Welcome.

I'm Hannah: mother, wife, photographer, writer, artist, wellness enthusiast and lover of the simple and beautiful. I live in South Florida with my husband Manny, our three children (Seth, Isaac, and Eaden), and our golden doodle Lily.
This is my journal of motherhood, homeschooling, health, and living with grace & intention

his world.

he reaches up to give me the little flower he just picked- only the bud, plucked from a weed that made its way through a crack in our patio cement. i really should get out there and pull all the weeds around the edges- it looks messy.

"here, mama." he says as he hands me the flower, smiling. he does this over and over, so proud and purposeful. if i am slow to reach for it he says sternly, "mama!". i tell him thank you, and that i love him, and that they are so beautiful. i give him a hug, and smell his hair, still baby-soft and curly at the ends. he lays a little kiss on my cheek, and then pushes me away to trot off, seeking his next adventure.

our days are roller caster rides of the sweetest moments, the fits of giggles, and the passionate tantrums and tireless testing of boundaries. i try to steal a few minutes, an hour, a moment- here and there throughout the day to keep up with my to-do list. it is a delicate balance- motherhood, work. he is more important, every time. yet in a certain moment sometimes work is more immediate and pressing. it is hard not to feel guilty for that. he sees birds in the park and makes his signature bird sound {it sounds just like a seagull- we were at the beach the first time he did it.} he chases them and they scatter into the air. he laughs, and does it again. his joy is pure and real, and contagious. i watch him, sleeping, and he looks the same as i remember him looking when he was tiny. he's on his back, arms and legs spread out. i think about how if i try to sleep on my back, i startle. he is so full of peace and innocence that i practically tear up. once again i see that it is all going so fast, just like people so love to tell me it will. but in this moment his world and mine are still intertwined to the core. and i let his contentment wash over me and every worry die away for a while. in his world there is only this moment. a gift, and a lesson.

Soup for Lunch

Well, Hello. {This is me.}