Too-small pajama pants clog my sons’ dresser, atop which a blue sabertooth tiger crouches in a jungle of Pokemon cards that may never be organized, banked by my oldest’s treasure box whose key is mysteriously missing (I suspect his little brother), and that is just one spot!
Plastic boxes, once organized with toys, spill out of twin beds’ underbellies, library books litter the floor, dirty laundry clutters unmade beds, picture books are uneven teeth hanging off the edge of the bookshelf. God knows what lurks in their closet — the sheer volume of stuff might bury me.
“We have to figure this out,” I sigh, squeezing freshly folded pajamas in a sliver of one drawer. My husband just chuckles. Doesn’t he feel the trappings of our children’s junk?
Sometimes my life feels like this messy room, no matter how hard I try to maintain a tidy exterior, clutter always finds me — I have ideas that no longer fit hidden in old shopping bags, regrets overflowing from the hamper, insecurities stacked beneath the bed. I’m afraid of what you’ll think when you see me. You ask if I’ve heard of The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up? I have a hard time letting go.
Someday soon I’ll brave their room to edit and sort, edit and sort, but I must remember spring cleaning has its limits tidiness always comes undone there’s no easy way to hide your humanity.
Earlier this month, my friend and fellow writer Melissa Kutsche shared an interview I wrote for her FORTY-something Substack. FORTY-something is a fantastic collection of women’s voices contending with the changes we experience at midlife. Here’s an excerpt from that conversation:
When you were younger, what did you associate with the age of 40? How has reality been similar to or different from those ideas and expectations?
When I was a girl, 40 seemed far away, like a country I didn’t want to visit. I associated the age with low-maintenance “Mom haircuts,” boatloads of bills and raising children. Also, black balloons and those “Over the hill” signs that were ubiquitous in the 90s. I noticed women in their forties taking care of everything from church potlucks to birthday parties while managing full careers and households. They were busy and I revered them. I did not envy them; I wanted to remain carefree.
In the summer, when my family visited the pool, I never understood why my mother—who was in her forties—chose to stay on the deck and read her novel while my brother and I rode waterslides with our dad. Now I get it! Caretaking is all-consuming, and Mom needed her rest.
Even though much has changed since the 90s, I still see forty-something women around me deftly juggling their varied roles and responsibilities, albeit with different outfits and haircuts.
At 40, I’m time rich in a way I wasn’t when I worked full-time with my first child in daycare. The birth of my second son, five years after my first, shifted my priorities. Though I loved working in journalism, I craved more time with my children. My husband and I made some financial sacrifices so I could resign and focus on motherhood and writing.
Playground visits, being present at school drop-off and pickup, writing in a coffee shop during preschool, Lego-building and reading children’s books are my midlife reality. Honestly, I love it. Motherhood awakened me to the holiness woven into little moments with little people.
It’s not all picture-perfect. Being my kids’ primary caregiver is the hardest, messiest job I’ve ever had. Even when you’re doing what’s right (say, setting a boundary) it might feel wrong (there’s whining, or worse, tantrums). Still—and I believe this at my core—raising small people with great kindness matters, more than we can fully comprehend.
How did you feel about turning 40?
I joined the 40 club in December and I have mixed feelings about it.
On the one hand, I’m anxious. The number of Instagram ads I receive for products to help me “manage my wrinkles” is staggering. When I look in the mirror, I see crinkles around my eyes and deepening laugh lines. This is a problem I need to address, I think. Upon further reflection, I ask myself: Is my aging skin a problem? Or, is the problem actually the story marketers want me to believe—that women with wrinkles aren’t beautiful?
To be clear, I’m not judging women for the skincare services we employ. Mainly, I’m frustrated that the beauty industry fosters insecurity in women, distracting us from greater issues that need our attention,such as gender-based wage discrimination.
Additionally, I’m worried about upcoming changes I’ll face—perimenopause, menopause, and the decline of my parents’ health as well as my own. An optometrist once told me that 40 is the decade when everyone begins needing glasses.
