A Very Well-ish Holiday Season: Navigating Family Dynamics with Grace and Joy

The holidays are here, and with them come the anticipation of connection, the glow of festive lights, and yes, the occasional family dynamic that feels more like a tangled string of fairy lights than a harmonious carol. In this post, we’re diving into how to navigate family relationships during the holiday season with compassion, curiosity, and a little less pressure.

If you're finding this time of year both heartwarming and nerve-wracking, you're not alone. Let's explore how to approach family relationships with a little more ease this season.

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The Holiday Ideal vs. Reality

We often envision picture-perfect holidays: meaningful conversations, shared laughter, and moments of reconciliation. But reality can bring its own scenes—perhaps an awkward silence at dinner, a tense exchange, or a tradition gone awry. It’s important to remember that perfection is neither attainable nor necessary for connection.

The key? Letting go of rigid expectations. Instead of aiming for a movie-worthy holiday, focus on embracing the small, authentic moments of connection. Whether it’s a shared laugh during a holiday game or simply sitting together by the tree, these are the memories that truly matter.

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1. Let Go of Perfection

The pressure to create a flawless holiday experience can weigh heavily. From planning the "perfect" menu to finding the "ideal" gift, this season often comes with an invisible checklist.

This year, consider letting go of one expectation. Maybe it’s allowing someone to arrive late without stress or accepting that not everyone wants to join the Christmas jumper tradition. By releasing some control, you open the door to unexpected joy.

2. Shift from Reacting to Responding

Family gatherings can sometimes bring out old dynamics or unresolved tensions. When emotions run high, it’s easy to react. Instead, try pausing and practicing curiosity:

• What might this person be feeling right now?

• What value or need might be driving their behavior?

• How can I respond in a way that feels true to me?

By approaching situations with curiosity, you can create emotional distance and respond with intention rather than reactivity. Remember, this isn’t about excusing bad behavior but about navigating tricky moments with grace.

3. Cultivate Collective Care

The holidays shouldn’t rest solely on your shoulders. Consider inviting others to share the load, both emotionally and logistically:

• Assign tasks: Have someone bring a dessert or a favorite side dish.

• Share traditions: Invite others to take ownership of decorating or reading a holiday story.

• Create opportunities for connection: Conversation starters or collaborative activities like baking can foster shared joy without adding to your to-do list.

The holidays are about being together, not delivering a perfect experience.

4. Break Old Patterns

Holiday gatherings often pull us into roles we’ve outgrown. Whether you’re the peacemaker, the overachiever, or the one who withdraws, take a moment to notice these patterns. Then, experiment with small changes:

• If you tend to take on too much, practice saying no with kindness.

• If you usually retreat, try staying present, even if it’s just for a few extra moments.

Breaking old habits can create space for new, healthier ways of being together.

5. Find Joy in Presence, Not Perfection

In the midst of the busyness, it’s easy to lose sight of what the holidays are truly about: enjoying the people we care about. Joy doesn’t require grand gestures—it’s often found in the little things:

• Watching a holiday film together.

• Sharing a quiet moment by the tree.

• Laughing over a shared mishap.

This year, focus on what’s already here rather than striving for what’s missing. Ask yourself: “What’s one moment I’m looking forward to? How will I recognize joy when it appears?”

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Family dynamics during the holidays are rarely perfect, but they don’t have to be. This year, let go of the need to manage every moment or fix every relationship. Instead, lean into curiosity and allow for surprise. Let kindness—for yourself and others—guide your interactions.

And if the season feels overwhelming, step back, take a breath, and reconnect with the people or moments that bring you warmth. The holidays are about being in it together—not creating a perfect façade.

What Are Your Thoughts?

What’s one expectation you’re letting go of this holiday season? Or a tradition you’re excited to embrace? Join the conversation on Substack or Instagram. If this post resonated with you, consider sharing it with someone who might need a little extra support navigating their holiday season.

Wishing you a season filled with small joys, meaningful connections, and a little less stress.

