A place where we learn, live, laugh and make mistakes.

Five years ago we bought a 1905 Victorian and turned it into both our home and a place for learning. We have home schooled students, tutored privately, worked with small groups after school, and established a preschool.

Auntie Megan makes one of a kind cards and beautiful bundles of flowers in the art studio.

My children learn lots of lessons here. Sean and I learn with and from them. Our home serves as an altar to celebrate work, rest, play and family.

Our home is private.

We remove our shoes at the door, leaving the day’s dirt outside, before entering the instant coziness that can only be associated with the familiarity and comfort of home. Our visitors are special and privy to the small circle that is ours to share.

Home is where you hang your hat.

I have moved more than 26 times in my life. I was a military brat, as we were lovingly referred to. Just typing the words makes me cringe. As an adult it was university work, teaching opportunities or a bad relationship that required triple digit miles in order to properly heal.

No matter where your day takes you, home is a place where everyone’s mind comes together to breathe, speak, share, and suck in the solace of silence if that’s what you need.

Our home is over 100 years old, full of flaws and flavored by a neighborhood that is sometimes stranger than any fiction Sean could write or Dave could draw.

It’s salty and brimming with culture. My personal favorite is the old Tejano truck that blares the “La Cucaracha” song several times each day to announce he has a truck filed with Hot Cheetos and any other overpriced sundry that you do not want to walk to the store to retrieve.

However, it is where our hearts soar and sing as we work toward the moments that give us helium and a place where we can silently smile and bow towards the sun to take our next steps with our children sandwiched between us.

Home is where we maintain our heart.

Pitter patter, thump thump, pitter patter.

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