My daughter, my oldest child, starts preschool next week. We had our first “Meet the Teacher” event yesterday, and I feel ALL. THE. FEELS.

As a former student, I’m so happy to get to do this again vicariously through my daughter. Back-to-school season was my favorite because that’s when I’d get brand new school supplies. I LOVE school supplies. I literally go to office supplies stores and wander around for fun. Does this make me weird and nerdy? Yes. Do I care? No.

This season always reminds me of my first day of preschool. It was a good day, until it was time to go home. My classmates and I were getting ready, and I walked to my cubby and started packing my supplies. My teacher told me that I couldn’t take them home with me, and I cried…in the classroom, during the entire bus ride, and when I arrived home. That’s how I remember my first day of preschool.

So yes, shopping for my daughter’s supplies a few weeks ago made me ridiculously happy. I can’t wait to do this with her every single year.

As an educator, I am so excited to see how much my daughter’s going to learn. She is starting to learn English, so I know her bilingual vocabulary will flourish. She already adores books, and soon we’ll be getting her a library card. (I basically grew up in my local library—it was even my first job!) I’ll do everything I can to nurture her love of reading.

When I saw her classroom with toys, books, and activity centers, and I was able to picture her as a student. I hope to be able to support her and her teacher as much as possible. There was a brief moment in college where I considered becoming an elementary school teacher; I even took some of the required courses. However, I quickly realized that I would not be able to handle working with young children, and I decided that I would do much better teaching adults in college (lol). Our teachers are heroes. They spend just as much (or more) waking time with our children than we do, and they deserve so much more than our society gives them. I am grateful that my daughter will have teachers, aides, and a support system to help her this year. As a professor who tries to build the confidence of every one of my students, I hope to do the same for mija.

But as a mom…I’m a wreck.

I have so many questions running through my mind:
Will my daughter cry on the first day?
Will she get scared during drop-off when a stranger tries to pull her out of her car seat because my husband and I won’t be allowed to get out of our car to unbuckle her?
How will she do when she and her (non-bilingual) teachers can’t understand each other?
Will she make friends?
Will the other kids laugh at her for her broken English?
Why are schools giving preschoolers access to tablets?
How can I limit her screen time?
How do I parent with all this technology?
Why is my daughter, my sidekick for the past four years, leaving me?
Why is she growing up so fast? Will she stop needing me as much?

And the hardest question of all: How do I start letting go of the person I’ve spent the most time with for over four years?

Sigh.

I’ll have to ask my mom if she cried on my first day of preschool. If she did, she didn’t let me see her. I have my tissue box ready for next Monday, but I will hold back the tears until my daughter’s in the school building.

Are you a Latina working mom attempting to balance all parts of your life? So is Nanyi and she has some encouragement for you.

Let’s be real—balance is a myth when you’re a Latina working mom juggling a career, a home, kids, a business (or two), and trying to carve out just five minutes to hear your own thoughts.

I’m currently living in that beautiful chaos:
✓ Just returned to my corporate job after maternity leave
✓ Searching for the perfect nanny (harder than job interviews, by the way)
✓ Road-tripping and making summer memories with my babies
✓ Running two businesses
✓ Managing a household
… and still trying to hold space for me.

And while it’s not always picture-perfect, I’ve learned a few things about what it actually takes to pursue your dreams while showing up for everyone else.

I’ve realized that I CAN’T do it all and I need to prioritize by what’s most important daily. I mean lots of deep breaths, To-Do Lists and coffee helps!

Here’s what’s helping me—and maybe it’ll help you too:

1. Redefine Balance as Seasons, Not Schedules

Some weeks, work takes the lead. Other weeks, motherhood demands everything. And that’s okay.
Instead of chasing perfect balance, I now ask: “What needs the most of me right now—and what can wait?”

There’s freedom in understanding that balance doesn’t mean equal. It means aligned with your values.

2. Get Ruthless with Priorities (and Gentle with Yourself)

I used to try and do it all. Now? I ask myself:

• What actually matters today?
• Will this move the needle forward in work, life, or joy?

If it doesn’t check one of those boxes, I let it go. You can be ambitious and still say no.

3. Build a Village You Trust

Finding a nanny has been a journey in itself—but it’s a reminder that asking for help isn’t a weakness, it’s strategy.

You may be wondering why a nanny and not a daycare? Well…the lists are full, and I thought I’d be able to work from home AND watch my toddler, but it turns out I had to realize I can’t do it all.

So, I had the perfect nanny, but she is now returning to school much earlier than anticipated and now I’m on the hunt. Having someone that you trust helps immensely! I just need a few hours a day to tackle all my tasks and knowing I have someone safe and responsible takes a huge load off my shoulders.