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Give Yourself a Break: A Homeschool Mom’s Guide to Loving Your Kids and Lowering Your Expectations

It should be noted, before we dive in, that there are truly unlimited ways to “homeschool” or “unschool” or “free-school”, unlimited ways to follow curiosity and to experience passion-driven, joyful education. This is just one mom’s path, in the midst of a world-altering crisis and in no way speaks to the path of any other homeschool family or system. I am posting this not to say: give up, do nothing. But rather, to say: give in, keep loving. I hope this perspective helps you to give yourself a tiny break and encourages you to find your way through, in any way that works for you and your family. You are doing a good job. You’ve got this.

In the wake of the coronavirus outbreak, rapidly intensifying shelter-in-place orders and now-mandated home-based education for many, my friends keep asking me:

“How do you homeschool ALL the time?! I am going crazy!! What’s your secret?!”

To which I keep responding:

“You do realize that ‘homeschooling’ is much harder in the midst of a global pandemic when we are all panicked and locked indoors, right? Have you considered just doing a completely mediocre job??”

This, I realize now, is not what the good parents of the world want to hear. They want the real shit. The ins-and-outs of our day. They want to know how we know that our kids are learning and well-adjusted and challenged and engaged. We do not nervously laugh-cry when we are asked this. We deliver. 

So, here is everything I did today (which may be yesterday to you, or multiple days ago at this point..but does anyone even know what day of the week it is anymore? Let’s assume the construct of time will be dismantled soon.)

Ok…here we go.

It’s after 9am, but likely before 10. (Ok, it may also be after 10. I am not sure. These are trivial details now.)

We eat breakfast, pausing to be thankful that we have food and access to supermarkets (and that coffee is still allowed).

We flip through State Capital cards which happen to be strewn across the table and decide we could all really use a road trip around the continental US. (I feel like I’ve maybe never even heard of Frankfort, Kentucky before, but this must not be true?)

We make juice (convinced that ginger will save us). Kids cut fruits and veggies and craft and press their own concoctions. (This is probably science? Is “potions” a class?)

We eat chocolate because it’s delicious and this is self-care. (Also science.)

Stop everything! A package has arrived with massive blankets that look like tortillas. A photo shoot is necessitated!!

Now we’re dragging the blankets everywhere we go. (“No you can’t take it in the bathroom.” “Fine don’t let it fall in the toilet!” “No I don’t want to drag you around the house in it!” “Ok, last time! Wheeee!”)

The magic of the moment is waning. 

The 11-year-old and I escape to watch Watch Harry Potter 5 (younger child reads Captain Underpants with homebound-husband then watches the movie...I’m assuming they watch other things after this as their movie is shorter but I am enraptured and intermittently sobbing so really cannot be sure.)

There are cuddles for all.

Movies are done and a “we should really do something productive” feeling surfaces. (I try to quell it but cannot.)

We Watch a 6 minute math tutorial on Khan Academy before deciding...“meh.”

We Read Harry Potter 7. It is the last book in the series and we are 81% of the way through. (I know this because my Kindle app is actively torturing me. #crucio) I’m doling out pages slowly, a seasoned addict, fully aware of the withdrawals we are all about to experience. I am sob-reading now and it’s time for a change of pace. 

Still in HP-mode, we decide to watch Voldemort Make-Up Tutorials.

We do our own special effects make up. (Warning: hide your “good” make up.) (Pro tip: GO OUTSIDE)

Stop everything! Our large dog is licking our small dog and it is ADORABLE. He looks embarrassed by our laughter and we decide that he is a dog who holds himself to People Standards which is a very very complicated space to occupy. We feel for him but continue laughing. (The human experience is highly nuanced.) I think we are teaching empathy and humility but maybe we are just teaching that dogs are funny?

It’s feeling tired-y as it nears the “you’re either going to get ready for the day or you’re destined to eat an entire sleeve of Oreos at some point” threshold. (Getting ready still feels a bit too hard.)

We play charades. The kids choose things like “washing machine” and “pants”. (They are not good actors...but we do not let them in on this secret because there is still ample time to hone-in on their theatrical skills.)

We move on to play a game where you get to throw burritos at each other. (They are very good burrito throwers.)

It is lunch time. We eat at a table that some people would use for learning but that we mostly just use for eating (and burrito-related games). It used to be a nice table but is currently covered in paint...so I guess it is art now? (In a 900sf house with two dogs and two children it is very important to have functional pieces like this.)

