Sometimes I wonder what kind of childhood my kids will remember.
Will it be the kind that feels like running barefoot in the yard? Long summer afternoons that blur together in the best way? Chalk drawings that last until the sprinklers wash them away?
That’s the kind of childhood I want for them.
A 90s childhood—right here in a modern world.
Of course, we’re not actually living in the 90s. I have a smartphone. We stream music. I homeschool with online resources. And I’m grateful for those tools.
But deep in my bones, I want something simpler.
Less noise. Less pressure.
More connection. More magic in the ordinary.
So we’ve made some intentional choices in our daily rhythm to hold onto that feeling—without pretending it’s 1993.
Our 90s-Inspired Daily Rhythm
We’re not rigid with a schedule, but we flow through the day with a few touchstones that anchor us:
Slow Mornings
We start the day slow as a family. We eat breakfast, together (sans daddy) at the table. No devices, no distractions – just us. Outside on the deck if the weather allows. We talk. Sometimes we don’t talk at all. But we’re together, and that’s enough. The kids wake up slowly and at different times, but we always eat breakfast together.
Home as the Center of Our Life
We do school at home. We clean together. We eat lunch around the table out of lunch boxes (yes…we homeschool but I still pack lunches ha) My kids aren’t rushed from place to place, and while that can feel isolating sometimes, it also creates a sense of safety and rhythm. Like the kitchen is our hearth.
Analog Moments (Even with Modern Tools)
We listen to audiobooks—sometimes on an old CD player, sometimes on a Bluetooth speaker. I print out photos and hang them up or put them in an album. We use walkie-talkies around the house. These things seem small, but they change the texture of the day. They make life feel more tactile, more grounded.
Boredom Is a Good Thing
I don’t rush to fill their every moment. In fact, we protect blank space. Because boredom is the birthplace of creativity. When I let them sit in it, they build forts, start drawings, make up entire worlds. That’s the good stuff.
Time Outside Is Non-Negotiable
Outside is where everything softens. It’s where sibling fights disappear and imaginations bloom. We garden. We get dirty. We play in the creek. They find bugs and name them. I bring my tea and sit nearby, sometimes journaling, sometimes just watching, often pulling weeds
Technology Isn’t the Enemy—But It Doesn’t Get to Lead
We use technology. We just try to be the ones in charge of it—not the other way around.
We stream music that sparks joy. We use ABC Mouse sparingly. We FaceTime loved ones but are working on phone calls instead. But we have set time when the devices come out and for the most part, they stay in the drawer.
Because if I’m not careful, the screen becomes the third parent. And I don’t want that.
What My Kids Are Gaining
They’re learning to notice. To sit in silence. To wonder.
They’re not living for likes.
They’re living for laughter.
They’re not building a brand.
They’re building blanket forts.
They’re not scrolling for answers.
They’re looking out the window, asking their own questions.
This won’t make them perfect. It won’t make me perfect either.
But it will give them a deep sense of what it feels like to be rooted, known, and free.
The Real Challenge?
It’s me.
The hardest part is resisting the pull to “do more,” “document it all,” or “be more productive.”
But when I return to the rhythm—walks, play, connection, quiet—I remember what matters most.
Because at the end of the day, I don’t want my kids to remember how efficient I was.
I want them to remember the feel of dirt on their feet and the sound of my voice reading a book aloud.
That’s the rhythm I’m chasing.
It’s slower. It’s messier. But it’s real.
And that’s enough.
Run Teach Bike 