Latina moms especially carry that “do it all alone” pressure. But here’s the truth: You can chase your dreams AND lean on others. You don’t have to choose.

4. Schedule Time for Your Dreams Like You Do for Everyone Else

Running two businesses means I have to get intentional. That means:

• Blocking time to write,
• Showing up for my brand and audience,
• And making space to be creative—not just productive.

Whether it’s early morning writing or 15 minutes before bed, I treat my dreams with the same respect I give to client calls and school pickups.

5. Embrace the Power of Digital Income

One of the biggest shifts in my journey has been tapping into digital marketing + digital products. Not because I wanted “extra” income—but because I wanted freedom.

Freedom to travel with my kids.
Freedom to work from anywhere.
Freedom to breathe a little.

If you’re craving something more—you’re not selfish, you’re called.

6. Let the “Mess” Be Part of the Story

The house isn’t always clean. The to-do list is never done.
But my babies are happy. My clients are served. My voice is being heard.

And that’s a version of success I can live with.

You Deserve to Dream, Too.

We’re not just raising children—we’re raising businesses, healing old narratives, and redefining what Latina motherhood looks like.

So if you’re in a season of doing all the things and still trying to keep a piece of yourself intact:
I see you. I am you. And I promise it’s possible.

Give yourself permission to be tired, ambitious, soft, strong, present, and still wildly full of dreams.

One step, one breath, one aligned decision at a time.

Have you found your rhythm as a working mama yet? Let’s talk in the comments—or share this with another Jefa in the making.

Jessica shares how traveling alone with kids may have been chaotic, but the kindness from others allowed her to make a memorable trip that much more unforgettable.

This summer we were fortunate to visit family and the city where I was born in Chihuahua, Mexico. We had many adventures as a family of five, but one of the most memorable was our return trip—when our three kids and I flew home on an international flight without Dad, who had to return earlier for work. I’ve traveled with them on my own before, both by plane and on road trips, so I wasn’t too worried. Plus, the older siblings are always helpful when they need to be.

However, unexpected delays brought a surprise—and the most stressed and blessed I’ve felt in a long time.

Our first flight and international arrival went as smoothly as it could have, thankfully. But suddenly, our trip—which began with a comfortable 1 p.m. departure—was now at risk of ending in an overnight stay at Dallas airport at 8 p.m. I already knew the next flight home wouldn’t leave until the following morning, and I was in trouble. One mom, three boys, and the idea of being stranded at an airport (or a hotel) without our luggage or enough supplies? No, gracias. Me tembló el corazón thinking of all the possible scenarios as we stood in the long security line, trying to make our 8:40 p.m. flight.

My mind raced: Did everyone decide to travel today? Are we going to make it? Should I have booked a different flight? Do I have enough diapers? We definitely won’t be able to eat a full meal. Do I know anyone in Dallas?

My 8-year-old’s realist attitude wasn’t helping—he kept insisting we were going to miss our flight. Add to that a 1-year-old who didn’t want to sit in the stroller because the line wasn’t moving. My saving grace, el campeón of this whole ordeal, was my 13-year-old. His constant, “We’re going to make it, Ma,” kept me going.

That is, until we were still far from TSA with only 20 minutes until departure—and we still needed to take the train to our terminal. I panicked. I asked TSA agents if they could let us through, but they said they couldn’t do anything about the people ahead of us. Then a thought came: Am I really going to ask strangers to let us cut in line?

The shy, rule-following niña in me shivered, but I reminded myself—that’s not who I am anymore. The alternative? A night at the airport with my tres niños. No, gracias.

The Courage and the Ask

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the hesitant but hopeful words out:
“Excuse me? Is there any way you could let us go through? Our flight leaves in 10 minutes and the next one isn’t until tomorrow morning. I’m with my three kids.”

The strangers looked confused at first, then glanced at the baby in my arms and back at the siblings. I held my breath, probably with my mom’s classic cara de preocupada, until—finally—a gentle nod. A breeze of fresh air, a spark of esperanza, and I exhaled.

I kept going, repeating my request to each group ahead. Most people were kind, some hesitated, especially if their own flights were soon, but they saw our situation and changed their minds. We must have passed through 15 groups of people before meeting one person who wasn’t in a good space.

In a previous chapter of my life, I might have described him differently, but I’ve learned that what we put out comes back to us. Still, this man shook his head and said, “No, I’m not letting you go through.” His tone carried bitterness, and I sensed he’d decided we didn’t deserve what he hadn’t gotten. He claimed the people ahead wouldn’t let us through either, and I told him he was blocking my family from a chance. The knot in my throat threatened tears, but deep breaths—and my oldest signaling me to drop it—helped me let go.