On the other hand, I’m quite hopeful about this decade. A former boss once told me that she felt her most confident entering her forties, and now that I’ve reached this milestone, I agree. As a young woman, I struggled with disordered eating, perfectionism and people-pleasing. I have so much compassion for my younger selves—the college grad who was obsessed with running, the newlywed with an intense job and stress-eating habit, the new mom who struggled with guilt—all women who strived to prove their worth.
Nowadays, I feel more at home in my body, mind and soul than before, and I attribute this to years of therapy and a mature faith. Women especially receive messages about all we need to “fix” in our bodies. I still get tripped up by this. Yet, the older I get, the more I recognize these messages as the enemy at work. On my best days, I root myself in the words of the Psalmist, trusting that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.” There’s an ease of living that comes from believing your worth is inherent.
A new pair of glasses may be in my future. I remain optimistic, because turning 40 has given me lenses for what matters most. In my case, that’s answering my callings to care for my kids and to put loving words into the world. And to spread kindness, always kindness.
What, if any, changes have you noticed as you’ve approached this age/stage of life?
I’m coming out of early motherhood, a physically intense and demanding season, and feeling freer and lighter than I did in my thirties. I do not plan to carry any more babies and I’m done breastfeeding. Most of the time, I don’t have kids clinging to me. This new season is thrilling, like the first spring day you no longer need your heavy jacket.
I also feel bolder. … Read the rest of the interview here.
P.S., If you enjoyed this post, you may also like my monthly(ish) Substack, Nourish. Browse past issues and subscribe here.
verb: to reflect or release light noun: radiance; the brightness caused by a bounce or outpouring of light
My verbs are: Reading Frog & Toad, Hilo and The Jesus Storybook Bible Bringing my boys to church Giggling together on family movie night Writing between school dropoff and pickup Throwing a baseball over and over Lingering outside until sunset
My nouns are: Buttered toast and apple juice Hot pepperoni pizza and fizzy root beer Magna-Tiles and Legos strewn over the carpet Bright smiles for “One more race!” in Mario Kart Handwritten drafts, Google docs and Substack Prayers for goodness and forgiveness
My confessions: I do not know how to reconcile my small life raising small people with my big dreams of writing.
Am I teaching them to be kind? Do they know how much I love them? Or see how hard I’m trying? Will I ever publish another book?
For every struggle and every joy, every sacrifice and every lesson — there’s no grade. Oftentimes, I want one.
God, do you see me? Am I doing enough to reflect your grace and your glory?
Here is the better question: Can I trust you enough to release my grip on my plans and my ambitions?
// Callie Feyen’s poem “Witness,” from her new book When We Swung from Church Bells, inspired this poem’s structure. “Shine” is my word of the year for 2026.
As a baby, you stuck to me like glue, nursing ‘round the clock and snoozing on my chest. Throughout your first year, we broke all the “sleep rules” with you, and we didn’t care. You were our long-awaited second child, our rainbow baby after miscarriage, and our last child, given my age. Your dad and I were going to savor you.
Adam, you arrived five years and two days after your brother Jack was born, and you haven’t stopped chasing him since. Milestone after milestone, you’d leap frog past our expectations, determined to be just like Jack.
No one told me that younger siblings tend to age faster than their older siblings, and the ache to keep you little is one I’ve felt acutely in your third year. You started preschool this past fall, and each week, you share new revelations with me — singing songs, scribbling your name and chatting about your new pals. After we get home from school, you want to sit on my lap when we eat lunch together; you like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or chicken nuggets and cucumbers.
You also like free building with Legos or Magna-tiles, playing your brother’s Switch, playing with and/or annoying your brother and drinking root beer as a special treat. You are bold, bright and brave, barreling into new experiences and connecting with new playmates. “Watch me, Mom!” is a common refrain. Your zest for life inspires me.
You’re my little buddy, helping load laundry and wipe the kitchen table clean. You accompany me to the library, Trader Joe’s and Target often. Sometimes, we’ll do coffee and pastry dates. And when it’s warm enough, we’ll walk our dog to the playground and play pirates there.
Even though you’re so big, you still like to be close to me when you sleep. After storytime and lights out, I’ll snuggle next to you in your bed for five minutes. When I say, “It’s time for me to get ready for bed,” you protest, begging for “One more minute!” repeatedly. Finally, I say goodnight, and you hold my face in your hands and kiss me on the forehead with relish, an echo of how I kissed your forehead as a babe.
