Almost every single day I feel a specific kind of mom guilt: I'm not doing enough for the kids. I'm not playing with them enough, or giving them enough opportunities to play. I worry about adequate activities and time outside and sensory experiences. By bedtime, I usually end up feeling like I've failed completely or that I just barely eked by.
This place is magic. Every year we come the girls get braver and their world expands a little bit more.
At least, for a few weeks out of the year, we have this.