by Julie Matt wrote last week about the garden we had at our old house in North Carolina. It was a sanctuary, our pride and joy. There aren’t many people who can say that the first house they ever bought was their dream house, but in my case it was. We had a 1923 Craftsman bungalow, full of quirky and lovable details. Some of the interior doors didn’t quite latch properly (much less lock), there wasn’t a right angle in the place, none of the three fireplaces worked, and two sump pumps were insufficient to keep the basement moisture-free. But there was so much to love in that house. The glass in the original mullioned windows had started to melt down in wavy ripples. It had gorgeous moldings and fat, worn floorboards. The wide front porch had room for an eclectic and sociable assortment of swings and rocking chairs. The mantle looked so beautiful decorated for Christmas.  We got married in the backyard. We brought both of our babies home to that house. We built our family th...

by Matt "Put her on the phone! See if she'll speak to me." That's usually a cue I get from my Momma, about once a week. Whether it's Ellie or Bebe, she relishes the opportunity to hear those tiny voices, gargantuan in their diversity of tone, offer up an explanation of their current battles, likes, and gripes. On this occasion, Bea regaled Mama Joan with updates on her new favorite TV show, provided a thorough explanation as to why the stuffed Dumbo Mama Joan sent was now named Giraffe, how excited she was about her new swimming lessons, how she'd fallen in love with the uneven bars in gymnastics, and how she told her pink eye virus to bleep off and kick rocks because she simply had no time for viral annoyance (pain don't hurt). This informative update lasted all of about forty five seconds before Bebe handed my phone back to me, and politely whispered,"How long is she gonna talk?" Silly Bea, the tales of Mama Joan are never-ending. I ta...

By Matt Hey! Psst. Hey man! Come over here. Listen. I don't want to shout this, but I kind of love arranging flowers. There. I said it. It feels so good to come clean and let it out. I know I'm not supposed to like it, but when I do it, IT FEELS SO GOOD!!! Seriously though, flower arranging is a perennial favorite hobby of mine (Hey yo! Serious from now on I promise). It's another source of happiness I've found and accepted thanks to Julie. It started simply enough, in our first home in Gibsonville. We were lucky enough to own a beautiful Craftsman bungalow that Julie found, and a combination of love and luck allowed us to make a happy life in that cozy house for about 5 years. The inside was charming, but the backyard was where the hidden beauty resided. There was a long stretching perennial garden, engulfed in errant invasive rose of sharon shoots. That first spring, Julie and I went to war, armed with shovel and mattock. We stared poison ivy down. We pulled, ...

By Matt I've been living a refreshed life the past three weeks, and it feels great. I wish I could say what changed, but I can't quite pinpoint it yet. Honestly, the right song plays, I tear up, and smile. The best description at the time is I kind of feel like the Beast at the end of the 1991 animated classic. The curse has been lifted, and I'm in the middle of an inspiring transformation, that's left me a bit dumbfounded. (Anyone else think the Prince he reverts to is incredibly bland and that his previously beastly appearance is much more aesthetically pleasing?) I'm not so foolish as to think the spell has been broken in my situation, but I do believe that with consistent mindfulness, an open acceptance of circumstance, and a rational basis of reaction, that maybe I can walk a clearer and more beautiful path. So I figured I'd share what's in my therapeutic quiver lately. These are a few of the items that have been helping me cope and fill the holes of...

By Matt As we patiently awaited our first child, we reveled in the excitement and newness of our friends. One of Julie's friends had a beautiful blue-eyed cherub of a boy. As we reached to touch him delicately (literal kid's gloves), her husband supplied us with what I found to be the most significant realization I've yet to hear about babies. "They're quite durable." Profound. It was in that moment that the reality and rationality surrounding this new chapter began to take hold. Our first little girl would be precious, but she wasn't a Faberge egg. Years of evolution and engineering had played a part in the process. They even accommodate for the huge head. I had to RELAX, understand that falls and bumps and bruises are a part of life, and appreciate those accidents as mutual life lessons. We fall so we can learn to get back up. It took a while for me. It also took a bit of time for Ellie as well. She got her cues from me, and early on, I was co...

by Julie With each new transition in life, spaces open and close — a phenomenon that can feel particularly intense when you have small children. Kids grow and change so fast, I often feel that just when I’m comfortable in a routine and feel like I’ve got stuff figured out, something tips and I find myself scrambling to make adjustments and regain balance. Ever since becoming a parent, I’ve struggled to find space in my life for creative work — something that before children was such a joy and such an integral part of my own sense of identity. But raising babies while working full-time left me with little time or energy to wrestle quilts through my sewing machine, or to pull out all of the painting supplies. Not to mention the Mother Guilt which haunts us moms every time we try to do something that feels remotely selfish.  So I would snatch stolen moments and evade sleep in order to squeeze out a project here and there. A baby quilt for a new niece. Back-to-school dr...