Am I supposed to apologize for having a good husband and a great father for my kids?

Sometimes it feels that way.

Recently I wrote an article about things moms should do for themselves, and one of them was to let go of control when dads are around. It’s important for me to let my husband parent our kids his way and not mine. It’s important for me to let someone else be in charge sometimes; to take mini breaks from this often consuming role of “mother”.

This isn’t to suggest that all moms have this option. This, certainly, isn’t to ignore single moms (or stay-at-home dads, or working moms, or any other potential category of parent). Yet, for people like me who live in a home with a mother and a father, it’s enormously important to not only include fathers, but to remember that although I might spend most of the daytime hours with our kids, that I’m not more important as a parent than he is.

We want to talk about having fathers who are present, and who are good dads, but this means expecting this from men.

It means expecting men to change diapers, and stay up with fussy kids who won’t go to sleep, and to help with potty training, and to go to school meetings. We want men to engage with our children as parents, so why is it OK to bash them for laughs, or to act like children who have good fathers shouldn’t acknowledge their presence and how much they do?

I know I’m lucky, though. I know not all dads are as involved with their children as my husband is with our daughters. I know how hard it is when we don’t live near extended family, or when we don’t have nannies or even sitters available a decent amount of the time. I know how hard it is to find alone time, and to have “me” time for the woman outside of my role as “Mom”, because I struggle with all of this too, and I have a partner who is here for me and for our kids. I’m lucky, but I have to believe that I’m not alone.

How can we expect fathers to be active in our children’s lives, and to shoulder their weight of this ginormous responsibility of raising kids if we don’t give up some of our maternal control? How can we say we want this as a society if we still rarely put diaper stations in mens’ restrooms and male bash on the side? Dad jokes aren’t just at the expense of fathers, they’re at the expense of our children. We can support other women without criticizing men. We can do better—we have to.

I want my daughters to grow up and see that the relationship I have with their father is equal. I want them to see him doing chores around the house, and refilling their sippy cups. In our house, dad and mom are equal. I want them to expect to be treated equally outside of our house, too.

I want them to expect to earn as much money as men. I want them to expect to be treated respectfully if they choose to date or marry a man. I want them to go out into the world, and to be aware of inequality while also expecting more—while expecting what they deserve. And they deserve a dad.

Every child deserves two parents who loves them and are there for them, even if not every kid gets this. But for us to move forward as a society into a space where women can become president and men can, at the very least, change diapers, we need to treat each other respectfully. We need to treat ourselves respectfully.

The article I mentioned earlier was a blog on everyday ways moms can practice self-care. Self-care doesn’t have to be elaborate to be effective. Exercising, spending time alone or with a friend, reading a good book, and letting other people we love and trust help us with our children—these are all ways I care for myself. These are things I can pass on to my kids. I want my kids to see me taking care of myself, and asking for help, and loving people and trusting people, and knowing my own limitations so that they grow up to practice self-care, too.

So if I’m supposed to feel guilty for saying that when my husband comes home, I often kiss him and let him handle the kids for awhile so I can spend a few minutes alone, then too bad. Too bad because it’s OK for me to acknowledge that while I might be lucky, this is the way that works for me.

The post If We Want Good And Present Fathers, We Need To Expect It Of Them. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

For all the parents who either don’t have the time to debate whether or not their co-sleeping is appropriate, because they’re too busy getting their kids to bed and working and living, or who are trying not to care what the outside world thinks and feels of their very personal choices, I feel you.

I, too, co-sleep, breastfed both of my children as toddlers, feed my kids both “kid food” and also cook with them. I sometimes write about these various aspects of my life as a parent, not usually to defend or argue my choices, so much as to share them for the one basic reason that I love reading other writers’ “mommy blogs” because I feel both less alone and comforted that so many other parents go through my experiences, even if these days I rarely have discussions with friends outside of Facebook, or the sort of conversations that look more like “one sentence to my friend and two sentences to my children” while my kids play and we chat.

In many ways it’s glorious we live in a world that sees worth in debating our children’s welfare, and also our own. I’ve written, for instance, about my firm belief that self-care is a must when being a stay-at-home mom, and also that I’m semi-okay with my relationship with my husband taking a kind of backseat, even if it’s less of a choice and more of the honest reality of parenting two young daughters together.

But there comes a point when our arguing about working moms or stay-at-home ones, or if kissing our children is appropriate, or if dads should be naked with their kids, becomes what’s offensive.

