It’s no great secret that women have trouble maintaining the picture-perfect balance the world tells us we should. That’s where the Fairy God Doctor comes in. The Fairy God Doctor’s Guide to a Good Life: A Prescription for the Working Woman offers essential guidance on how to prioritize and avoid maternal fatigue while also juggling the balls that modern life requires. This revolutionary guide, ideal for successful women, transforms how to approach self-care activities for women in today's demanding world. In The Fairy God Doctor’s Guide to a Good Life , physician and mother Dr. Denise Brown shares her proven framework for balancing professional ambition with personal fulfillment. Drawing from her own journey as well as medical expertise, she provides concrete strategies that address the unique challenges faced by women building careers while raising families. This isn't just another how-to book but a comprehensive guide that answers the crucial question of how to maintain wellbeing while knowing what to prioritize. Brown combines practical wisdom with actionable steps, helping readers create sustainable success without sacrificing health or relationships. Whether you're launching a venture, leading a team or seeking greater purpose in your current role, The Fairy God Doctor’s Guide to a Good Life provides the roadmap to create lasting impact while avoiding paving your own path. Through personal stories and evidence-based strategies, Brown shows how to craft a life of meaning and achievement that stands the test of time. Every night felt like a race against exhaustion: get home, wrangle the kids and somehow make dinner happen. For three of us on Cedar Street—Jenny, Steph and me—the daily scramble had become a shared battle. Steph lived two doors up, Jenny was just across the street and I was right in the middle. We all had two kids, all under six, and we were exhausted, juggling careers, young kids and endless demands that stretched us thin. Then, one evening, as the chaos of our toddlers swirled around us, someone voiced what we were all thinking: "What if dinner could just...show up?" It was a lightbulb moment. We could each take a night. One mom would cook for all three families, freeing the others from the hassle of meal prep. Suddenly, the idea of coming home to a hot meal without having to cook it felt revolutionary. So, we divided up the week: Jenny took Mondays, I claimed Tuesdays and Steph, along with her devotion to the Crockpot, took Wednesdays. That was it—three nights a week where dinner was handled. We didn't have to think about it, and more importantly, for two days, we didn't have to do it. The beauty was in its simplicity. We bought identical Pyrex containers, filled them with four servings each, and dropped them off at each other's doorsteps between 5:30 and 6 pm. No knocking, no chatting—unless we felt like it. You just opened the door, picked up your Pyrex and ate. For six years, this was our routine. Jenny's Monday dinners were always reliable. On Tuesdays, I experimented on the wild side. Then, it was Steph's Crockpot on Wednesdays. At the end of the day, the food wasn't the most important thing—the relief was. The Cedar Street Dinner Co-Op wasn't just a way to get dinner on the table—it was a lifeline. As working moms, we were constantly juggling too many things: jobs, kids, household duties and the endless "to-do" list that never seemed to shrink. We were physically and mentally tired, and the co-op became a way to take one thing off our plates—literally. Resource-sharing isn't just about hiring help; it's about finding help or inventing help in unexpected places. For us, it was a close-knit group of neighbors who became a community. We weren't just sharing meals; we were sharing the load. We didn't have to do everything ourselves, which made us better moms, partners and friends. Once we had dinner figured out, we realized there was another area where we were all struggling—getting a break from the chaos of parenting. Everyone wanted a few uninterrupted hours to themselves or with their spouse, but babysitters were pricey, and with six kids among us, the cost quickly added up. So, we expanded our little co-op into babysitting. Each of us took one Friday night a month. That meant on one Friday, you'd have all six kids under your roof from 5:30 to 8 pm, but the other two Fridays you were free to do whatever you wanted—date night, grocery shopping or just sitting in a quiet house for a few blissful hours. It wasn't all smooth sailing—getting six kids between two and six years old through bath time could feel like herding cats. But somehow, it was fun. We made games out of everything, and the kids looked forward to their "Friday Fun Night" as much as we looked forward to our night off. What started as a practical solution quickly became something more—it became a tradition. And when the kids were old enough, Friday night babysitting turned into sleepovers, flashlight tag in