Farewell, 2025! Or fare however—many folks will not be sorry to see 2025 go. I penned my 25 for 2025 last year, as has become my tradition, and I over again promised early bedtimes and daily walks. Which I could have foreseen would happen inconsistently, but much of 2025 was somewhat unexpected.
I was aiming to take a trip with my romance book club, take clothes to be altered by a tailor, and finally, finally send a curated box of E & M’s most promising artwork to be preserved for posterity by Artkive. I didn’t do any of that. I left the job that I planned to retire from in 20 years. I found a new job at UVA and went to my first out of town conference. Then I took a solo trip to Kansas City and spoke at a conference there, too.
2025 battered the country in ways that have been well documented but are still shocking to recall. I cannot catalog that here. Let it suffice to say that we spoke with a Portuguese lawyer about obtaining a golden visa this year. We did obtain one—it was outlandishly expensive, we do not speak Portuguese, and Portuguese immigration law shifted disadvantageously. But even having that conversation was not on my bingo card! Nitin procured a Canadian work visa instead. So the ground shifted under our feet this year, and will likely continue to.
One snag that I caught on was the question of how you know when to abandon your life and flee the country. Your dermatologist, dentist, and yard guys, the college friends that live nearby, the families you know through soccer and your neighbors, the village finally born of two decades of adult life in the same general geographic area. These seem like mundane considerations when I am reading historical fiction set in 1930s Germany. You absolute nitwits, celebrating Nana’s birthday in Munich in 1938 instead of leaving for Argentina like the neighbors.
So this was a year of dark questions. Can we live in a country where the president transparently demands baseless prosecution of his political enemies? Yes. Can we stay in a place where ICE detains people for speaking Spanish and working low wage jobs? Where ICE slams protesters’ heads into the ground? Apparently. Can we live in the capital city of a country whose government is recklessly purging its civil servants? Yes, but must find a new gig.
I wrote above that I cannot catalog the assaults on our democracy that occurred this year. And this is literally true. I could not, with a gun to temple. I have paused several times to refresh my memory of the year’s events via AI. I cannot easily wrap my arms around a thousand punctures to our fragile way of life. This is embarrassing but in my defense, the Democratic party has also abjectly failed to present a clear and specific narrative on what is happening and why we should be scrambling like our pants are on fire.
We need to be able to do that, in a way that captures the attention and concern of a 40 something middle class dad in Michigan who considers himself an independent. Michigan dad dislikes Trump’s rude jokes, worries about the economy, and doesn’t think “boys” belong in girls’ bathrooms. Michigan dad thinks DEI went too far and wishes the country could be as prosperous as it felt when he was growing up. He does not read The Atlantic and he did not listen to the audio version of Ezra Klein’s abundance and has given very little thought to the implications of gerrymandering, removal of civil service protections for public servants, and rapid extension of executive powers. The alarm bells are not ringing outside the bubble.
Whoops. And here you thought you would be reading about ballet, hockey, and growth spurts. Ordinary life also happened this year, against a backdrop of wide-eyed adults purchasing birthday cakes, coaching soccer, and muttering about rearranging chairs on the deck of the Titanic. That undercurrent of uncertainty and fear may have shaded our daily lives—but this is still the only year in which Myles finished kindergarten, Ziggy spend six weeks in shock collar purgatory in North Carolina, and Ellie had a neon, disco, Taylor Swift karaoke sleepunder to celebrate her ninth birthday.
I last wrote in August, and since then, a new school year began. Myles is in Ms. Boyle’s first grade class and has been praised as an outstanding role model for fellow students. Ms. Boyles is a sweet twenty something newly minted teacher from Oregon—she is pretty and blond and Myles is intent on being in her favor. I encountered Myles at school one day while I was updating a bulletin board in the hallway and after a quick hug, Myles scurried away, advising me that he had promised Ms. Boyles that he would go to the bathroom and come straight back. When I pick Myles up from extended day, he has frequently left his enormous blue parka in his locker (Nitin has a matching gold parka, they are both from Target) so that we must go by Ms. Boyle’s classroom to retrieve it. He pokes his head in to check if she is still at school every time.
Myles is precocious, enthusiastic, and so very full of sound! He does fencing and archery, plays three kinds of hockey, and played both soccer and flag football this fall. Nitin coached soccer and another Dad coached flag football. The boys are improving their skills in both sports—big overlap between the two teams—and continue to work towards coping with the big feelings that sports can inspire. Myles is comparatively unflappable. He is confident in all settings—often for very good reason and occasionally for no reason at all. He makes friends easily and seems particularly happy to play with the girls—so many of whom seem to have a soft spot for him. He remains a very chatty, expressive, and affectionate guy. And I still call him my little guy, though he has asked that I not kiss him in school, which is completely fair. But I am smitten with him. One exception to his confidence is the water. Like Nitin, he fears swimming and deep water, and we’ve struggled to shake that fear loose. But generally I would say that this insatiably curious guy, who is obsessed with maps, airplanes, and ancient civilizations, is doing quite well.