My husband and I are naked with our kids around. We’re not being gross, we’re just, you know, getting dressed, and cleaning ourselves and sometimes even taking baths with our kids. Does this negate the sad fact that child abuse happens? Of course not.

I kiss my daughters on the lips all the time; that Victoria Beckham came under fire doing exactly this with her daughter only came to my attention when others defended her. Is there a point when our defenses only serve to fuel an obviously unnecessary fire?

At what point do we recognize that there are many parenting styles, cultures, values, and sheer differences in kids themselves that affect these parenting styles, making them unique but not really worthy of fighting about?

My own two kids are about four years apart. They share many of the same features, a lot of the same mannerisms, and they have several armloads of things that are nothing in common. The foods they liked as babies, when I began mushing up and nourishing them with my cooking in addition to my breasts, could not have been more dissimilar. So many things about them force me to continually remember I’m not raising two cookie cutter kids, even if they are raised by the same parents, albeit surely changed in four years and on and on as we grow as people, ensuring our kids aren’t always being parented under the “same” mom and dad. How hard is it to comprehend that because something works or doesn’t work in our lives, that it may or may not work for someone else?

Debate is good. Communication is great. Thinking, and particularly questioning, standards and stubborn beliefs is beneficial and healthy for society. Yet there’s a not so fine line where our opinions of how others are living stop mattering.

Why should I care if another mom doesn’t choose breastfeeding? Her child is growing, and is healthy and loved. Could I argue the merits of breastfeeding and the reasons why I chose it? Yes. But let’s face it. This mom already knows. That information is out there. My opinions aren’t wanted, and they aren’t new or influential.

As a parent in our modern culture, I’m as concerned with teaching my two white kids that black lives matter as I am the alphabet. In teaching my white kids that black lives matter am I saying that white lives don’t—that their lives don’t? Obviously not. But parents are masters of knowing that we need to pick our battles. We need to make better choices about what conversations need our voices, and which ones really don’t. Because, at the end of the day, moms and dads are putting our hearts to bed when we kiss our children goodnight. We’re working each day to be good parents and to make the best choices for our families. We’re all trying. Most of us really are.

And I am trying. I’m trying to not collapse after a long day and put boxed food on the table. Instead, my husband and I force ourselves to cook healthy meals—most of the time. There are definitely evenings when speed and ease are bigger factors than how many servings of fruits and vegetables I offered my kids today. Does that make me a bad mom?

Because the honest truth is that I love my kids. I love my husband. I love myself. I love so many people outside of my little family, both extended friends and family and people in general I’ve never met but share this planet with. And still, on a descent handful of days, I’m trying to survive, live and enjoy this process as much as possible.

Having little kids is exhausting at worst and filled with staggering amounts of love at best. There are a lot of under-eye circles involved, sure, but the love is always there. Always. That includes the love for myself.

Maybe if we spent more time questioning our own choices and lifestyle we would find significantly less energy to spend dissecting someone else’s. Maybe if we focused more on the living part, and less on the evaluating and judging part, we would enjoy it all more and be less bitter and critical. Maybe we’d find more acceptance. Maybe we’d see that there are so many beautiful parts of life in addition to the sadness making story headlines.

The post To All the Parents Busy Living Their Lives. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I don’t want to teach my two white children to be colorblind.

I want to teach them to see color, and to see beauty and value.

I want them to see the whiteness of their skin and to know they are privileged because of it. I want them to understand, acknowledge and own their privilege and to care enough to work on giving it away.

I want to not be afraid to talk to the nice woman of color sharing a waiting room chair with me, because I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to tell her what I’m thinking, that her hair looks pretty today, because I’m not sure if my compliments are inappropriate or unwanted. So I think it. I don’t say it.

Instead, my little daughter tells her she likes her dress. It’s exactly the shade of blue my daughter loves. The woman smiles kindly down at my child and talks about the fabric’s pattern with her. My daughter can’t help but reach out and touch the silk. She smiles first at my daughter and then out at me.

My daughter is too young to see the stories hidden behind our skin color, or even to see the stories that are as obvious as my tattoo that she likes to trace with her tiny fingertip. I silently cherish this moment of innocence in my child’s life, because I know it has to eventually leave, if only to witness the world’s reality so we can reshape it.

