Next Chapter

Posted on by Lauren

Lately, I’ve experienced a growing sense of dissatisfaction. 

In time, I’ve come to realize it’s directly related to the challenges associated with raising children.

I’ve spent the past 15 years pouring into my daughters. 

Emmett and I filled out that initial diaper/feeding chart with such detail, left breast/right breast xx number of minutes, our pediatrician laughed out loud when we proudly handed it over at Aurora’s first office visit. 

We attended over 70 hours of parenting and childbirth classes. We weren’t just going to be parents. We were going to be amazing parents. 

Fast forward fifteen years and four children. I feel like, somehow, in my intention to get it all right, I’ve gotten it all wrong. 

My mom worked and traveled, missing a lot of my childhood along the way. I vowed to do it differently so I quit my job and stayed home- signing up for every library, music and mommy-and-me art class available. I had memberships to the zoo, aquarium and museum and took our girls regularly. I faithfully joined a stroller strides exercise class so that not only could I remain healthy, but I could do it with my children, modeling for them what it means to take care of yourself, while still mothering. 

I created “The Gift of Time” for my girls. Handwriting 48 envelopes, one for each month for each girl with an activity they could choose to do with just mom or dad, no sisters to ensure they felt seen and appreciated as an individual. 

I didn’t just throw birthday parties- I threw over-the-top themed birthday parties with creative games and decor. I took them on special trips out of town- just one-on-one with mom to spend quality time and create lasting memories. 

And I LOVED it. I loved planning those parties and trips and spending time in class with them. I shared with them my love of reading and writing, nature and adventure, reveling in the wonder of it all. 

And yet, here I am. They are 8, 10, 12 and 14 and the magic of parenting is dissipating. 

I’ve come to the awful realization that in my attempt to heal myself, I poured into my children. 

And guess what? 

Spoiler alert: they are human. 

They are not just some extension of me and Emmett but a whole new individual with their own strengths, weaknesses, and ideas. 

When they talk back to me, I’m so hurt and offended. All I see is the little girl whose hand I held as we browsed books along the library shelves. Meanwhile, they are just testing boundaries and setting their own.

They don’t remember the mommy-and-me art classes or hours spent in the swing as my arm nearly fell off from pushing. They are fully living in the here and now with very minimal ability to reflect on and appreciate the idyllic childhood Emmett and I have provided them.

I now recognize that although it’s still my responsibility to nurture and care for these beautiful children, it’s essential that I not neglect nurture and care for myself. 

I do believe that each and every human is blessed with unique, God-given gifts. It’s our job to tap into those gifts and share them with the world. 

And while I think each of my daughters is spectacular in their own, amazing way, I know that is not my only contribution to the greater world (nor would they ever want the weight of that expectation!). 

My girls are growing. 

The reality is, they don’t need me like they used to. 

And before our nest empties, I need to take the time to figure out what’s next for me and for us, as a couple. 

Of course, that takes thought and time that I do not readily have available (going on 27 interruptions as I write this article). 

But perhaps the simple act of awareness is a start. 

It’s the knowing that there’s more to this story. 

New Leaf Parenting. 

Every day is a fresh start. 

Here’s to the next chapter. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

40s

Posted on by Lauren

Your 40s are weird, man. 

Everyone is busy and what consumes each person is different. 

Some of your friends are juggling working full time with raising a family while others are working part time while also caring for their ailing parents. Mix and match, as you will. 

The friends your kids had in elementary school may no longer still be their friends in middle or high school so the friendships you forged with the parents isn’t as easily accessible as it used to be. 

All the while your coping with an identity crisis. Who am I outside of parenthood? Do I still identify with the person I was before? If not, how have I changed and where does that put me now?

Moreover, how do I even make new friends or properly maintain the ones I’ve had for years?

Where do I want to go and how do I get there?

Is who I am becoming the person I am most proud to be? If not, how to pivot?

I find myself constantly reassessing my current state, challenging myself to evaluate whether I’m on the right path. 

What I do know for sure is the importance of authenticity, particularly in the face of an ever growing artificial world. 

I’m in this weird grey area (which I always hate) but I’ve been here before and know that it’s simply a temporary transition space for what’s next. 

I’m approaching the 10th anniversary of this New Leaf Parenting blog so I guess I’ll continue to do what I’ve always done to process: I write. 

Audacity

Posted on by Lauren

It’s finally sinking in. 

My first born is off to high school tomorrow. 

It seemed so far away until it was just around the corner. 

I recognize that Emmett and I are approaching the phase of parenting where everything suddenly speeds up. She’s home and then she’s gone. 

And we’re left wondering, did we treasure it enough?

Did we pause and let it soak through our soul?

Is she going to be ok? Is she ready? Did we parent her well?

I’m overcome with emotion because I know the answers are YES. 

