My 12-year-old says I always have to be right. She doesn't believe I can admit defeat or failure. This, of course, is untrue.

Being a parent is forever. Most of us know this theoretically, but in reality, many of us are counting down to the moment when our children are out on their own, tending to their basic needs — food, water, shelter, and clothing — so that we can finally slow down.

I always say that my mom was not particularly maternal when she was raising me. Her career aspirations overshadowed her desire to notice the trivial and banal details of my little life. I was her surprise baby, conceived around Valentine's Day following her summer wedding. When she married my dad, he already had two young daughters. She was pleased with this arrangement and hadn't expected to have a biological child of her own—until she did.

This weekend, I rediscovered an InstaPot recipe book that someone gave us. I haven't cooked from it ever, but as I leafed through it yesterday, I found an Italian Wedding Soup recipe that I planned to make today for dinner.

Nick and I spent the last week in Savannah, GA at our annual ice cream conference. It's called ConeCon. And yes, there's lots of ice cream involved. This was our second year attending and it was so nice connecting with ice cream makers and operators that we know and who know us through the internet.

I always wonder what my kids will remember from their childhoods. I know their memories and mine won’t be the same. My hope is that I will have contributed to their lives in ways that they’ll be able to savor several decades from now.

Each year on their birthday, I recount the story of each of my children's births. I start by saying, "At this time X number of years ago…" and then I follow with what my body was experiencing however many years ago as they pushed their way closer to being earthside. Each year, I take great pride in recounting how they entered this world because I know if I don't repeat the story, it will be lost.

This past Thursday, I headed to DC on a 4am train to be with my mother. She had just come out of brain surgery 18 hours earlier. The need for this surgery began in 2019 while sitting in a service at my church. Attempting to read the scripture projected on the televisions screens, she realized something was up with the vision in her left eye. 

I've been thinking a lot about the connection between my artistic practice and my entrepreneurial practice lately.

If you're new here, you may not know that I have completed art school twice — once for photography and imaging and once for curatorial practice aka exhibition making. In both cases, I was trained to think about the world critically and represent my ideas through my creative practice.

I’ve been up since 4:45am. We were invited to participate in Infatuation’s EEEEEATSCON, a two-day food festival, and EatOkra’s first Creative Culinary Conference. Both took place this weekend.

I'm tired. I've been running from one activity to the next for the last few months. From work to the children to my extended family, the need for my body to be in what feels like multiple places at once has taken a toll.

This past week, Kathleen, a SHMOM Alumna and our SHMOM facilitator, and I were hosting the last session of the July/Aug/Sept SHMOM group. We were talking about achievement in the context of our professions and for whatever reason my mind wandered to the thought, "Our children aren't achievements."

Yesterday, Ila and I ran a 5K. We didn’t exactly run together because at this point, that child is much faster than I am. Her coach suggested she register so she could get in her weekend workout and become familiar with road races, as this was her first.

Earlier this year, Szilvia's book The Nursery, which so honestly and poetically depicts the realness of postpartum depression, was published. In her New York Times book review, writer Claire Dederer said, “Our narrator seems to approach motherhood as a fight, a fight for which she is as ill-prepared for as any young soldier who finds himself at the front.”

We just got back from Oregon this week. Now I'm in Houston for the James Beard Foundation's Women Entrepreneurial Leadership Summit. The summer hecticness is over. And so begins the fall back-to-school rush combined with the final quarter of the year busyness.

We’ve spent the last week in Oregon with Nick’s family. We make a point to get together for a week each summer to get some out of the city together. On the plane ride headed out west, I was finally able to see Couples Therapy. It’s a show I’ve been meaning to watch.

Today, watching Zadie in her fourth wrestling class reminded me of consistency's power, even when you're unsure. Showing up, taking action, receiving feedback, and applying the learning moves the needle.

As I've been watching my kids and other kids at these sporting events and classes, what I've noticed is that they lean into the pain.

As an athlete, pain comes with the territory. If you're not feeling the burn or being pushed by someone who has more skills than you, are you even playing the game?

A couple of weeks ago, I got to meet a man named Joseph Holland. Originally from Hampton, Virginia, he moved to Harlem in his 20s after graduating from Harvard Law and turning down a corporate job in the early 1980s. He said he had been called to the neighborhood.

In 1992, he opened the only Ben & Jerry's that I believe has existed in our neighborhood. His reasons for doing so were not exactly our reasons, but his decision to operate for the six years that it was open paved the way for Nick and me to open Sugar Hill Creamery 25 years later.

Her courage and determination make us so proud.

Stepping onto any competitive stage can be daunting, but our girl rose to the challenge. We're excited to watch her continue to grow in this sport she loves. Running not only brings her joy but also teaches her valuable lessons about herself and life. Her journey is just beginning, and we can't wait to see where it takes her.