And our Ellie began third grade in August. Which seems so advanced and mature. I know that my sweet little girl who called blueberries booboo babies is growing into a young woman. She is a graceful and focused ice skater, dedicating herself to learning new tricks on the ice. She also took ballet this fall and seemed to have a natural talent, but she prefers dancing on ice, so she will drop dancing in the new year. She swims like a fish and has been taking lessons through stroke school. She is not always enthusiastic before jumping in the pool, but I love seeing her confidence after a long swim. She still excels at art and also enjoys writing her own stories and reading graphic novels. Her closest friends remain G&G, neither of whom is in her class this year. A new friend, A, is in her class, but the friendship has been slower to warm. The beginning of this year has felt a bit bumpy at times for Ellie. She is unenthusiastic about third grade but has no specific complaints. The work is more difficult, but the challenges do not come near exceeding her abilities. She misses G&G, but does not mind the girls in her class. She has no strong feelings about her teachers. She is not bullied. She started to settle in after Halloween and then caught a stomach bug around her birthday, which was followed by twin flares of IBS and anxiety, culminating in school refusal before winter break. We arranged for an evaluation of Ellie for ADHD and whatever else may be contributing to dislike of school in the same time period, coincidentally. We will have those results soon, but I suspect that the results will be that Ellie is mostly anxious, perhaps with some inattentive ADHD. The real question is how best to support this thoughtful, funny, inquisitive soul who is singularly herself and could never be captured by a collection of labels. How do I make space for the person she is and the person she is becoming? How do I slow down and quiet my own mind enough to see her clearly?
We are in Florida this week and I have loved the opportunity to spend time as a family, free of many of our ordinary constraints. So much of what makes parenting difficult is that it does not happen in a vacuum. I joined the field trip to the vegetable farm even though I had period cramps. I had to drop from a meeting at work to pick up Ellie from school. Myles needed my undivided attention at the end of the day when a long work day had already fried every last brain cell. I talked to a family member in distress for an hour on the phone while the kids grew increasingly loud in their bickering—I should have intervened earlier but struggled to be present for everyone at the same time.
My word for 2026 is less. I made two lists for 2025—25 goals for me 25 for our family. The family list was littered with local places to go on hikes that were never made it to. The me list held about 13 daily resolutions. I accidentally flooded my own zone, which I have a talent for, and accomplished little of what I set out to do, which I tolerate surprisingly well.
If I wrote the list now, I’d write—trip to Savannah. New job. Two business trips. More public speaking! Evaluation for Ellie. Made at least three new friends. Solo trip to Chicago. Solo trip to KC. Bone density scan. Asheville trip. Meet a Supreme Court Justice. Girls weekend in hot springs.
I am still working on the list for 2026. But I am realizing that if you cannot make choices, you have no priorities. You will accomplish nothing but paralysis if you to do list is 65 items long. There is a reason that people do not have FIFTY New Year’s resolutions. Other good words for 2026 could be slow, gentle, intentional, choose. But I’m choosing less. Fewer and more intentional goals. Planning to pause.
This was less of a family post, I suppose, and more of an exercise in watching me grapple with the year that was. In my defense, it was a doozy. But so as not to leave gaping holes in the family update, Nitin appears to be doing just fine. He ran a great marathon in October. His legs cramped in the last few miles, but he still ran an impressive race and sustained no injuries. He received a bird feeder with a camera from Shopify for Christmas and seems enamored with it. I think that he will excel at retirement one day, as a person who authentically enjoys his many hobbies. He visited Mexico City with my brother Dylan in October and came back with a penchant for making delicious Mexican hot chocolate. He dresses in athleisure 95 percent of the time, primarily Vuori and Lululemon, and enjoys seeking sartorial advice from his AI for the remaining 5 percent of his outfits. He enjoys watching dystopian shows immediately before bed, drinking meticulously prepared coffee, and labradoodle cuddles. He loved taking the kids on mystery trips to NYC (Ellie) and Colorado (Myles) this year.
The dogs are about the same as they have been. Zoe is a salty old girl who delights in barking at squirrels and delivery people. She’s not upset or territorial. She’s simply extremely bored. Ziggy is a gentle giant who loves to sit in our laps and continues to terribly misread social situations. One major improvement in the dogs’ lives has been the addition of Monday and Friday walks from a very friendly, and fortunately strong, adult man who owns a business called the Dog Buddha. I have no particular spiritual or religious leanings, but the dogs heartily endorse his vibes, and dogs are an excellent judge of these things.
This is an exceedingly long post—the rest of the family watched the entirety of Home Alone II - Lost in New York while I swipe typed this on my phone. I abstained because I already sat through the entirety of the 2017 animated film Ferdinand last night, because I dislike watching Christmas movies after Christmas, because Trump has a cameo in that movie, and because I can never separate the child actor Macaulay Culkin from his later struggles with drugs and strange relationship with Michael Jackson.
Onward, to the new year. It is still an extraordinary thing just to be alive on this one habitable rock in our solar system at this precise moment in time, when airplanes, antibiotics, and electricity have been invented and the ice caps have not yet fully melted.
Quotes
Ellie, while luging on Mont Treblant: “I will remember this anxiety for the rest of my life.” But then she rode by herself!
Ellie, in anger, called me a “soggy pickle.”
“Why is everything about bugs today?” Ellie, after tick was removed from her scalp and a bee sting Nitin in his throat while running
“You’re favoring yourself in the bathroom.” Myles, angrily, with no explanation or context
Myles: “Can there be a wedding so I can be a ringmaster?”
N explains that weddings don’t have ringmasters.
Myles: “Okay then can I be a groomer instead?”
Myles: “You’re not old! You’re only 40! Have you even gone through puberty?” To me after I commented that I was too old for something.
M: What does the reproductive system do?
B: It helps you reproduce. That means creating new people.
M: Like when the penis and the vagina connect?
B: Yes. Who told you about that?
M: Ellie.
B: OK. I’m always happy to answer any questions, but remember not to tell your friends, because every family handles these questions differently.
M: OK. (Moment passes) Can I tell them about the respiratory system?
