Raising neurodivergent kids is operational work. It involves managing therapy schedules, tracking sensory needs, building predictable routines, navigating IEP meetings, and maintaining systems that reduce chaos for everyone in the household. These essays apply the same frameworks I use at work (observability, documentation, capacity planning, change management) to the reality of running a neurodivergent household. The perspective is mine as a parent and systems thinker, scoped to what has worked for our family.
We visited the Adler Planetarium around the Artemis II launch window, and something clicked. The kids didn't just tolerate the trip. They drove it.
Every parent worries about what happens to their kids if they're not around. When your children are neurodivergent, that worry has additional dimensions, and the planning required goes beyond a standard will and life insurance policy.
The same principle applies everywhere: if you wait until the system is on fire to start looking at metrics, you've already lost. Early signals exist. You just have to be watching.
Without a commute to decompress, the transition from 'engineering manager' to 'dad' happens in the time it takes to walk down a hallway. That's not enough, and pretending it is helps no one.
You can't pour from an empty cup, but nobody tells you that the cup has a slow leak and the only time to refill it is 5:30 AM or never.
Travel doesn't pause the parenting. It just changes the variables. The routines still matter, the needs don't shrink, and the meltdowns have new triggers you haven't mapped yet.
Swim class isn't about producing an Olympic athlete. Ninja gymnastics isn't about competition prep. The goal is joy, body confidence, and one more environment where my kids feel capable.
My kid builds redstone contraptions with no spec and no deadline. My engineers build their best prototypes under the same conditions. The pattern isn't a coincidence.
Both roles require the same voice: not a dictator, but a facilitator who removes blockers. The overlap is bigger than you think.
I'm not asking an LLM to parent for me. I'm asking it to help me translate the world into a format my kids can process.
It started on shore with grandparents, tangled lines, and thrown rocks. Eventually the kids wanted to try the boat. Fishing turned out to be one of the better family reset buttons we've found.
In the datacenter, when a server goes down, we don't scream at the hardware. We look for the root cause. Why should a meltdown be any different?
In infrastructure, we phase rollouts because we know that too much change at once causes outages. At home, the same principle applies, just with higher emotional stakes.