This concern over my interactions with others outside of my whiteness—my attention to etiquette and also my silent desire to ignore it and act like a simple loving human who wants more than anything to embrace our alikeness—is a self-indulgent concern. Especially after this morning’s news headlines.

Especially after how these headlines are not new.

I don’t have to be afraid for my children because of the color of their skin. I’m left to be potentially in fear of many other things, as everyone is and can be for their kids as they grow and become independent in life, but their skin color isn’t something that I have to think about each day.

I want to think about that.

I want to shout, too—that black lives matter.

I want to feel it weighted in my heartbroken chest; heartbroken for people who are victims of injustice, for people who don’t want to raise our children in a world like this.

I want to write #BlackLivesMatter on my Twitter and on my writer Facebook account. I do and I lose followers. I’m happy to see them gone. But I’m not happy.

I want to do more than share a hashtag.

But I want to shout this grief, this disappointment, this shame, and I don’t know how to because I’m white. My husband is white. My kids are white. And yet we are exactly who needs to be shouting this. We are exactly who needs to believe that “all lives matter” enough to feel passionate about the truth that all lives aren’t being treated equally or with respect. Pretending otherwise is an injustice, too, and a devaluing of these losses. It won’t help stop them either.

So, no, I don’t want to raise kids who are colorblind. I want to raise them to live with their eyes wide open, to all the atrocities, to all the pain, to all the beauty, to all the hope.

The post I Want to Raise My Kids to Be Better Than Being Colorblind. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I’m going to be honest, I didn’t vote for Hillary during the primaries. But I’m sure as hell celebrating her victory now.

I’d like to say that “as a woman,” I’m celebrating her win, but it’s more than that, or at least it should be.

We should all be celebrating this day when a woman is on a major party ticket. My husband and I are raising two daughters, and this win is one for our entire family.

I’d love to be around to celebrate the day when a woman being on the ticket isn’t a big deal, or at least it’s not the most important thing about a candidate—male or female. More, I’d feel we’ve been successful if my girls get to vote in this type of climate, both politically and socially.

And then simultaneous with this huge social victory is the injustice of a white man getting six months in jail for rape. I felt sick to be an American as I read this verdict, and the words of this rapist’s father. Juxtaposed next to Hillary Clinton, this feels like an extremely dichotomous climate to be celebrating within.

Yet acknowledging how far we have to go, as well as the injustices that permeate our culture daily, is nothing less than the appropriate, positive thing to do. While it may be disgusting to see racism and sexism still surrounding us in 2016, it’s equally important to not forget that real change can only happen when we open our eyes and say, “I see this.” Because what follows this admission is offering, “Let’s fix it.”

I tried to watch Hillary Clinton’s speech with my daughters. I felt overcome with emotion and gratitude to be living in this moment of history in the making, even if I’m not necessarily one of her staunch admirers. Her victory is one for all women everywhere to celebrate, not just those who love her and filled in the box next to her name. Her victory is one I would be celebrating with sons, too, if I had them surrounding me instead of girls.

My daughters got bored before the speech ended. It’s ok—they’re only five-and-a-half and one-and-a-half.

They’re still too young to understand things like glass ceilings, wage gaps, and rape. They’re still too filled with natural pride, joy and curiosity to know that the world isn’t always as fair as it should be, or as it could be. I don’t look forward to the day when they realize this.

I remember when I was about 12 or 13. I used to tell people, only half-jokingly, that I wanted to be President someday. (I guess sometimes it takes awhile for the real world to sink in, especially when you grow up in white suburbia and more privileged than many, like I did.)

We were getting in the car after a shopping trip the other day—my husband, our girls and I. I told my husband that as soon as the girls are old enough, we’re going to volunteer in local shelters and do things together where they get to see first hand that they are relatively spoiled and lucky, that not everyone grows up this way, and that there are ways they can help if they chose to. I want them to chose to help.

I want to say something cheesy, like I wish there was never a day when they didn’t realize that being a woman might be fun as hell, but that there are faults that inherently come with being one. More than this idealism, though, I want them to be aware of society’s flaws, so that they can make sure to listen to other people when they voice feelings of prejudice, or so they aren’t blind when they witness the discrimination they surely will, at times, plainly see.

I want them to hold space for others who are different from them. I want them to not be ethnocentric and pretend that privilege doesn’t exist, when obviously it does. (Just look at that rape verdict.)

We shouldn’t have to have the same color of skin, or be the same sex, or the same religion to know that rape is wrong, and that a woman running for President shouldn’t be something special.

