Farewell, 2025

 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?

Halfway Through 2025!

 Well hello again. I breezed right by the midpoint of 2025. This year has held a few distracting circumstances! We are just shy of three months from the anniversary of the 2024 election, which is the day that I count from. That also means that we may elect a new Virginia governor in just three months, which is far more relevant to my life now than I might have expected last November. The time is flying by but I never quite get accustomed to are by the seat of my pants.

I began my position at UVA. There have been a few bumps and I have navigated them with uncharacteristic boldness. Hello, 40! I enjoy the research and writing tremendously. There is no better antidote, for me, to the uncontrolled chaos in the world than the opportunity to sit in quiet and try to at least make sense of one small piece. I enjoy the opportunity to think outside the bounds of federal red tape about how to improve access to education. I even enjoy the new muscles this position has required me to grow., outside my comfort zone, where all the most important ground is broken. I’m grateful. To land somewhere that I can do meaningful work, grow professionally, and continue to center my family in my life. Also grateful for Nitin’s support and the freedom to take the large paycut that this position required. I know so many people who are not in that boat.

As for Nitin—I am scrambling the order of updates this quarter—he has entered uncharted territory by remaining at Shopify for longer than he has worked anywhere else. I hear his business voice wafting to my second floor office during meetings. It seems from my vantage point that he is excellent at his job and that he generally enjoys the work, demanding though it is. He spends weekends shuttling the kids from hockey to swimming to soccer to ice skating, etcetera, and will coach Myles’s Blue Dragons soccer team again in the fall. He will try to run the Chicago marathon again in October, with fingers crossed for no injuries this year. He was chagrined not to travel to Europe this summer—give a mouse a cookie… But is already planning a trip to Italy and France next summer, details to be determined. 

Travels this summer included, most significantly, a visit to Chicago, where we saw Brendan for the first time in a couple of years. That visit really filled my heart. Shoulder rides for Myles, Ellie’s first American Girl doll, fireworks on the parking garage, flaming cheese, pastries, bagels, the Willis tower, an architecture boat tour, mini golf, Dave’s rock shop, and tromping around downtown Chicago. Nitin and Myles embarked on a “mystery trip” to Colorado last weekend, which was, by all accounts, a huge hit! We are driving now to Princeton for a quick 36 hour visit with Shefali and Emma—hence the long stretch in the car and my journal entry. 

I have come to relish these long stretches of time, as sure a sign of aging as the frown lines I reluctantly Botox. Which is a tangent, I recognize, and raises the opportunity for me catalog my justifications, which are as follows. I do not really have incredibly compelling reasons for shooting a neurotoxin into my face. I was satisfied that the treatment is safe and effective. Certainly I will still age and no more slowly, but not having to watch in real time seemed worthwhile. I am vain but also a pragmatist. The needles work better than the fancy creams. 

But I was explaining my love of long drives. To clarify, I enjoy being the passenger. The commute to Charlottesville has clarified that driving tweaks my sciatic nerve. The kids do not share my enthusiasm. Ominously, Ellie began inquiring about the length of the drive 8 minutes into our 4+ hour drive. Two hours and 58 minutes remained when Myles moaned that we were still two hours away. Wisely, I think, no one corrected him. 

I vaguely remember the long drives of my childhood—guessing games, counted cars, Raffi singalongs, sweaty backseat naps, reading until we were nauseous and then giving up. Time passes differently, painfully slowly, for children. The stretch between Thanksgiving and Christmas is unbearable to a seven year old marking up the Toys R Us catalog with black pen. Not so for her harried mother, scrounging minutes to shop, wrap, bake, and otherwise laboriously manufacture the magic of childhood. 

Christmas for me is four hours to catch up on emails, texts, and the many articles that fill browser tabs on my phone. The holiday of creating a comprehensive list of everything I absolutely must do and a few things that I’d really like to. I relish the slowness of roadtrip hours at 40. Also the closeness of hurtling together in this metal pod. I secretly suspect that our dogs love roadtrips for the same reason. The may not relish being packed like sardines into the back with the suitcases but they are delighted by that feeling of belonging that is born of traveling with the pack. 

Speaking of the pack, I certainly have inverted the order of updates in this missive. Apologies. Ellie finished second grade in June, marking her halfway point at Glebe. I am astonished to have a third grader in our midst and grateful that Glebe does not heap on academic pressure in elementary school. There is already a rich tapestry of social complexities to navigate, which will be no less true in middle school, of course. She knows her own mind. She loves to skate and recently asked to take ballet again, to improve her skating. She is not interested in soccer or theater, as some of her friends are. She told me recently, arriving for stroke school one Saturday morning, that she was glad that we insisted that she learned to swim and enjoys it now. She quit piano, not unpredictably. But she loves learning French with her new French tutor. She seems more comfortable in her skin than even a year ago. She still sleeps by my side of the bed and I plan to let that sleeping dog lie. She still prefers graphic novels to books. I press on chapter books occasionally, but mostly I procure a broad senecio’s of graphic novels from the library and see which ones she digs into. She has been mastering her multiplication tables for the last few weeks. She also began learning to type and has penned numerous of her own graphic novels. I haven’t shared yet the unlikelihood that she will strike it rich as an author. I like her moxy. She is wonderful company, still an old soul, loving, with a wry sense of humor. What a gift, honestly. She’s a lovely human. 

