Before I became a parent, I had a list of things I’d never do. At the top of that list:

I now do both.

 

The name thing, I still insist, was an accident. I always wanted our firstborn daughter to be named Mabel—after my great-grandma Mabel, who lived in a high-rise apartment in Downtown Milwaukee. She helped inspire my desire to live in a big city someday, and our daughter is a born New Yorker. 

 

Matilda, on the other hand, was originally going to be Hazel—which also happened to be the name of my great-grandma Mabel’s younger sister. But late in Emily’s pregnancy, I had a dream that shook me. In it, someone asked, “If you’d had a boy and a girl, would you have named them Randy and Sandy?” 

 

I woke up in a feverish sweat, turned to Emily, and said, “We can't give our kids rhyming names! We need a different name.”

 

We loved the literary character from Roald Dahl’s classic book, and Matilda had a nice ring next to Mabel. And just like that, Hazel became Matilda. 

 

When we found out we were expecting our third daughter, I suggested we name her Roxanne (nickname: Roxy). But then Mabel, in her Daniel Tiger era, confidently declared the baby should be named Margaret (after Daniel's baby sister). Margaret also happened to be the name of Emily's grandmother's younger sister, and it felt like the perfect name for the little sister in our family. 

 

And just like that, we became the parents of three little M’s—beautiful names, but an absolute tongue twister.

 

The matching clothes? That came later.

 

I used to think matching outfits were only for massive families on theme park outings, usually accompanied by backpack leashes to prevent strays. But somehow, our family has become internationally recognized for wearing matching clothes.

 

Take, for instance, the girls' sequin jackets. We never even planned for them to bring those to Spain. I had carefully counted out the number of items each girl needed to pack. Their backpack duffel bags were loaded, and then we did a final weather check. Madrid was expected to be sunny and 65 degrees. We put back the winter coats—they needed something lighter. The sequins won.

 

And all week long, the jackets stole the show.

 

 

"Las chaquetas son muy bonitas," a woman cooed as we stepped off the plane. Everywhere we went, the girls shimmered—across the lake in El Retiro Park, their jackets catching the sun. In Toledo, their sequin sleeves glistened through the air as they ziplined across the river. At the local parks, and on sidewalks weaving through crowds, their sparkle made them impossible to miss. 

 

 

I’m not the only one who’s made bold declarations about what I would and wouldn’t do in a new life stage—only to have reality laugh in my face.

 

I’m not here to make a grand case for coordinating names or matching outfits, but I will say this about the matching clothes:

 

In Madrid, after our guided historical tour, a woman from England stopped us outside the Royal Palace. She smiled and told us she had dressed her own kids in matching outfits when they were little. Seeing our girls in their shimmering jackets, she said, took her right back to that time. “It was a beautiful season.” 

 

 

That moment of connection—completely unplanned, entirely organic—was proof of something I’ve learned over the years: The things we swore we’d never do? Sometimes, they turn out to be the very things that make life feel special.

 

Whether it’s matching jackets, alliteration names, or a simple family ritual, these little choices—the ones we once resisted—can become the things that ground us, that connect us, that turn both the mundane and the adventurous moments into something that can shimmer and shine.

 

 

 

P.S.  “Tidy Up Your Life ”  is a USA Today and Audible Bestseller!!