While we’re at the table, we draw pictures of each other with our eyes closed. The 6-year-old cheats (but results suggest otherwise). The 11-year-old might be a prodigy.

We tour The Museum of Modern Art online and tell him we’ll love him even if he spends all of our (now) imaginary money on Art School. He assures us that YouTube tutorials will suffice. 

We celebrate the news with a Lizzo dance party - the regular, unedited version because the Kidz Bop version is garbage (and we will not settle for anything less than “100% that bitch”.) We answer follow-up questions about “DMs” and the lure of spending time with professional football players. This is probably social studies? Maybe health, too?

Stop everything! Our snake has shed! The aftermath must be examined!! Muffin looks like a brand new man and we are all here to encourage him to be his shiniest, most noodle-y self.

It is now time for second lunch. In these strange times I’ve decided that I should not be eating food without utilizing the large bottle of buffalo wing sauce that I panic-bought at Target three weeks ago. Second Lunch is spicy and reminiscent of something you might find at an Applebees. This is self-care, now. (Unprecedented times, indeed.)

Kids disappear with boxes and scissors and tape. I am asked to cut yarn but I DO NOT ASK why because I don’t want to impede on this newfound independence. Also, I do not want to help and asking questions makes me complicit in the outcome of this project. (Plus, I need to stare at my phone.)

One child emerges from the bedroom as a dancing cardboard robot. He has painted on abs and a butt made of aluminum foil. We laugh hysterically because these are “buns of steel” and their execution is magnificent.

Child two has designed a remote control car and is operating as, I don’t know what (?) I wasn’t totally listening but something like the engine, or some sort artificial intelligence system??? Either way, she hands us the remote and it is, quite literally, the only time we’ve been in control of anything all day. Her override system is powerful, though, and she ends up going rogue. It’s ok because she is almost instantly back in the bedroom with the boxes and the scissors and her brother and all is silent for 10 glorious minutes.

Stop everything. The creativity has run out in all of us.

Everyone is lobbying for more TV (but we’re saving that for later when we’ll need to fully ignore them and get some work done.) 

We lay around and listen to the Poetry Unbound podcast. (It’s possible that I am the only one listening but I mumble something about “osmosis” to myself and carry on.)

We pull out first grade spelling flash cards (despite the fact that no one here is in the first grade). We agree that English is nonsense and tentatively plan to learn Latin. The six-year-old assures us all that Spanish makes more sense and walks us through her app where she expertly clicks through pictures of corn and horses and airplanes as words the rest of us don’t understand come tumbling out of the phone.

It’s 5 now (maybe?) and we have determined that if we do not leave the house that we will literally suffocate. 

We’ve heard about a project where kids go around town leaving delightful little chalk rainbows in their wake, a sign of hope and connection in otherwise unstable, disconnected times. Our neighbors are elderly so the kids make the rainbows big and extra-bright outside of their homes. We tell them that other kids may have left rainbows behind, too, and to see if they can count them on their journey around the block. They find “zero” but draw “probably 55”. The adventure is a success.

On the way home the kids find an empty basketball court and design giant chalk homes complete with rooftop decks and “more than 2 bedrooms” (an obvious slight to us, but we let it go).

Back at our tiny home, it is time for a bath.

I need to do some work, which feels pressing, but will have to wait until we’re back on dry land. For now a half-hearted mermaid impression is all I can be expected to produce.

Ok, out of the water. Kids are hungry because they didn’t eat second lunch. (Feels like their problem...but, fine, we will feed them.)

We eat dinner. It is pasta again, because we don’t understand how to save our food stores (and pasta is delicious).

We queue ANOTHER movie.

I, mostly-unapologetically, ignore them for two hours so that I can write hard hitting pieces like this. Except for the nine times I pop in to say “Sorry guys, almost done! Are you having fun? (Am I a good enough mom?) Anyway, cool cool cool, back to business! I love you!” I wish the head of the journalism program I dropped out of in college could see me now. (Except, no, not really see me as I’m still in yesterday’s PJs…which are actually PJs from TWO yesterdays ago, but who’s counting?)

We throw burritos again.

It is feeling dark enough to sleep now. We implore the children to brush their teeth (a process that spans multiple lifetimes but somehow we do not visibly age), then there are the meltdowns (whoops we missed our window), then hugs, mini-dance party, cuddles, everyone in our bed, circle back to Harry Potter and accidentally read for two hours which means we all wake up late again tomorrow.