She, nor any of us, may ever feel ready but she’s going to be ok (come what may) because Aurora is a child of great faith. 

I’m the public school teacher but my first born has taught me more than I may have ever taught my students. 

She has humbled me and delighted me. She has made me laugh and cry. But more than anything she has blown me away with her audacity. 

As the first born, she’s had the unfortunate task of paving the way for her sisters. First to grapple with social norms, bus rides and mature friendships. First for us to parent through cell phones, sleepovers and curfews. Onward she trudged through middle school, despite longing for the comfort of her teachers in elementary. And when her three sisters had gymnastics in common, Aurora found her place in volleyball. 

Last year, she picked up the acoustic guitar and taught herself dozens of popular songs, spending hours playing and singing. She joined chorus at school and when the track music suddenly stopped during her first solo on stage in front of hundreds, she laughed and carried on, finishing strong. 

Most impressively, Aurora has brought our family to faith. 

For years, Aurora went to church with neighbors who picked her up on their way. Alone, she showed up, joining the youth group, slowly but surely finding her footing. Emmett and I witnessed this beautiful child blossom into a confident young teen. Her joy was infectious. Her songs became worship.

After a while, we started to wonder what this church was all about. How had it taken such a hold of our child?

So we started to attend. Cautiously, skeptically toes in the water we’re finding our way back to church with our first born to thank. 

Her fearlessness. Her boldness. Her audacity to pave the way is how I know she will be ok. 

My talented, intelligent, gorgeous first born is off to high school tomorrow and while it feels monumental, I have nothing but great faith in her.

Camille Vaughan Photography 2016

Tough Love

Posted on by Lauren

“This is MY school. Let ME handle it.” My fourteen year-old screamed.

And hey, she isn’t wrong. It is HER education. And there’s nothing more that I want than to let her take the wheel. But that doesn’t mean that when the train starts to veer off the tracks, I’m not going to hop in and remind her of the course ahead. 

It’s the end of the school year- the end of middle school for our oldest. She’s drained and done. Unfortunately for her, there’s still a solid week of school left, so even though she’s mentally checked out, the reality is, she’s still on the clock. 

We are not a Straight A household. Some might argue we are selling our kids short by not setting the bar extremely high but Emmett and I highly value quality of life. We do not want our kids stressing over getting a 97. Instead, we expect a strong work ethic, core values of honesty and kindness and an adventurous spirit that loves to have fun. 

When assignments are missing for no good reason other than “I didn’t feel like it” or “It’s stupid”, privileges like cell phones magically start going missing, too. This is not fun. It’s not fun for us and it’s surely not fun for our daughter. But I feel it’s the most important lesson we can teach our kids. 

Here’s the bar. If you miss it, try again. If you still miss it, give it another go- your privileges will be waiting. 

As a teacher, I see an epidemic of kids who do not know how to handle disappointment or failure. Today’s parents want to spare their children the tough love they were given. As a result, our kids are coddled. They fail to launch because what’s the incentive when they’ve got food, shelter and electronics for free?

I’m saying: “Not in my house.” Here’s the bar. It’s not set to an impossible level. But it’s there and I do expect you to meet it, if you want to retain your privileges (which, by the way, our lives are already privileged compared to the masses). 

Call me mean. Call me strict. I call it Love. I love you so much, I’m not going to let you give up. 

It’s tough, but so are you, my darling. 

Tough love. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Cherish

Posted on by Lauren

This image from last night is a perfect representation of parenthood. 

After months of cleaning out, painting and prepping, we moved all four girls’ belongings to the center of the house in anticipation of the new carpet installed this past Wednesday. All four girls switched rooms, with Aurora moving to the room over the garage leaving Lizzie and Emma to finally have their own bedroom, for the very first time. 

My house looks like the aftermath of a bomb detonation. The girls have been busy organizing and designing their new spaces to reflect their current style and interests. Aurora’s walls are full of friends, Harper’s full of art, and Lizzie and Emma’s full of horses. 

Foolishly, Emmett and I thought we would finally have our primary bedroom to ourselves. Thanks to disagreements over night lights and sleep sounds, Lizzie has occupied a crib mattress on the floor of our bedroom since February. “Finally!” We thought. Finally, the littles will have their own space. 

Instead, we are reminded that children are our greatest teachers. You’ve got a plan. They do not care. 

But just look at them. Look at my beautiful girls snuggled up on the floor right next to me. After tucking Aurora in on the other side of the house Wednesday, it felt like she already had one foot out the door. “It goes so fast.” They say. Perhaps my littles are here to humble me, to slow it down. To cherish these days. 

Untethered

Posted on by Lauren

I walked out of the house with two different earrings in today. 

And it wasn’t because I was rushing or frazzled trying to get kids out of the door to activities. 

Instead, it is telling evidence of my current, untethered existence. 