Happy fourth birthday, Adam. It’s a gift to love and be loved by you.
I’ve been writing about him since he was born, nine years ago. Jack arrived in January, quiet as snow.
And by that I mean, I cried for him under the harsh lights of the OR before he ever cried for me. Time slowed to a drip — though it must have been a minute — before Jack’s lungs were cleared and he found his voice, leaving me wordless.
Since then, he’s stunned me at every turn with his strong will, race car brain and active spirit. He’s the boy who made me a mother, and his life inspired me to pick up the pen and tell the truth about motherhood. I wrote because I needed to make sense of this wild, wonderful, challenging calling. I am still making sense of it, years later, still being changed by it. Nowadays, our stories intersect less and less. I know this is for the best, given his growing independence.
But because it’s his birthday, and it’s tradition, here’s what I know is true about Jack:
He’s brave. Being the new kid in third grade isn’t easy, but he’s handled the transition with a lot of grace.
He’s artsy, doodling in the margins of his schoolwork, reading any graphic novel he can procure, dreaming up games and writing his own mini comics.
He’s playful. This winter, he’s into Roblox and board games. Once the weather turns, we’ll have baseball, soccer and bike-riding back.
He’s a good big brother, mentoring Adam and engaging with him, even though they both get on each other’s nerves.
He’s kind. Though he misses his buddies from Queens, he’s fostered warm relationships with his classmates. His favorite thing is making them laugh.
Snow’s falling as I write this tribute, which seems fitting. Jack, usually talkative, is silent, reading Adventure Time. He glances up at me when he turns the page. I set down my pen and study him — my wonder boy who braved a big move and has kept on laughing, learning and growing. Bedtime awaits but I savor the moment.
Happy birthday, Jack. I can’t wait to see what happens next in your stunning story.
There are years that test us, and years that embrace us. I’m grateful that my 39th year has been the latter. In lots of little ways I’ve felt held —
in the abundance of cherry tomatoes from our new garden; my first glimpse of stars from our backyard in the suburbs; each time Jay and I drop our boys off with my parents; through “Hellos” and connections with new neighbors; sweet messages and meetups with old friends from Chicago; a perfect latte from a local coffee shop; by the words of writers and musicians who move me; walking Miami beach in deep talks with my college girlfriends; date nights with Jay, especially to see theater or live music; prayers sent out by family and friends; when my boys ask for lullabies or games of catch; and capturing it all on the page, writing. Always writing.
In my calls to write and mother, I spent the bulk of the year planting seeds and nurturing unseen growth. From potty training to helping the boys acclimate to new schools, we’ve conquered several transitions. Freelance projects have come and gone, I managed to keep my Substack alive in the midst of our move. I set aside one manuscript (for now) and started writing another. The work of raising kind humans and putting warm words into the world feels more urgent than ever.
Selling our Chicago home in 2024 was a real trust fall with God. I’m grateful our family landed in such a beautiful house and community this past August. Starting over socially hasn’t been easy. Once a week, I remind myself of a dear friend’s advice to be “the very best version of myself,” trusting that, with time, I’ll cultivate great relationships here.
Today, on my 40th birthday, I’m more at home in myself than I’ve ever felt before. This confidence was hard won; at 38, I experienced a dark night of the soul from which I’m still healing. A commitment to caring for my physical and mental health, plus gaining a greater understanding of how my mind works, has been transformative. God’s grace was evident in the ones whose love carried me when I most needed it.
If I could tell my younger self anything, I’d hug her and whisper, “You are stronger than you think you are. Trust yourself. Believe in your goodness.”