Finally, I look around and let my eyes fall upon their little faces…faces with remnant make-up and rosy cheeks, faces that have hurled forth insults and uttered accidental poetry. Maybe it’s some mixture of gratitude that they are healthy (and silent) and the coziness of our too-small bed, or maybe it’s the realization that, holy shit, this all goes by so quickly, but, somehow, amidst the pressure to do it all right (and the fear that I’m doing it all wrong) there is really no where else I’d rather be.

Are you in search of connection and support through this time? Head to our guide for inspiration or navigate from our home page: If Lost, Start Here

Tomato Education

“Our approach promotes peace and a sense of interconnection with nature, one another and our diverse world. All our services and workshops are created with the intention to strengthen a family’s ability to be happy and healthy.”

— Tomato Education

Located on a leafy high street in East Finchley, London, Tomato Education is a Montessori-based community space dedicated to enhancing the emotional wellbeing of infants and toddlers. We love it because everything about the concept — from the physical space, the curriculum and community inclusion — has been designed to make families feel connected in unique ways that support their children’s learning experience.

We had the opportunity to talk to Laura Alvarado and Beth Fordham, the founders of Tomato Education, who both believe in prioritizing emotional wellness over academic success. As seasoned educators, former students, and now parents of their own children, they shared the same adverse reactions to the lack of mental and emotional support in the traditional school system. As Laura told us: “I’ve tutored since I was 16 years old and I’m 32 now, so that’s 17 years of continuously working with children and parents. In that time, I’ve seen a decline in children’s mental health and I’ve seen the rise and stress in parents.”. 

But it wasn’t until 2017 — when Laura noticed in her neighborhood of Highgate, North London, that there were numerous holistic well-being establishments for adults but nothing for children — that the concept of Tomato Education was born. 

At Tomato Education everything is viewed as a learning opportunity. Laura has a deep belief that teaching is absorbed through a child’s caretakers, their environment and the wider community. Tomato Education holistically integrates all three. 

For starters, the environment of the learning studio has been carefully considered for how it affects the emotional well-being and development of children. The child-sized furniture, low shelves, and easy access to supplies and activities encourage children to foster a sense of independence and self-confidence when learning new skills. The muted colors, clean and organized wall spaces, natural lighting, and the presence of plants are all there to create a calm and soothing environment that allows children to focus and learn.  

The classes and group sessions that are offered encourage the participation of parents to support and observe their child as a way to immerse themselves in understanding the Montessori method. Parents and teachers are encouraged to not intervene in the classroom, but rather to allow the children self-discovery, and what Laura calls the space to enter into "flow states." This practice allows a parent to learn about their child in a whole new way.  It also offers an opportunity to extend some of the mindfulness principles Tomato Education teaches to their homes and beyond.

And Tomato Education is a place that welcomes a diverse range of families from all cultural and economic backgrounds. The studio space strives to be a place for parents to meet and build connections with others vested in the development of their children. Laura told us: "We arrange community bonding activities for our parents outside of all the child activities. We will try to do nights outs, going to a park or a coffee shop. Through those activities, parents become good friends and then they have birthday parties together with all their children so there's a lot of social events, which makes the community feel real."

Which benefits not just these children and their caregivers, but the community beyond. As our children learn so do we; their capacity for emotional intelligence allows us to stretch too.

To learn more about the programs and activities available at Tomato Education visit Website, Instagram and Facebook

Fox + Kit | Tumbling Towards Joy

“Coffeehaus + Playground”

When I first entered Fox + Kit, my two children in tow, I quickly placed a mental bet with myself: How long would it take us to (1) break something beautiful, or (2) be kicked out entirely?

The cafe felt, distinctly, like somewhere grown-ups like me weren’t allowed to enjoy anymore. Live plants, marble tables, swinging rattan chairs, gorgeous modern furniture in dusty pinks and deep blues. They must not know how sticky we are (?), must not know that I have a 3-week-old banana in my purse, just waiting to tumble out.

The baby-pink-clad barista (a detail I would be remiss to overlook) standing beside a bevy of drool-worthy pastries (another key fact) didn’t appear to share my hesitation. With a smile, he asked if we’d been in before, if he could get a coffee started for me, and if the kids would be heading into the play space. 