Thinking back, I imagine his refusal came from past disappointments, not from me or my kids.

We kept moving forward. Carrying all our belongings meant I couldn’t check flight updates until we were through security and on the rail to our gate. I was afraid to look, but encouraged by the kids, I refreshed the page: Flight delayed. New departure time: 9:05 p.m.

We all smiled and thanked Jesus. Lo que Dios quiera kept repeating in my mind. Of course, our gate was the last one in Terminal A. We made a plan: the oldest would run ahead to alert the gate, the middle child would handle the stroller and bags, and I would run—with the baby.

Magic in the Midst of Chaos

One image will forever stay in my heart: my oldest sprinting past five gates, me chasing after him (very out of shape) with the baby, and my middle child zigzagging the stroller like a real-life Mario Kart. The baby laughed at all the bouncing, the middle one grinned like it was the best game ever, and their joy was contagious. I laughed too, even though it didn’t help my full-bladder situation.

As we approached the gate, I heard over the intercom: “Last call for flight 1336.”

“Run, Leo!” I yelled.

We made it.

Thanks to every person who let us pass, we boarded the plane. Later, we learned a small technical issue had delayed the departure even more—an answered prayer (even while traveling alone with kids), a miracle to make sure we made it home safe that night.

It All Starts with Our Own Strength

I keep thinking back to those moments in the security line. Since that day, I’ve been praying for all the families who helped us, that they receive blessings in return. I’ve also been praying for the man who didn’t, that he may open his heart to kindness and community. I hope he receives opportunities where his own pain doesn’t stand in the way of helping others.

This experience made me reflect on my own life. How many times have I missed the chance to help someone because I was too focused on my own discomfort? How many times could I have made someone’s day? Too many.

Still, I’m proud of myself. As a semi-retired people-pleaser, it’s not easy to set boundaries—especially in Latin culture—and put my needs first. The old me would have been terrified to ask strangers to give up their spot in line. My lesson? Sometimes we must take the first step to activate the blessing. As Paulo Coelho says: “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

Note: If you were one of the families who helped us at Dallas airport on Saturday, June 14, please know you re-energized my hope for humanity and reminded me that kindness still exists. And yes—we made our flight!

This summer I joined other Millennial and Gen Z moms—because apparently it’s become a trend—in giving my daughter a “90s summer.” The idea behind it was to recreate the core childhood memories of a typical summer in the 1990s, with the main requirements being increased freedom, outdoor play, simple entertainment, and unstructured time. A lot of moms bought into this trend as a way to resist a parenting culture of overscheduling and too much technology.

Full disclosure—this was not something I originally wanted to do. I am such a planner, and as a former teacher, all of that unstructured time kind of made me nervous. But my 13-year-old was adamant that she didn’t want to do any summer camps, planned activities, or online classes. So I gave in—mostly because we’re in the “everything is a fight” stage—and I am just so sick of arguing with a smaller version of myself. We also live in a fairly safe neighborhood, and she has many classmates and friends nearby, including her best friend at the end of our street.

As we’re now getting ready for Back to School, I have to admit my daughter was right—this ended up being a really great decision for her. As corny as it sounds, a “90s summer” was exactly what she needed. My teen struggles with anxiety and can easily become overwhelmed if she has too much going on. This summer was the least anxious she’s been in as long as I can remember… and instead of focusing on the mom guilt that comes along with that statement, I am just grateful I took a chance on having an unstructured summer.

Back in June, we mutually decided that she was mostly in charge of planning her summer and keeping herself entertained. Her basic routine this summer included staying up way too late playing video games on calls with friends, then sleeping in super late. Coincidentally enough, it’s almost 2 in the afternoon as I’m writing this, and she is STILL sleeping. Once she’d wake up, she’d grab a quick breakfast and then head to the neighborhood pool with her friends. She would stay at the pool till 7 or 8 in the evening (don’t worry—I was good at nagging about putting on sunscreen). They would sometimes walk around the neighborhood in a larger group, stopping at each other’s houses along the way to pick up snacks and drinks. Giving up control was difficult for me, but I could tell how happy and empowered it made her feel.

Goodbye, Summer 2025, and thank you for being exactly what we didn’t know we needed!

The back-to-school season is already filled with so much—new schedules, school supply lists, and let’s be honest… the emotional rollercoaster of watching our babies grow up another grade. The last thing any of us need is the daily struggle of “What are you wearing today?” A capsule wardrobe for kids might sound fancy, but really, it’s a game changer. It means fewer decisions, less laundry, and more confidence (for both of you) as you walk out the door.

What Is a Capsule Wardrobe (for Kids)?