This unfamiliar place of a grieving daughter and yet, still a mother. 

How am I expected to grieve when there’s cheer and gymnastics practice at 5 and 6? Horse riding and volleyball at 5:30?

How does one grieve between doctor’s appointments and physical therapy? 

How does one keep house and prepare for the Easter Bunny’s arrival?

By absentmindedly fitting mismatched earrings. 

By crying at stop lights or whenever someone looks me in the eye and asks, “How are you?”

By comforting my children and carrying on like mothers do. 

Cheer

Posted on by Lauren

This image is worth a thousand words to me. 

I volunteered to take a video of Harper’s teammate, for her mom so that she could focus on watching her daughter rather than recording.

I also snapped some photographs during the video and captured this image of my daughter positively beaming at her friend. 

They aren’t just teammates, but also competitors in the same age bracket. 

Both of these girls are new to Excalibur gym this year and moved from the Xcel program to Level 6. It’s a massive jump. They were both extremely behind the rest of their practice group when they joined last summer and have pushed themselves for 16 hours a week to catch up. 

It’s not easy. On top of the grueling practice, Harper is going from winning Gold medals at every meet last year to feeling thankful, this year, to leave with any medal hanging around her neck. 

But just look at her. Look at my girl. 

Look at my girl radiating sunshine to her top competitor, who would go on to beat Harper in every event at this meet. 

Look at my girl supporting her friend, despite likely hurting inside to know she’s been bested, yet again.

As a mom and a teacher and former coach myself, I could not be prouder to call her my daughter. 

Not only does she push herself for a sport she positively adores, but she also finds it within herself to support even her fiercest competitors. 

Harper, you may not win every event or any event this year, but you have won my enduring respect and awe. 

And believe me when I say, I will cheer for you, always. Whether you are up or down, I will cheer for you, my darling girl. 

Protect Your Peace

Posted on by Lauren

Protect Your Peace. 

I found myself texting this to a friend recently, offering the same advice I repeat to myself. 

2026 is all about Protecting My Peace. 

Toxic people and their drama? Distanced from. 

Friends and relationships who are bright lights and encourage my own light to shine brighter? Coveted. 

Books I’m not enjoying? Discard pile. There’s no consequence for not finishing other than protecting my precious time and peace of mind. 

2026 is about diving into activities and events I enjoy with the people that bring out the best in me. 

Full stop. 

Our time is not promised. 

So protect your peace.

18 Months

Posted on by Lauren

Today marks 18 months of sobriety for me.

It’s a day like any other because I truly do not think about alcohol anymore.

The hardest part of getting sober was admitting to myself that I had a problem. I had been hiding for so long, I was terrified to look into the mirror.

Once I admitted I had a problem and made the decision to stop allowing alcohol to poison my life, the rest was easy.

My initial greatest concerns were:

  1. Would I be able to write anymore, without alcohol loosening my filters?
  2. Would I be able to enjoy socializing without alcohol?
  3. Would I be tempted by alcohol, while others openly drank in front of me?

The answers to these questions are

  1. Yes. I’m prouder of my writing now than then.
  2. Yes. There are so many incredible options such as N.A. Blue Moon and Mingle cocktails. Honestly, I rarely drink them and am good with 1 maybe 2 of them. The lack of alcohol removes the need to drink more.
  3. Not at all. My relationship with alcohol is separate from anyone else’s. My experience is not theirs. I simply do not want it. I don’t want to return to where I was. It doesn’t bother me one bit when others drink in front of me.

I share my experience not because I feel the need to keep myself accountable. I don’t need that kind of pressure in my life.

Instead, I share because the brave soul, Ryan Boyce, shared his sober testimony and it changed my life. If my share inspires you to change yours, then it’s worth recognizing this milestone.

The holidays can be equally full of magic and heartache.

Remember this: you are not alone. There is light.

 And my hand is right here to grab, if you need it.

Cheers, everyone and thanks for the support and love along the way.

I send it right back to you.

See

Posted on by Lauren

“Want me to come in with you?” I asked, reassuringly. 

A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth. 

“No, mom. I got it.”

I watched from the driver’s seat as she walked into the store, turning one last time to look at me.

I settled into my seat, head against the headrest and smiled. 

This was it. My first baby is growing up, reassuring me along the way that I’ve done my job. I’ve walked beside her, leading by example, showing her the ropes of life. 

And now, she’s confident enough to take a stab at it on her own, knowing full-well I’m nearby if needed. 

There’s no one at the counter.

There never is. Just find someone who works there and ask them.

I can’t find anyone. Can you come in? . . .wait, nvm. 

She walked back through those double doors, holding the bag up to prove her mission had been successful. 

“See?” She said, climbing back into the passenger’s seat. 

Yes, my darling. 

I see you. 

And I couldn’t be prouder.