And, that’s when I saw it … a giant glass wall cordoning off what can safely be considered the most aesthetically-pleasing play area I’d ever seen. Custom woodwork, faux-grass, plush stones, stackable cushions, cozy corners and caves, space for reading and running and dress-up (and whatever other weird things kids do when they are loosely-supervised). We were awestruck, our feet moving forward before our brains could catch up.

So, I stumbled through my coffee order and we continued toward the play space. “We’ll put it in a tumbler for you, so you don’t have to worry about spills in there,” they called after me. I didn’t know exactly what a tumbler was, and the kind, pink barista clearly didn’t know that I’d fully resigned myself to any discomfort associated with spilling things in public (but I was very excited for a special cup). I wanted to drop into my most gravelly voice and tell him, “You don’t know the things I’ve seen…” but I already had the rotten banana to deal with, so I thought it best not to press my luck. (It was the kid’s job to get us kicked out, after all. Wouldn’t want to steal their glory.)

Entering the play space was like entering another world; a world where quality design meets functionality, a world where the color palette doesn’t send your eyes darting back and forth seeking reprieve, a world where kids slide happily down hills with nothing more than pirate hats, books and one another to entertain them. Miraculously, my kids (ages 5 and 10) were both instantly hooked. I grabbed my coffee (a cool, copper tumbler, with a spill-proof lid that I still can’t quite understand the dynamics of), gave them kisses, told them I’d be in the cafe, then left. 

Walking back in to the cafe felt illegal. 

Can I sit here? Are these swinging chairs for the VIPs? When my kids come running out, loudly-insisting that I come see their half-heartedly executed tumbles, is that when the jig is up? When does the shame part start???

But…it never came.

The kids played, ran in and out, insisted that I meet their new friends and watch their questionable gymnastics feats, took a short break for croissants and chocolate milk (their little mini-tumblers even cuter than mine)…and they played, and I worked (and breathed, and relished in the beauty of the space). 

The novelty of this might be lost on someone who hasn’t spent the better part of a decade feeling excluded from the spaces they once found comfort and solace in. And, of course, no one is really *actively* telling you that you can’t enjoy the spaces you once occupied (that would be discrimination) but there is certainly an air of “your crying baby is ***really*** fucking up the vibe and if you don’t leave on your own volition, we might be forced to hipster-stare you into oblivion.” Sometimes just because you’re “allowed” to be somewhere, doesn’t mean you’re welcome there.

When husband and wife designers David and Kyoko Westberg set out to create a space for parents and children, they considered every detail, most notably, a way to make guests feel comfortable, content and accepted for what they are: very nice people (with very loud smaller people, in tow) who all just want some good coffee and yummy snacks.

At Fox and Kit, we’ve found a space that makes us feel both welcome and at ease, even productive. (No one even mentioned the banana.)

Website www.foxandkit.com / Facebook @foxandkitmarin / Instagram @foxandkitcafe

The Bear Trail

“Love mud. Love life.”

We know that being in nature does good things for us like making us less stressed and more balanced in our everyday lives. The Bear Trail takes this idea and runs with it by giving you full nature immersion in the up-to-your-knees/waist/neck mud version. This is an outdoor adventure assault course for adults and kids that starts with things to scramble over and ends in the showers!

We got lucky, in a way. We went at the tail-end of a heatwave, so those deep pools of mud were still there but maybe not as abundant as at other times of the year. You can decide how much you are all in so to speak. You get to take the course at its own pace, and choose the risks that you are willing to take. If you’ve brought flip-flops (don’t) and are feeling kind of quesy about mushy wetness you can probably half-arse a few of the obstacles.

Regardless of your timidity level around dirt, its joyful scrambling, jumping, zip-lining, balancing, bouncing and climbing your way around the 28 obstacles. There’s no judgement if you don’t get anything right, actually no tuition to even tell you that. Adults are given as much credibility for being here as kids, there’s no feeling stupid for wanting to do what your 9 year old is doing. Just an open field to play in for everyone. As they say here, “Remember, mud washes off… experiences stay forever!”

Website: thebeartrail.co.uk / Facebook @thebeartrail / Twitter @trail_bear