’s sheet pan chicken sausage dinner. We are chopping ingredients, tossing in seasonings in olive oil, sliding that sheet pan into the oven, and walking away. This is a nutritious meal that’ll make you feel like you ate the rainbow. Budget Bytes’ recipe explains how to make your own pizza dough if you’re up for that, but I would personally buy the pre-made one from the bakery section and call it a day. From there, it’s all about adding your favorite toppings and baking! Well, actually, baking a little bit first to get your crust perfect and not-soggy beneath the sauce. But then... toppings! We are not going for any awards or Instagram-worthy plating here. But if you want a fed, happy family, these easy sheet pan dinners will get the job done.
The struggle between protecting our kids and giving them independence has always existed. You want them to be safe... but you also want them to be able to survive without you hovering over them and steering them through every decision. Knowing they can make smart decisions even when you’re not around might just be the litmus test for whether you’ve done a decent job at parenting. Still, it’s not always easy to know when, exactly, you can put your guidance to the test. This feels especially true when deciding when it’s time to let your child play outside without you. For many families with a privacy fence in the ‘burbs or clearly defined boundaries, giving your kids alone time outside isn’t something you ever question. You know they’ll be safe. However, there are other situations that require more thought, more worry. Our house is on the corner in an urban neighborhood. One of our streets is a major thoroughfare. Our yard is mostly fenced, but not private, and there’s a big gap. More importantly, our daughter has never met a stranger. But here's the thing I often come back to: As a former apartment kid, I remember running ragged from one end of our complex to the other. We played roller hockey in the tennis courts until long after dark. We had Barbie beach vacations by the same lake our dads fished out of — not a parent in sight. And I’m still here. These memories start at age 5 and go on up until middle school. “Independent play for children is developmentally important, but it’s a parenting decision where everyone hopes for a clear rule. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way,” says David Smith, educator and CEO of Silicon Valley High School. “There is no specific age to set your child free outside or in an indoor play area. You have to consider how a child handles independence and what your environment looks like.” So, shouldn’t I trust my 7-year-old in her own backyard? Was I too young to run loose? Or is she too old to still be this sheltered? It turns out that there’s way more to consider than simply the number of candles on her last birthday cake. “At 7, a lot of kids are ready for short periods outside on their own, but a partially open, urban yard is a different situation than a fully fenced, private one,” says Smith. “You need to ease into it if there’s street access. The best thing you can do is to assess the risks and explain to your child what is and isn’t acceptable. Try a short stretch where you’re nearby and build up as you both get comfortable.” For us, a security camera helps. It’s focused on our backyard to monitor the door where we have packages and groceries delivered. It turns out it also has a great shot of our cars parked on the street and of the playset in our backyard. We can hear and see almost everything. But not everyone has that view. And we recognize, too, that a good view doesn’t mean we can act quickly when we need to. “A window or camera can be useful for a quick check, but they remain a backup,” suggests Smith. “You need to ensure your child knows their boundaries: where they can go, what they can do, what to do if someone talks to them, and when to check back in.” I wondered if my worry was more about being an only child than about modern urban living. In apartment complexes, I was always with a million friends. Other times, I was traveling in a pack with all six of my rowdy cousins. If my kid had siblings to hold her accountable or friends to have her back, would that feel safer? I remember all the times my friends convinced me to do something stupid, and I’m not so sure. Is there actually safety in numbers? “Playing with other children can help, but it’s not a safety guarantee,” Smith warns. “Sometimes, kids take more risks when they’re together, because peer pressure is real. The key is whether your child understands the rules and sticks to them, even when they’re excited.” Smith says maturity should factor in just as much as what your neighborhood looks like, whether you have cameras, or if your kid has friends. “In terms of maturity, look for consistency more than perfection,” advises Smith. “Do they follow instructions? Do they check in as agreed? Do they come inside when asked? Are they generally aware of what’s going on around them? If they do these things most of the time, then they can handle increasing stretches of outside independent play.” He also says that questioning this milestone is a good thing for parents to do. “Honestly, it’s a good sign when parents ask these questions and are thinking this through carefully,” Smith offers. “First-time parents, especially, experience everything more intensely. It’s okay to take it step by step and adjust as you go. That’s usually how you build confidence.
This story is an “as told to” and anonymous. The mom in this story is a mother of one, in her early 40s, living in the South. I consider myself a strong woman. I’m independent, I’m outspoken, I like to be in charge. I would definitely classify myself as a feminist. I also really, really like it when my husband chokes me during sex. As in, hand on my throat, my back against the mattress, and me — a woman who has literally marched for women’s bodily autonomy more than once — absolutely losing my f*cking mind over it. Sometimes there’s biting. Or spanking. Hard. And even though I hate it when he tells me what to do in any other situation, I get incredibly turned on when he uses his “you’ll do as you're told” voice in the bedroom. There are times I can’t even climax until he does something to dominate me. I come right as he wraps his hand around my throat or pulls my hair. In the moment, I don’t think twice about any of this because this might actually be the best sex of my life. Definitely better than my 20s. But after some time has passed, a little voice always creeps into my head, wondering what this says about me. I’ve fought really hard in my life to be taken seriously. I have fought to be heard, and I have absolutely fought not to be pushed around by men. So why does the thing that completely undoes me in bed have to be handing over every bit of that control to a man? I like to remind myself that having bodily autonomy means deciding what I want to do and to have done to my body, so even being dominated is a form of empowerment. Because I’m choosing it. But the question keeps nagging at me. Maybe I feel weird about it because it seems so at odds with my self-image? I guess what I really worry about is that my liking and wanting rough sex is some sort of internalized misogyny. It’s not, though… right? Like, if I really think about it, the sex I’m having now is more catered to my desires and needs and arousal than ever before. We have rules and a safe word. My husband always slows down or stops to check on me if he’s worried things got a little too rough. Everything about me being dominated lives and dies by my consent. And, also worth pointing out, my pleasure. When I was younger, I never spoke up about what I wanted. I can count on one hand the number of times I had an orgasm during sex, because I basically just let my partners do whatever they wanted to do. I’ve also noticed that I typically want this kind of sex the most when I’m tired of being in control. When I’ve had a shitty week at work and my kid has been a lot at home and I just don’t want to make one more decision, it just does something for me for him to take charge. The other thing I remind myself is that my body is unaware of anything other than what it wants. It just responds to what feels good. I’ll probably always have some mental hangups about this, and I’m not sure I’m ready to sign myself up for the type of therapy that involves talking to a stranger about it. I do know that none of this would work if I didn’t trust my husband. I have a marriage where I can ask for exactly what I want, and not only does he try his best to give it to me, but he doesn’t shame me for it (I guess I have myself for that). And I know that I have a body that might look different from it did 20 years ago, but it knows what it likes way more now than it did back then. If that makes me a bad feminist, I guess it is what it is. They say women contain multitudes… and some of mine just like to be spanked.
This week’s edition is in paid partnership with Dove. As always, only ever something I’ve actually used and would share anyway. This week did that thing. The thing where you’re rushing through the days, ticking things off, half-listening to your own life… and then something pulls you up sharp and reminds you what actually matters. A conversation. A piece of news. A moment with one of the kids. The kind of small jolt that makes everything else look a bit smaller. I won’t bore you with the details. But it’s been one of those weeks where the perspective has shifted slightly.
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