I wish that I was younger and I wish I wasn’t so concerned about the passage of time seeing lines in my reflection, aging parents, taller kids
I wish that I was richer and I wish I wasn’t bothered by the cost of eggs and our medical bills, how we’ll afford to send our children to college, how to pay for a new home
I wish our government was kinder and I wish there was a crystal ball I could use to predict how to preserve freedom, peace and justice for us all
I can’t wish away the hunger I can’t wish away the hate But I can name what’s broken I call for change and ask myself what I can give to ease my neighbors’ pain
I wish that I was braver And I wish I could give voice to every injustice that I witness and have experienced as a mother as a woman as a girl
I wish I was a better Christian and wife and mom the kind of person who doesn’t use sharp words with the ones I love the most I wish I could sand my rough edges give them the softest version of my heart
All of these wishes I keep them hidden Will any come true? All of these wishes I hope God hears them God, make me new
// Poem inspired by “Wishes,” a song by Tiny Habits
Jack, Adam and I have been watching a group of goslings that live near our apartment. At the start of June, the goslings’ fuzzy yellow feathers began turning light gray. Whenever we’d pass them on the dog walk, their mama would stare menacingly at us, and if anyone got too close, she’d hiss.
“Why is she hissing, Mom?” eight-year-old Jack asked.
“Well, the mother wants to make sure her babies are safe,” I said, giving her a knowing nod. “She’s warning us not to mess around with her goslings… or else.”
“Or else what?” he pressed.
“Or else mother goose will fight us,” I chuckled, guiding us forward. We had an afternoon snack and an hour of screentime to look forward to, maybe a trip to the pool afterwards. Now mother goose was in protector mode, but I wondered if she ever felt exhausted by a barrage of snack requests, or even perplexed by how to entertain her brood. And, what did she look like when she was at peace?
Recently, the boys and I were walking our dog and we encountered the goslings again. I think. Honestly, they looked so large, they passed for geese. Closer inspection revealed their shortened tails and beaks, but, my, my, they’d changed. Astonishingly, their mother seemed nonplussed by their growth and our presence.
So it is with my boys, who, in the course of six weeks, have grown longer limbs and extra bumps and bruises and daily look as if they’re about to take flight. Unlike mother goose, I have zero chill about this reality and luckily, several summers before they leave home. Like our gosling friends, we’ve fallen into a summer rhythm with increased independence. Here are ten things that are helping us survive these long, hot weeks of change and growth.
Baseball: This was Jack’s second year of youth baseball, and while it wasn’t my favorite due to a cool, wet spring, I still enjoyed watching him play. Jack’s catching and throwing improved a lot this past season, and three-year-old Adam even made a buddy on the sidelines. Interestingly, my favorite part of this season hasn’t been the formal games at all, it’s been practicing with Jack and our family. We’ll either meet at a park I love or play ball in the yard at my folks’ house, where my sons’ grandparents, uncle and cousins can join in. Some of our sweetest moments happened with a wiffle ball and plastic bat, racing barefoot around imaginary bases.
My parents: Since school let out, we’ve been traveling to and from Chicago’s western suburbs in search of a new home. As anyone who’s searching for a house knows, the market is moving quickly and if a house comes up that you like, you need to see it ASAP. Bringing kids to showings is… not ideal. Thankfully, my folks have stepped in to watch Jack and Adam while my husband and I visit homes. They are saints for being ready to host the boys, including special treats and trips to the comic store for baseball cards, and I’ve loved seeing their relationships deepen. Grandparents to the rescue!
Summer skincare: As an aging millennial on the cusp of 40, daily facial sunscreen is a must: I use this SPF 50 tinted one on average days and this glowy version when I’m feeling fancy. I’m all about protecting my sons’ fair skin as well. When I’m out in the sun with the boys, we slather on this Unseen Sunscreen dupe I found at Trader Joe’s in June (sadly, this product is no longer available) or waterproof sunscreen from Target.
Simple breakfast: With warmer weather here, I’ve set aside my usual scrambled eggs for breakfast in favor of cool, creamy yogurt. I recently discovered Ratio yogurt, which is low in sugar, high in protein and my new go-to quick breakfast, paired with homemade peanut butter energy balls or fruit. My favorite flavor is vanilla. The boys enjoy Chobani flips (their favorites include mint chip, key lime pie and cookie dough). We’ve also been stocking up on juicy watermelon, which they both eat nonstop.