But I want my girls to know that, right now, women still have far to go, and when they see tears prick my eyes as I watch Hillary Clinton speak, I hope they know one day that these are the happy, happiest tears of a mom raising women; of a mom who is witnessing some of these barriers crumbling.

The post I’m Celebrating Hillary’s Win With My Daughters and I Didn’t Even Vote for Her. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

My week this summer is about getting up and out of the door early because my oldest daughter has Safety Town and my husband’s on early mornings at work.

The post We Have to Do Better. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

It’s the new year, but I don’t feel any different. Unless you count my new cold.

New years are always strange in that they traditionally start out with a heart full of hope, a head full of optimism and, equally a decent touch of nostalgia. Conversely, nothing has set this weekend apart from most other weekends in my household, besides the bottle of champagne we shared, or my husband having a three-day weekend, or my oldest daughter being home from school.

I don’t feel different exactly, but my stuffy nose and slight grumpiness are helping me to appreciate things I normally love and take for granted—like a good workout and breathing through my nose.

I’ve also generally rebelled against the idea of a new year’s resolution.

There’s something gross about trying to make ourselves into better people only once a year—we mentally cram our already pretty worthwhile selves into some glass-Cinderella-slipper-vision of who we wish we were, rather than taking in the positives of who we already are.

I work on myself throughout the year, regardless of the calendar date.

I work on my temper, and my relationships, and I try to be a kind person who cares for myself and others, because that’s the way I want to live while I’m on this earth, and while I don’t think that resolutions are necessarily a complete waste of time, I do think they’re overrated.

Still, it’s inspiring to cross the threshold of a new year. It’s invigorating to step out into the cold air and breathe in the sunshine of a brand new moment when everything seems possible and everything seems throw-away too. We can throw away our bad habits and embrace new, better ones—exercise, eating and sleeping are all well-versed resolution ingredients. Moreover, we’re reminded to double-check our routines and rituals.

Our habits make up who we are, but we often pay little attention to our everyday, commonplace activities.

I wake up in the morning, and I turn on the gas burner. I start the hot water going in my kettle, and I measure out coffee into my aeropress, and I create my preferred flavors—with a splash of whole milk—into my favored mug. I eat one of two things for breakfast. I get my oldest daughter ready for school; I nurse the youngest. My husband gets ready for work. I exercise a little and typically write a little bit too. My days are often similar with some deviations thrown into them—things like my daughter’s gymnastics session, or a doctor’s appointment, or a different errand add some uniqueness to my average post-coffee afternoons.

We should always question our habits while appreciating them too.

I appreciate that first, smooth sip of coffee, even if I do hungrily take it in as the clock counts down to the school bus arriving at the edge of our driveway. I kiss my husband as he walks out the door, and I maybe eat oatmeal instead of grainy toast with peanut butter. My life is fulfilling because of these comforts of familiarity—of the people I love surrounding me, and good food, and my favorite jeans—yet I’ve found that the most dramatic changes happen when we barely change at all.

They happen when we drink a glass of wine less in the evening, or when we write a page a day and it quickly becomes a book.

And this year I don’t think I’ll entirely throw away the concept of new year’s resolutions, like I usually do. Instead, I think I’ll take a moment to pay more attention to who I am now, and to where I want to go.

I want to remind myself to slow down and enjoy my coffee. I want to remind myself to hug my husband when he leaves for work in the morning, even if we had a spat beforehand. I want to pay better attention to the pathways that I’m carving—to these grooves that my existing habits are creating—on my heart and in my life.

The post Yep, My New Year’s Resolution Is to Enjoy My Morning Coffee. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Sometimes I want the world to be less serious, so that I can simply enjoy my kids’ childhood.

It’s as childish a sentiment as when I don’t want to talk about the bills with my husband.

The world is not always a pretty or easy place. There is ugliness in humanity, and there always has been—the shadows merely shift and transform, and we see them from different angles.

I wrote the following only half-jokingly on my Facebook wall the other day:

Things that can go away instead of circulating: Bible verses/”quotes” that aren’t actually from the Bible, people who care more about grammar and Oxford commas than being kind, pictures of sick children and/or the elderly holding signs asking for Facebook users to like and share, anything anti-Muslim, and this Kardashian obsession the media has. Things that should be more prevalent: apologies, Googling quotes for authenticity before posting them, and those little gingerbread man ice cream sandwiches I used to get as a kid this time of year.

