Three ways I parented myself in 2025

Hi friends!

This newsletter is long overdue—so first, thank you for your patience. The last time Naptime Notes landed in your inbox, it was early October. We’ve lived a lot of life in the past three months here at the Langr house, and I’ve earned quite a few gray hairs in the process.

Parenting four little ones, caring for and loving two medically complex kiddos, and just finding our rhythm as a family of six with a new baby in the house has required a great deal of intentionality and time.

I’m the oldest of eight children, so our family still seems “small” compared to my family of origin. Still, I was surprised when I started receiving the same comments my parents got when they had eight kids—back when I only had three children swirling around me.

Now that I have four children with me pretty much all the time, “You’ve got your hands full” seems to be the default remark from nearly every passerby (or, the more sarcastic and far less appreciated—though admittedly more creative—“You need more kids”). A friend of mine recently wore this hat to the airport with her kiddos that cleverly deflected those comments, and I’ve been tempted to add it to my wardrobe just to spark conversations with strangers that don’t center on my seemingly enormous horde of children.

Somewhere along the way, as the days blurred into seizure med doses, therapies, bath times, preschool routines, and the steady, hard, good work of keeping everyone safe and loved, I realized how little space I had left to reflect on life. I let each day whip past me and began to feel as if life was just happening to me instead of intentionally reflecting on the day and the woman God created me to be.

I was attentive to my family’s needs, cues, and personalities—but far less curious about my own. What surprised me most this year was discovering that the most fruitful work I could do in my vocation as a wife and mother wasn’t another system, schedule, or strategy (dangit), but learning to parent myself with the same patience and honesty I try to offer my family. Knowing my limits, understanding my triggers, naming my gifts, and tending to my interior life has quietly reshaped the way I show up in our home. It turns out that the more I know myself, the more freely—and faithfully—I can love those entrusted to me.

“Take care of yourself” is often well-intentioned but vague and unhelpful advice. As I reflect on 2025 and look ahead to the new year, I wanted to share a few actual practices that have truly helped me grow in my understanding of who I am as a daughter of God—and to grow more deeply into my vocation as a wife and mother.

For years I’ve wanted to try to make sourdough. At first, the appeal wasn’t the beautiful loaves or even the benefits of fermented dough—it was the discard recipes. . Cinnamon rolls! Pancakes! Poptarts! A friend gave me some starter and while I did cook a few sweet treats, I never baked an actual loaf of sourdough. It felt too intimidating. Eventually, I neglected my sourdough starter for enough months that it turned black in the back of my fridge, and I chucked it in the trash.

Then came this year, when I somehow went through twenty pounds of flour in a single month and baked more sourdough loaves than I can count. What changed? Two things. First, I decided to stop letting the idea of an imperfect bread hold me back. Even if the bread turned out awful, I learned something and my time was not wasted. Second, I realized how many women in my life were making sourdough too. Having friends I could troubleshoot with, ask questions of, and send pictures to made all the difference. And now, because I’m truly proud of these loaves (and this amazing cinnamon roll focaccia), I’m going to share the pictures with you, too.

I love the rhythm of sourdough—the feeding of the starter, watching it bubble and rise, mixing flour and water, stretching the dough, letting it rest, and adding little decorative flourishes before baking it first thing in the morning. I both love and feel mildly annoyed by the fact that every loaf turns out a little differently. So many factors influence how a loaf rises: whether I remembered to stretch it, the weather that day, or the small tweaks I make as I learn more about the process.

There are countless ways to make sourdough bread. You could scroll YouTube or Instagram for days and still feel unsure where to begin. I realized early on that I needed just one trusted source, so I committed to this single video. Lisa’s sourdough tutorial came highly recommended by several friends, and I watched it over and over before I ever baked my first loaf—then again while I baked it.

What I love most about sourdough is that it is both science and art. I’ve enjoyed learning about autolyse, why sourdough supports gut health, and why certain flours are more protein-rich than others. And I love scoring simple designs into cold dough and setting a finished loaf out on my dining room table. So much of my daily work happens on autopilot—starting the dishwasher, throwing a load of laundry into the washer—but this slow, intentional practice has reminded me that even ordinary, everyday work can be done with beauty and care.

Moving my body and working out isn’t new in my self-care toolbox, but the way I approached it shifted during the second half of 2025. For years, I relied on short, at-home workouts focused on mobility and core strength. This year, though, I realized I needed to be more intentional—to work out at a specific time, and to have a place outside my living room where I could do that work.

About two years ago, Joseph and I went rock climbing on a date night. The first few climbs were terrifying, but I left the gym that evening feeling confident in a way I hadn’t in years. I remember telling Joseph it was the first form of exercise I’d done in a long time that was genuinely fun.

When we received the news of Charlie’s PACS-2 diagnosis this summer, I felt a deep desire to become stronger for my family. It’s likely that my two boys will live with us for my entire life, and I want to care for them well as we all grow older. That strength isn’t only physical—it also means tending to my mental health. Regular movement and consistent workouts have made a profound difference in helping me stay grounded, resilient, and present for the people I love. In October, I signed up for a rock-climbing membership and made it a non-negotiable part of my schedule.

Finding the actual time to work out has been its own challenge (remember—I have my hands full). The gym does offer childcare, but I won’t be able to take full advantage of it until Charlie turns six months old. In the meantime, I get up well before my children—around 5 a.m.—a few mornings each week to go to the gym. Once a week, I attend their strength and conditioning class; the other days, I’m there simply to climb.

5am is early. On those days, I often fall asleep at 8pm in the middle of reading bedtime books. But it has been worth it. I feel stronger than I ever have. Just as importantly, it’s still fun—something I deeply need in this season. The membership includes a weekly guest pass, which has made it possible to climb with Joseph on date nights and to take the girls for one-on-one time doing something that is both challenging and joyful.

And it isn’t just the workouts themselves that have been good for me. It’s leaving the house alone a few times a week. It’s listening to an audiobook on the drive to the gym. It’s stepping outside my comfort zone and meeting new people who also love to climb. It’s not an inexpensive membership, but it has paid off in more ways than I expected over the past three months. I’m excited to keep climbing in 2026—and, eventually, to take advantage of the childcare option so I can both work out and get a little more sleep.

It is easy for me to rehearse the worst-possible scenarios, day after day. Will today be the day Charlie has another seizure? Will William’s trach change go smoothly? Will we all come down with the flu and end up spending time in the PICU? Will I ever parent a child who doesn’t melt into a disregulated puddle over uncomfortable shoes or an unfair division of Magna tiles?

My mind races through unfortunate—and entirely hypothetical—situations that, more often than not, never happen. The spiral makes it hard to think clearly. Hard to do the real, ordinary work in front of me. And to say it has been difficult to focus in prayer would be the understatement of the year.

After a particularly heavy day, I remembered this gem from Tsh Oxenreider and pulled it off my shelf.. It’s a beautifully simple book, one that has gently guided me back to what matters. Each morning and evening, I take a few minutes to reflect on what I’m grateful for, what I know to be true about myself and about God, and where I need help. It hasn’t erased the anxiety—but it has grounded me, again and again, in truth.

I hope your Christmas season is beautiful and restful, and that the new year is full of blessings!

I also hope to be in your inbox more often in the coming year. Writing is one of the ways I do that work of parenting myself—it helps me slow down, name what’s real, and remember who I am.

Thank you for being here and reading along!

In His Sacred Heart,

Chloe