It has been a joy to watch our little guy unfold. Kindergarten was a great year for him. His kindergarten teacher has been teaching for nearly forty years. She is gentle but firm, organized, insightful, kind, and steady. Myles befriended dozens of children in the classroom, on the playground and soccer field, at extended day and the bus stop. Wherever he goes, Myles finds friends that he hasn’t met yet. He is curious, enthusiastic, and generally game for whatever is next. He has blossomed into the type of reader who has to be pried from whatever he is reading at bedtime. Like Ellie, he is inquisitive, intelligent, and bright. Myles also possesses almost unbounded confidence, likely to his benefit. He is also, of course, a sweet and silly boy whose alter ego is a puppy named Mylesy roof roof and who founded a “roofy” club that he allows his sister to join when she is in his good graces. He jumps from swimming to hockey to skating to birthday parties on the weekends with nary a complaint. He likes to be in motion. 

Myles recently swallowed a penny. I didn’t believe that he had done it for several minutes, reasoning that even as an adult, I was unsure that I could swallow a penny. And yet he did. Ellie saw the penny.  Myles initially claimed that she had compelled him to swallow the penny, which was obviously untrue. Ellie was ashen and panicked when she came to realize that he had swallowed the penny. As was I. Nitin remained calm and consulted AI. I confirmed with the after hours pediatrician that there was nothing to be done. Kids do this, I asked incredulously, and she confirmed that they did. 6 year olds? Apparently. How can a child who knows that Aegean Sea borders Greece, which I did not know, consume a penny? He went through a metal detector at the airport without incident three days later, so we assume that both the penny and the danger have passed. Anyways. We sure love that sweet little stinker. 

The dogs are themselves. Zoe is nine years old and still vigorously protects the family from mail delivery, pedestrians, and neighbor cats that dare step into our yard. Ziggy, bless him, remains large and confused. He seldom barks his startling baritone bark and usually does so only with Zoe’s persistent encouragement. 

I couldn’t possibly comment on what is swirling in the larger world. Children starving in Gaza, ICE deporting people to places they’ve never been, the president demolishing Medicaid and other safety nets for our most vulnerable Americans. Or even in my own world beyond the metal pod still hurtling towards Princeton. I keep my eye more on what is right in front of me than I used to. I rankle when someone asks about next year. I am historically late in bothering my family about holiday plans.  

I just finished reading Lori Gottlieb’s book, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone—which was beautiful, by the way. She voiced a thought that has increasingly popped into my head in recent years. We spend our time waiting—to graduate, for a child to sleep through the night or outgrow diapers, for a promotion, for an election. And we do not meaningfully consider what will be absent in that future. The diploma but our friends have moved to other cities. The kid who is potty trained but asks you not to use his nickname in public. Cannot help but wonder what I will be missing if I spend my current season waiting.

On that ominous note, I am signing off, but only because my phone is dying!

Quotes:

Potatoes for Jesus

M: Hi, dad. Happy Easter. I hope you’re honoring Jesus.

N: Oh, ok. How are you honoring Jesus?

M: By eating potatoes.

Puberty

E: Did you go through puberty? Like you get hair all over you?

N: Yes. 

M: He is in puberty right now in fact. 

Sleepover

Ellie went to a preschool friend's house for her first ever sleepover. She packed a bag of books. 

B: Are you sure you have everything you need? 

E: Yep! 

B: Great! Did you pack a toothbrush?

E: No...

B: Did you pack pajamas?

E: I'll go back upstairs. 

Penny Wise

After Myles ate a penny, I panicked and packed for the ER. Nitin consulted AI and sang the song about the lady who swallowed a fly. I called the after hours pediatrician. Myles thought everyone would be angry at him and blamed Ellie. Ellie was furious that Myles was allowed to sleep in our bed and threatened to eat a penny too. This is a perfect illustration of everyone's role in our family in this season.

Welp! First Quarter of 2025

 So. I last wrote on the eve of 2025, and candidly, no one was expecting great things. But even my anxious imagination failed to anticipate the spectacularly stressful first quarter of 2025. 

In January, a dear family friend died in her early forties following prolonged health problems. And we inaugurated a President whose vicious agenda and absolute lawlessness I severely underestimated. 