While I was mocking my constant Facebook feed from that morning, it got me earnestly thinking about why I really do care about all of those things.

The Internet, TV, cell phones, and the general “conveniences” of modern living make us hyper-aware of what is going on in the world, both good and bad. While much of what I see and hear in the news doesn’t relate to my life as a stay-at-home mother much at all, it’s all relevant when you’re a mom.

For instance, I couldn’t care less about the Kardashians, even though the media is ubiquitously obsessed with them. I do care, though, when I consider that these women are a part of shaping how a woman is supposed to look. (I still get Vogue, and Kendall Jenner has been all over every magazine for the last several issues.)

These mass shootings and terrorist attacks are both far away and very close; schools are places where I see children being molested and killed—gone are the days of parents sending their kids off merely to learn.

It’s gross. It’s all grossly unfortunate, but this is our world, and we as mothers need to take notice.

We need to care as much as the average politician, or those who regularly debate gun laws. We need to care, but it’s hard to find the time to actively take part in changing—and correcting—our current world when we’re wholly immersed in raising little kids.

Raising little kids is hard. It’s frustrating and we have long hours and no sick days or back-up employees. It’s true that the love is greater than can be conveyed in a single sentence, but the fatigue and stress are real too. Yet it’s us—the mothers and the fathers—who are raising our next generation. These headlines are more than stories from “far away” in France or across the country—this is the world our kids are, as cheesy and cliche as it sounds, inheriting.

They are inheriting our gun violence, our laws, our sexism, our racism, our unequal pay and slave labor. Most importantly, they are inheriting our willingness to acknowledge the atrocities in the world, and they are learning from us how to tackle them—they are learning from us whether to care or not.

My daughters need me to be aware of how we are portraying women in the media, so that I can preemptively make them believe they are beautiful. My daughters need me to recognize that women get paid less, so that we can seek to support and encourage equality. My daughters need me to be better than tucking my head in the sand and ignoring what’s going on outside of our nap times and school bus pick-ups.

I want to know what singers are popular, or that people on no-fly lists can legally buy guns, not because I want to be the cool mom who thinks she’s just one of my kids’ friends in current-topic conversations, but because I want to stand a chance that my kids will talk to me.

Because while they need me to be mom first, they also need me to remember that this world, for better and for worse, is still mine right now, before I pass it on.

The post Why the Kardashians, Guns and Anti-Muslim Attitudes Are Every Mom’s Business. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I’m a grown woman living with ADHD.

Diagnosed in my early teens, ADHD is still something I deal with daily.

I don’t feel ashamed to say that I have ADHD. More, I don’t feel like it was a product of my environment either.

My parents didn’t do something “wrong”. In school, I got adequate recess and physical activity. Instead, my brain, like many others, just works differently; I like the way my brain works.

I like that I can hold more than one conversation at a time—it’s surely come in handy as a mother. I like, too, that I have more energy than many other people my age, and that I speak my mind easily without a phony filter—call it “impulsivity” if you prefer.

If my daughters display signs of ADHD, then I’m all the more glad that I’ve spent so much of my life figuring out how my ADHD benefits me, and that I’ve stopped fighting it.

Battling an intrinsic part of ourselves is rarely a good thing. I’ve learned, through working with ADHD specialists and through trial and error, what “works” for me. Things like exercise and sleep, for instance, are crucial for the ADHD brain. (Here, read these tips for parents with ADHD.) Simultaneously, so is self-acceptance.

This is easy to state, however, as a 36-year-old adult. I’ve had years to work on developing both my self-esteem and self-appreciation. Still, this recent news that studies are showing a rise in girls with ADHD is, for me, positive.

It means that we’ve stopped treating ADHD as a boys’ issue, because, as this research is clearly showing, it’s not.

While I always got in trouble growing up for being loud, for talking and for being somewhat restless, much of my restlessness was internal and, therefore, easy to miss or gloss over.

And loud girls aren’t ideal. Brazen, bossy girls are quickly labeled terms that aren’t allowed in classrooms. To this day, owning my naturally aggressive behavior, and not continually apologizing for it, is something I deal with often.

My two girls are loud. I’m trying to teach them appropriate moments to speak up, as well as when it’s best to use a quiet voice—like the car, and, for the love of God, when the baby is napping—but I won’t teach them to be quiet, or to roughhouse less, because they were born female.

