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.

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.

I recently became the mom of a teenager this past May, and it has already been quite a learning curve. I think from her point of view, a teenager is a teenager, meaning a 13-year-old should enjoy the same freedoms and privileges that a 17-year-old does. Within a period of only about 6 weeks, we have already had many conversations about how she is ONLY just 13, and that those freedoms and privileges still have to be age-appropriate, despite her crossing the magical threshold into her “teenage era”.

There have been a few instances over the past few weeks where she has made some really good choices, demonstrating her efforts to be more mature, and honestly have left me feeling so proud of her. We have a neighborhood pool that’s about a 4-minute walk from our house. And, of course, all she wants to do this summer is go hang out there, but I have to work during the day. So, I’ve been letting her go with her best friend for a few hours at a time. 

We came up with this solution because it gives her some of the freedom she has been craving (she’s allowed to go to the pool without me), while also having some safeguards in place (she’s with a friend, I’m able to monitor her location on my phone, I’m only a few minutes away, and only those with a key fob can enter the pool area). Without me asking, she texts and checks in with me about every 60-90 minutes. Usually it’s only to let me know that “yes, she’s drinking water” and that “yes, she has reapplied sunscreen”, but when she does stuff like that on her own, it really makes me feel like I have the hang of this whole teen parenting thing.

Now let me stop myself before I get too cocky because within the same period of time, she has made some NOT so good decisions that have left me genuinely questioning where exactly I went wrong. Full disclosure, I limit the apps that my daughter has access to on her devices, have time limits on those apps, and also occasionally review her internet history. She tells me that it’s an invasion of privacy – I call it good parenting. Within the past week, I was going through her internet history, and almost all of it is definitely what I would consider age-appropriate. 

But then I noticed that while her friend was over, they both decided to check out a website similar to Omegle. If you haven’t ever heard of this website, it was a platform to talk to strangers with free video chat. According to them, “Omegle (oh`meg`ull) is a great way to meet new friends. When you use Omegle, you are paired randomly with another person to talk one-on-one.” I had personally learned about Omegle a few years ago, when Office Gomez posted about it on his Facebook page. Here is part of what he shared:

Officer David Gomez is a school resource officer in Idaho, who is known for his work educating parents and children about online safety, particularly the dangers of social media and online predators. You can follow him on Facebook like I do. He shares important information and helpful advice for parents. 

I’m not even two months into this whole being a parent of a teen, but it definitely feels precarious, almost like balance on a tightrope high above the ground. Sometimes, I feel like I got my balance down and getting across is going to be so easy… and other times, I feel so unsteady, one second away from tumbling towards a crash landing. 

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!

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!

Our firstborn is going to high school next academic year, and that woke up all kinds of emotional distress during his last days of middle school. How is it possible that the first baby I held after delivery is already his own, very tall person? It doesn’t seem real, it doesn’t seem fair to be moving at this pace. Part of it is making me dread the time to come when he’ll be out of the house and onto his own life, his very own life without his parents by his side, without his mami to be there and help him make his way. I know, that escalated quickly, is it normal to see his possible future flash before your eyes the moment they seem more independent than you’d like? I still remember almost two years ago when I couldn’t reach for something on the top kitchen cabinet and I asked for his help. Almost immediately, I felt so much nostalgia for the baby who grew up and now was helping mami to reach for stuff. Ay ay ay mi niño ya creció.

The Parenting Heritage

As mothers, our first child gets to see us at our rawest, maybe somewhat filtered and studied, but in reality, bien verdes in terms of real parenting experience. I feel terrible thinking of the common phrase “echando a perder se aprende” (messing up is how it’s learned), because one of my fears is the trauma that I may pass on or cause to our kids negatively impacting their development and future. And I’m sure there was some here and there because honestly, I didn’t know any better, but always trying to improve and inform myself. I admire those who make it a point to truly work through themselves before thinking of starting a family. I never saw that when I was little, didn’t even know it was a thing, but mental health is hardly acknowledged in our culture. The expected path of life for Latinos is to grow up, marry, and start a family, especially for girls. Nobody really tells us the best way to get to a family is to address our baggage first, to truly know ourselves before bringing someone else into our lives, let alone to start parenting someone. Seems pretty reckless the more I think about it. But here we are, parenting three kids in my mid-thirties. 

Having our first kid in my early twenties was an accelerated path to coming to terms with the idea I had of myself versus who I was at that point, the parts of me that had never been explored because they didn’t fit the perfect image de hija bien portada. Seeing many of my fears projected onto my toddler was a tough pill to swallow, so scary, but at the same time somewhat healing, because it just made sense. Realizing that I would do anything to improve as a mother, as I’m sure my parents did and generations to come will continue to do. The truth is, our son comes from generations of firstborn children; both of his parents were the first child in our families, and so were their abuelas on both sides. Insert all stereotypes of the oldest sibling, because they feel true. 

However, modern research contradicts previous beliefs associated with sibling born order, as Erin Blakemore points out in her National Geographic article, es mas divertido to fall into the stereotypes and use them on our siblings. I’m always fascinated by the dynamics within families, extended family, and the personalities that come within each family unit, how they tend to align amongst themselves, and those who stand out as the odd one out for not following “the norm.” There is a beautiful spectrum and lived experiences that shape us all, even when sharing the same parents. 

There is Nothing Wrong with Breaking the Wheel

There are so many ways of mothering, I’ve learned that it depends on the information I have at that moment and what I push myself to practice. Otherwise, I revert to the voices in my head from years of hearing the community around me parenting young kids. There might be times, in the most difficult situations, where we can’t have the luxury to chose which one to follow because we might be on autopilot. But like with anything, nothing is permanent and there is always a chance to switch it up for what works best. At least I did, and continue to do because, of course, once you figure out one kid, the next one comes with a whole different set of marbles. Let’s not get me started with the middle child and the lessons that were unlocked there. ¡Ay Dios mío! Motherhood es una aventura, and there isn’t one way to ride it so do it as best as you can, mija. We’re all doing our best here, but as I said before, our best might look different every time.