I’ll admit; I had never heard the word ‘Lovie’ until I started reading parenting blogs, but I digress. Bee has thousands of stuffed animals she loves, from an odd neon cactus to a plump, plush bumblebee. They’re her staples, her “fwends,” as she calls them, and we haven’t tackled a bedtime routine without them in
“When we are children we seldom think of the future,” writes Patrick Rothfuss. “This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.”
Lee Coren lives and creates in Jaffa, Israel – a home that both fuels and deters her from work. “My designs are inspired by a mixture of two strong elements in my life,” she writes. “My local urban surrounding and the need for escapism and a breath of fresh air.” And isn’t that so true
I Instagrammed this photo of Ken over the weekend after catching a glimpse of him being a father. I don’t know if you have children, or if you have husbands or someone in your life that you’ve lived with for so long that sometimes you look up over the steam of broccoli for dinner and
If you’ve ever visited my home, you’ll notice a pretty stark aversion to color in… pretty much every room. It’s not that I can’t appreciate a great hue (obviously), it’s just that white is so… calming. And peaceful. And clean. All of the things I long for my home to be (even though, in the
I’ve used up all of my words lately in my inbox, because January produced quite a flurry of emails. (Slow down, productive people! I can’t keep up!) And then it produced a snow storm in my actual town. And then in my inbox and again in my town and now I’m trying to shovel but
If I had my way, every piece of furniture would serve two, three – no, fifteen – purposes. It only seems fair, right? On a good day, we’re answering no less than 1,413 rapid fire questions in our heads (admittedly most of them self-imposed, let’s be honest) ranging from ‘Where did I put my keys”
There was this old man that used to come in to the coffee shop where I often write, plopping himself on a big red sofa and spending hours sifting through wrinkled books and weathered photographs, magnifying glass in hand. Every now and then, he would look up and breathe in a deep, satisfied sigh, as