A rise in diagnosing young girls with ADHD does mean that we’ll need to admit where these children will need guidance and extra support—because the reality is that it is a challenge to sit in school and to focus, especially as homework loads increase in junior high and high school. Yet I see this rise as entirely positive for several reasons.

For one, we are listening to girls. We aren’t dismissing them as easily as we did when I was growing up, and we aren’t mislabeling ADHD as a boys-only club. Moreover, girls properly diagnosed with ADHD might have a better chance of utilizing their gift—which I truly believe ADHD is—instead of acting out or becoming impulsive in a way that can be damaging.

It’s important to have this conversation about how to best diagnose and treat ADHD so that kids receive proper care, but, please, let’s stop acting like there is something wrong with those of us that have it.

The post Why Rising ADHD Rates in Girls Is a Good Thing. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Why I’m breaking down and getting an Elf on the Shelf—and doing it my way:

My children are innately good.

But they test boundaries. A lot. Especially for me, their mom.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole “Elf on the Shelf” thing because, frankly, I don’t feel like inviting a Christmas narc into my house, even if I have been behaviorally frustrated lately. This aspect of an otherwise cute custom just does not sit well with me.

Yet, each year as the holiday season rounds the corner, this ubiquitous elf is firmly nuzzled into modern childhood tradition. I asked my 5-year-old if she’d heard of it and she enthusiastically responded, “Yes!”

So I, with equal parts excitement and hesitancy, “adopted” an elf for our house.

My little girl was ecstatic. I’ll be honest, I bought the elf in the sparkly tutu. I bought it for me, as much as for my children. (My daughter also loves the movie Elf, and I’ll admit that I’m afraid she might be slightly disappointed when a tiny tutu-clad doll shows up instead of Will Ferrell.)

She is at that wondrous, if notoriously, tender age where Santa is still an absolutely amazing man who she sets cookies out for, who she talks about regularly this time of year, and excitedly reads books on, that she might better understand him and where he lives.

I told her that our elf was, in the words of a friend, her Santa “hotline.” I explained that each day the elf spends time in our house and then flies to see Santa every night. In short, she has her very own Santa Claus go-between. I skipped over the part where the elf is supposed to go tattle on you if you’ve been bad.

I looked up pictures on Google search to get some clues as to where I could move our elf each day. Trust me, even if you don’t have kids, you should do this search. (I won’t spoil some of the hilarity.)

One idea that I think I’ll do, since my girls watch me lift weights a few times each week, is put marshmallows on a toothpick and have the little lady bench pressing, or doing dumbbell curls. (I can see my daughter’s smile now.)

I had a few friends offer that they, too, ignore the concept of the elf spying and telling Santa if the kids have been good or bad.

Actually, one friend has a naughty elf, who leaves messes and does silly shenanigans. Another offered that, way before our “Elf on a Shelf” craze hit, his parents did something similar in his own youth. He shared how the elf was his friend. (He also gave me the “hotline to Santa” concept.)

I had yet another friend offer that it was far too much work, which is completely fair, since I understand feeling overwhelmed as a parent—and then to add “one more thing.” But I did this absolutely as much for my husband and me as I did for my kids.

I can already envision us sneaking around, after the kids have gone to bed, looking for something funny for the elf to do. We’re early risers anyway, so, equally, it will be relatively simple for the girls to quickly peek around for where we’ve put her, when I’m making coffee and we’re getting ready for school and work.

I did this, more, because even though Santa—for those who celebrate Christmas, of course—is special and classic, I wanted something new, something different, something to enliven my own recently overwhelmed heart.

I’m not here to sell Elves on Shelves to people, or to encourage the celebration of Christmas over another holiday, or even to say that I won’t forget to move our elf one night (as I’ve commonly seen friends, who already participate, panic about at least once or twice come December). Instead, I’m reminding myself that the holidays are about magic, about fun and, for parents, about finding joy to share with our kids.

We can do the holidays “our” way.

That’s the cool thing about talking with people about their own memories and holiday traditions: most families do have their spin on things, their own foods they make or tiny rituals that brought them closer as a family unit—and this is what I want for my little family of four.

Do you have a holiday tradition that you celebrated as a kid, or something that you do with your own children, that you would like to share? If so, I’d love to hear from you in comments.

The post How & Why I’m Putting My Own Spin on The Elf on the Shelf. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I had a conversation with another mother yesterday while at the yoga studio.