Think of it as a mini closet filled with only the essentials—clothes your child loves to wear, that all go together. Instead of overflowing drawers, you’ll have 15–20 intentional pieces that mix and match effortlessly.

Why It Works for Busy Moms (Especially Us Mamás):

• Less stress: Mornings are smoother when you both know what works
• Budget-friendly: You’re buying less, but using it all
• Teaches independence: Kids can choose outfits on their own
• Perfect for uniforms OR free-dress schools

How to Build a Capsule Wardrobe (Grades K–5)

Here’s a simple framework:

Tops (5–6):

• Solid colors + 1–2 graphic tees (maybe one with cultural flair)
• One long-sleeve for layering

Bottoms (4–5):

• 2 pairs of jeans
• 2 pairs of leggings or joggers
• 1 pair of shorts or skirt

Layers (2–3):

• Zip-up hoodie
• Light jacket or cardigan
• Optional: School sweater or uniform layer

Shoes (2):

• Sneakers
• Casual or dressy pair

Extras (Optional):

• Hair accessories, jewelry, or backpacks with personality

Tips to Make It Fun (and Culturally You)

• Let your child help pick 2–3 “statement pieces” that reflect their personality or heritage
• Add a splash of color or embroidery that reminds you of your culture, like bright florals or woven textures
• Choose clothes that transition easily from school to after-school actividades

Simplifying doesn’t mean boring. Creating a capsule wardrobe for kids gives your family back what matters most, like time, energy, and a little peace in the morning hustle. Whether your child rocks a uniform or free dress, this system can work for you. And amiga, the fewer piles of laundry? Chef’s kiss.

Nancy shares how raising kids away from family and the village that helped raise her isn’t what she wanted, but it’s where she finds herself in this season of life.

Like many Mexican-American children, I grew up surrounded by my family. In my hometown of Odessa, Texas, I regularly saw my abuelitos, tías, tíos, and many primos. The rest of my family was within driving distance, mostly in Chihuahua and Ciudad Juárez. I saw my grandparents in Odessa almost every day; they helped to raise me. My mom worked full time, so my abuelita Maria was the one who went to my awards assemblies and school events during the day. It was rare for my parents, sister, and I to take vacations on our own. In fact, I only remember two trips where it was just the four of us. We always traveled with our extended family. When I moved to El Paso to work on my doctorate, I grew closer to both sides of my family, who were split between El Paso, Ciudad Juárez, and Chihuahua. And Odessa is only a four-hour drive away from El Paso, so it was easy to stay connected to my “chosen family,” my childhood friends, while I finished grad school.

Then in 2013, I moved to Charleston, South Carolina, leaving behind everyone I love, my “village.” I never planned to live on the east coast, but this is where I was offered a job after graduation. During my first years in Charleston the homesickness was REAL, but at least I could spend the Christmas and summer breaks in Texas. I stayed connected to my people and shared some of their major milestones, but all of that changed with the pandemic. I got pregnant in late 2020, so I had to stay mostly isolated the entire pregnancy. My sister in Texas was amazing, and she planned a virtual baby shower. It was so nice receiving packages from my loved ones, but not being able to celebrate my pregnancy in person with my family really stung I didn’t realize that this would be my reality from that point forward; I’d be raising my kids without my “village.”

It’s really hard (and expensive!) traveling to Texas now, especially with two kids. Since 2020, I’ve missed almost every event back home–birthdays, weddings, quinceañeras, first communions, funerals…and almost no one from back home has met my kids or my husband here in Charleston. I only know most of my friends’ kids (and they know mine) through social media posts. The worst part for me is that my kids don’t have the daily interaction with their abuelitos that I had as a child. We communicate as often as possible, but it’s not the same as eating dinner with your grandparents every weekday while waiting for your mom to pick you up. That was my experience.

I was in El Paso a few weeks ago, visiting my parents and sister. That’s when reality sets in the most for me, because I see what my kids are missing out on. I know that leaving Texas was the right decision at the time (I met my husband in Charleston), and I try to rely on my faith and trust that I’m in South Carolina for a reason. I don’t know why, but the path back to Texas just hasn’t opened, and it’s hard feeling every day like I’m depriving my children of relationships and memories with my family and friends back home. This morning, my daughter asked if we could go to her abuelita’s house. I said “not right now,” and I wanted to cry. I wish I had a magic wand (or a winning lottery ticket, lol) to be able to travel regularly, find a new job, or at least live within driving distance of my “village” again. But I have to remind myself that I can’t replicate my childhood for my kids. Ugh, that’s hard. And I have to accept that they are starting to build their own “village,” and their experiences with their familia will be different from mine. For me, it’s a process of constantly letting go, accepting my circumstances as they are, and being grateful for every opportunity my kids have to connect with our family.