Library pick up: Lately, we’ve been on the run so often that we aren’t able to spend time lingering at the library. Enter: library hold pick up. Instead of browsing the shelves, I’ll sit with the boys and ask them what they’d like to read, then request those books using my library app. A few days later, I’ll receive a notification email to visit the library. We’ll breeze inside to drop off old books and collect our holds, then go on our way. This is my new favorite thing and it’s helping my boys conquer their respective literary canons (for Jack, the Captain Underpants series and Adam, the Berenstain Bears). As for me, I’m enjoying plenty of poetry and working my way through the School for Good and Evil (YA fantasy) series.
My writing group: I adore the women in my writing group. This year, we leveled up and now have an official Voxer thread in addition to our Slack group and text thread. We swap recipes, drop book recs, celebrate life wins, discuss how we are occupying our kids, ask “Is it just me or… ?” and, oh yes, we also chat about writing. They’ve been my summer lifeline as we all navigate the delight and challenges of parenting in the summer.
Quiet time with screens: Yes, we use screens — with boundaries — as a tool to entertain our children. With a three-year-old who’s fighting his midday nap and a precocious eight-year-old, I need relief. This summer it’s available thanks to Let’s go Pikachu on Switch for Jack and Paw Patrol DVDs for Adam. My rule for the summer is no screens in the morning, so my kids usually spend an hour in their respective universes after lunch or before dinner, giving me an hour to catch up on chores, meal prep or my reading.
Playdates: Without the regular rhythm of school pickup and drop off plus apartment living, my kiddos and I are missing interactions with our pals. They’re with me nearly all day every day, which is wonderful, but we need variety! Consequently, I’ve been intentional about setting playdates with children and moms we love. We’ll meet at the pool, a park or in someone’s home and let our kids run and play together. These connections are like a deep exhale for everyone.
My summer uniform: I’ve been living in these chino shorts (in army green and pink), paired with a cute tank top. To rest my hair from heat styling, I’ve been wearing it wet with a claw clip. These sandals (in almond) have been my go-to shoes for summer for three years running. They can be dressed up or down, and they’re incredibly comfy. As for my boys, they’re choosing comfy athletic shorts and shirts, paired with blue slide sandals.
Flexibility: At the end of every Orange Theory class, the head coach at my studio says stretching is the “secret sauce” to longevity. What works for the body can also work for the mind. Perhaps the biggest thing that has helped me this summer has been a flexible mindset. I’ve never been great at adjusting plans but since summer started, I’ve had to shift gears to address family obligations, child injuries (everyone is okay, but we did have one urgent care visit) and house hunting. Letting go of plans and expectations is a good exercise in humility for someone like me. Maybe by the end of the summer, I’ll be more chill? Maybe. (Hey coach, I’m certainly stretching!) Anyway, I do not pretend to know what’s in store for our little flock amid life’s many uncertainties, but one day soon, I hope we’ll stretch our wings and soar home.
God of ice cream cones and sun-kissed cheeks, God of sticky fingers and pool-soaked bodies, You made summertime, with its warm breezes and ample sunshine.
You gave us wispy, white clouds for watching, Rolling tides for splashing, Sand for digging and building castles.
Be with me now as I parent my children through this season, As we, together, navigate Longer days and unstructured time.
You know that “School’s out for the summer” Contains multitudes — stress and sweetness, dread and relief. “What can we do?” and “Can I have another snack?” The answer varies, depending on the hour.
To support our kids through this season means Pool passes and park playdates, Sports camps and Vacation Bible School, Family travel and time unstructured.
Let us see the blank space on the calendar Not as a challenge to be feared, But as a gift of rest to be savored Moments imprinted on our hearts.
Let us revel in the joy of our children When they witness butterflies soaring Or dandelions blooming, When they take off on their bikes for the first time, And savor that first ripe blueberry.
Let us celebrate their beauty As they learn to swim and bike, As they get lost in their favorite book, As they slide, swing, and run at the park, As they dig in the dirt and help plant tomatoes.
And when the days grow long and tedious, And we cannot fathom grappling with one more tantrum, Let us draw on the support of our village — Neighbors, family, church members, friends Let us hear: “You’re doing great.”
Remind us you are near — in the cool waters of the creek, Juicy bites of watermelon, The surprise rainbow, The light of fireflies, A campfire’s glow, And the joy of watching our children grow. Amen.
Erin Strybis 