She brought up something that many people think, but don’t always verbalize. Our discussion was about how holiday gift giving and receiving is joyful, but that no one truly wants unnecessary “stuff” cluttering up the house after the excitement of the season has calmed down.

Here are things we can do both prevent giving unwanted gifts, as well as ideas on what to do with presents that we won’t use.

For those unwanted gifts:

1. Give to a shelter.

With me at the yoga studio that day was my out-of-town twin sister. She’s a social worker. Thus, she easily suggested donating duplicate or unwanted toys to a women’s shelter, like one she once worked at.

New toys are typically welcomed by children staying in shelters, as are items like warm hats and gloves. Check with your local shelters to find out what is needed.

2. Return them.

Sometimes gifts aren’t returnable to the giver or the store of purchase (no receipt, sensitive person you’d rather not offend, etc). In this case, one thing I’ve done in the past is take the item, with the price tags still on, to any store selling it. I’ve discovered that most major retailers will take an item, even without a receipt, for credit at the lowest price it was last sold for in the store. My daughter has then used this store credit to happily pick out something else.

You’ll notice I didn’t suggest re-gifting. I’m not a huge believer in re-gifting for several reasons. The first is that if we don’t want it, then we’re simply tossing it off to be someone else’s “problem,” and the two suggestions already offered will have to be repeated anyway, just by someone new. Additionally—well, actually, let’s just get on to the first suggestion in our next list.

How to give gifts that will be used:

1. Be thoughtful.

This seems obvious, but, really, being thoughtful usually means stepping outside of the boxes we subconsciously place our imaginations into when choosing a gift—pun intended.

Typically, we’ll think about “things” people need, like socks (which, by the way, I love giving and receiving warm, high-quality socks) or something we know they’ll love, but not buy for themselves (like jewelry—also one of my favorite things to both give and receive). Yet while these ideas are fruitful, if you, like I, have that one has-everything-buys-what-they-need person you want to give something special to, then think differently.

Alternatives are services or subscriptions. (I’ve given coffee and olive oil subscriptions, for instance.)

The main rule of thumb I use when trying to buy a thoughtful gift for everyone on my list is, “Am I buying something just to cross a name off, or is this genuinely what I want to get?” Answering this question honestly has led me to essentially buy one nice gift for those people I exchange with.

2. Don’t buy a gift.

This, at first, might seem rude if you’ve always exchanged with a particular friend or family member.

That said, families grow and change, and it can become no longer ideal to buy for every cousin or uncle or friend if we now have nieces, children and grandchildren to shop for.

Instead of gifts, if the loved one lives close by, spend time together. Go out to eat or spend an evening entertaining them at home. Many people seriously do appreciate a well-worded card or, in this day of texting, a real-live phone call sharing some holiday love can be deeply appreciated.

After all, the holidays really aren’t about the gifts, are they? We say this, but putting it into practice, for me, has been a game-changer for my own holiday attitude in general.

3. Ask.

And for those people we want to shop for, but can’t come up with something, then, for the love of God, ask.

Yes, this might spoil some surprises or seem unromantic, but asking someone for a list of wanted items or a preferred color is better if, ultimately, they open something they’ll love and use.

So, like I tell my kids, use your words and ask.

The holidays should be joyful, but, if we’re being sincere, for many of us they are stressful too. Even good stress—like getting decorations up, and wrapping, having guests over, and our kids being home on break—is still stress.

I want my children to look forward to the holidays, not dread them because mom and dad were overwhelmed.

Buying simple gifts with meaning behind them, and significantly limiting my shopping list of who I buy for—and of how many gifts I get each person—are hands-downs the easiest ways I’ve grown into welcoming this time of year—and letting go of the holiday-frenzy I’ve felt in seasons past.

This year is my daughter’s first time making a list; it’s the first year I’ve decided to have her sit down and put in writing some of the things she’d like to unwrap.

Partly, I’ve put this off because I wanted her to be aware that the holidays truly are not materialistic, but, mainly, it’s because she intrinsically knows this and looks most forward to the childlike joys of baking together, singing favorite songs, and welcoming family into her home. However, now I’ll be helping out my own mom who has already asked for a list (like in my previously mentioned tip).

Do you have a suggestion that other readers could benefit from on how you manage gift giving and receiving? If so, I’d love to hear from you in comments.

The post 3 Ways to Give the Perfect Gift & the 2 Best Things to Do with Gifts We Don’t Want. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.