Trump 47 makes me recall Trump 45 with almost a frisson of nostalgia. ICE thugs are disappearing protestors and academics from the streets. The wild tariff swings have wreaked incredible havoc on the markets and therefore regular folks’ retirement savings. The idea has been to flood the zone with actions completely outside existing norms at such a high volume that checks, balances, and the American people simply cannot keep up. 

Also, I left my dream job last month. My work family, my life’s work, my plan for the remaining decades of my working life. I haven’t the energy to be furious. I took a 100k paycut and will do whatever I can in my new position to protect kids’ civil rights and access to education. I am taking this transition a day at a time. 

The annus horribles is sadly not contained to politics or the world at large. A dear family member is navigating a life threatening cancer diagnosis and facing unreasonable hurdles in accessing appropriate care. My own dear Dad is also navigating a cancer diagnosis that we have reason to hope may be resolved with straightforward treatment. I cannot laundry list all that is painful. There are so many limits to what I can do. But I can listen, pray, and try to be helpful. 

All three Joyce children are at a crossroads. I try to envision the most shining versions of our next chapters. Brendan in a riverfront Chicago apartment with a piano and a Great Dane. Maybe he joins a jazz band. Or goes back to school at Northwestern or the University of Chicago. He works in higher education or in a museum and he nurtures his moonshot dreams on the side—and maybe one reaches the moon but not because he needed that win to fully appreciate the gift of eek he is. He meets a bookish and deeply kind partner who loves dogs and music. They have one kid or they don’t. They travel. They take gentle care of each other. 

Dylan and Angelica in their own home full of laughter, dogs, and cooking smells. He finds teaching richly rewarding and goes on to become a principal. Or he takes a position at Cornell and finds meaning in guiding students toward world-changing careers. They welcome a baby who is spoiled and adored by both sides of the family.

And me. Which is somehow a more difficult scene for me to paint. But here we go. I begin my new position. I spend my days researching and writing. I find the courage to speak about the peril of the moment we are in. But I know that I cannot read every article. And that right now, my work stops at 5 and my weekends are for my children. But maybe I also find time for yoga, swimming, and writing. 

The courts bat Trump back. The people show up to protest. The administration sees the tide turning as people power rises. Virginia elects a Democrat governor. Democrats take both the House and the Senate in a landslide In the midterms. Trump is impeached and removed. The movement is chastened by these defeats. We elect a moderate Democrat in 2028. 

And our kids grow up healthy and strong. Ellie gains confidence and falls in love with reading. She excels at art and ice skating. She has strong friendships. Her IBS does not interfere with her daily life. 

And Myles is Myles—kind, confident, curious, and sharp. He loves soccer, hockey, books, and time with friends. And he learns that he does not need to shout to be heard. And to listen deeper when he feels anger instead of using it to protect himself from more vulnerable feelings. 

Which brings us to where we are today. Succinctly, because we arrive in Asheville soon for spring break. 

Ellie is well on her way. She has stronger friendships—with G and G—than she has made so far at Glebe. She uses her voice more than she used to. She still loves art, sketching, squishmallows, and dogs. She is a big reader and re-reader of her favorite graphic novel series. Her IBS is still present, but less pronounced than it was last year. 

Myles has emerged from the stormiest piece of his transition to kindergarten. He continues to thrive academically and socially at school. He reads several grades ahead and has pals coming out his ears. Nitin is coaching his soccer team and Myles is having a great time. 

Nitin continues to work long and often stressful hours. He has enjoyed traveling less this year than last year. We enjoyed a weekend in St. Michel’s recently, in addition to our trip to Savannah as a family last month. 

This has been a demanding season of life. I landed in the ER this morning, en route to Asheville, following a severe IBS flare. But I am doing my best to put on my own oxygen mask. Taking care of ourselves is one of the most practical things we can do for the people who love us. And so it goes, for now. 

Quotes:

B: Buddy, I love that you greet new experiences with open arms.

M: You’re right, I kinda do.

M: “Why does Ellie get to go to therapy?”

B: “You want to go to therapy too?”

M: “Yes, of course I do.”

B: “What do you like about therapy?”

M: “There is a toy kitchen. Who doesn’t like toy kitchens?”

M: “Dad, do you know how there’s a Burger King and a Dairy Queen? Maybe they can be friends one day.”

M: Mommy, is new years Earth’s birthday?

E: My foot hurts. Well my leg.

B: Which one?

E: Leggish foot. 

B: Ankle?

E: Oh yeah! 

N: The trainer wants to see Zoe and Ziggy interact because they think that may be causing part of the problem. 

E: Why?

B: Well sometimes, siblings, even if they love each other and are good friends, can cause each other stress. 

E: If I bite Myles, will we have to get rid of him?

M: What was my percentile at the Dr?

B: You are right in the middle—about 50th percentile for everything. So about average. 

M: That means I’m amazing!