Savoring simple daily pleasures

There are chapters in life that feel like slow-burning embers—warm, glowing, and easy to overlook if you're not paying attention. Then there are chapters that blaze with change, growth, and a thousand tiny firsts that seem to fly past in a blink. I find myself standing in the middle of both right now, somewhere between the ordinary and the extraordinary, watching my teenage daughters stretch into the world.

As a mum of fast-growing girls, it’s impossible not to notice the shift—the physical, emotional, and soulful expansion that comes with this age. The pace is relentless, yes. First cars. First concerts. First heartbreaks. First jobs. First overseas adventures. There is a beauty and a bittersweetness in it all. My girls are blossoming into exactly who they’re meant to be. And while they’re growing outward, exploring boldly and dreaming widely, I find myself quietly growing inward. Learning new dimensions of love, patience, and presence.

There was a time when they needed me to tie their laces, hold their hands crossing the street, and sit bedside through night-time fears. Now they need different things: space, trust, boundaries, quiet encouragement, and yes—plenty of food. But they also need something more subtle and perhaps even more sacred: a steady witness. Someone who notices. Someone who sees not just the big milestones, but the tiny moments in between.

And so I’ve taken up the practice of saving moments—not just the camera-ready ones, but the ones that don’t shout for attention. The quick hug before school. The way they still instinctively say “Mum?” when they walk through the door. The half-laughed stories about boys shared on the drive to ballet. The trail of cookie crumbs left behind after a late-night baking session that I didn’t know was happening until the smell of chocolate filled the house.

These are the moments we can miss when we’re rushing, distracted, or overwhelmed. But they are the ones that matter. They carry the spirit of our home. They mark the journey, even when the road ahead is unclear.

In family life, it’s vital to make space—for the personalities that fill the rooms, for the quiet and the chaos, for differences and strengths. In our home, that means laughing at ourselves, apologising when needed, and understanding that no one is perfect but everyone is growing. And maybe most importantly, it means keeping the door open, physically and emotionally. No matter how tall they get or how far they go, I want my girls to know that home is always home. Mummy is always Mummy, however old they are.

This chapter of our lives is full of firsts—for them and for me. And in all honesty, it can be emotional. It’s a slow letting go and a deep holding on at the same time. But there is a kind of quiet magic here too. Not the glittery, firework-filled magic, but the gentle, glowing kind. The kind you feel in a long walk together, in the shared silence of just being near each other. The kind you hear in the sound of laughter down the hall or see in the way they care for their friends.

I’ve learned that life doesn’t pause so we can notice it—we have to do the noticing ourselves. We often find what we go looking for. So I’ve chosen to look for joy. To look for magic. To seek out the sparkle in the mundane and the miracle in the everyday.

This isn’t a season I want to race through. I want to savour it. All of it. Even the chaos. Even the laundry. Even the heartbreaks they will learn to navigate. Because all of it is life. And life—when we slow down enough to see it—is full of sacred, ordinary wonders.

So let’s keep saving the moments. Let’s keep looking. Let’s stay curious, tender-hearted, and wide-eyed. Let’s meet our families where they are—with patience, grace, and an open heart. And in doing so, let’s teach our children that their lives, in all their beautiful becoming, are not only worthy of celebration but of our full, present love.

 Savoring Simple Daily Pleasures

This post might feel like a bit of a sidestep from the usual content I share here. I know many of you come for thoughts that meander through ideas, observations, or deeper ponderings on the world around us — and those will continue. But today, I felt it was time to take a pause and speak more personally. To share not just what I think, but why I write. To trace the path — winding, messy, and honest — that brought me here, to this blog, and to this version of my life.

The truth is, I didn’t always know I’d be writing in this way, or at all. Writing wasn't part of some grand plan. It was more like a quiet instinct that kept surfacing over the years. A whisper rather than a shout. The kind that grows louder the more you try to push it aside.

At first, it was just journaling. Fragments of thought and feeling. Then it became letters never sent. Pages in the margins of ordinary days — in between the chaos of parenting, work, and life’s endless swirl. Writing was how I made sense of things, especially during some of the harder seasons. It wasn’t polished or public. It was personal. Private. Lifesaving, at times.

And then something pivotal happened.

I stopped drinking.

That was the true turning point — the moment of real clarity that reshaped everything. I hesitate to even use the word “sobriety” because, to be honest, it’s never sat quite right with me. It sounds so somber and heavy — as if it's all sacrifice and shadows. But for me, it's been anything but. Being alcohol-free has been joyful. It's freeing. It's inspiring. It’s good.

That’s not to say the road was easy. It wasn’t. It came with doubts, judgment, eye rolls, and plenty of unsolicited opinions. At times, it was a lonely place to be. Some people didn’t get it. Others didn’t care, or quietly faded from my life. But in hindsight, most people really didn’t mind if I was drinking or not — and those who did? Well, that says more about them than it ever did about me.

The only thing I truly regret is not doing it sooner.

I wish I could reclaim all those foggy mornings battling a headache, just getting through the day until bedtime. I wish I could have been more present for my babies — fully, joyfully, and clearly — rather than muddling through under the haze of “mummy wine.” I wish I hadn't seen holidays and family vacations as a permission slip to start drinking mid-morning, poolside or not. 

Looking back through old photos, I see a pattern I once refused to notice—glass after glass raised in celebration, in escape, in habit. Sunset after sunset, seemingly made more golden by the swirl of wine in hand. There are moments with my young children, their faces lit with innocence and joy, and always, somehow, the quiet presence of that drink nearby. I didn’t see it then. But now, with eyes unclouded and a heart more awake, it feels unbearably sad. Not in a dramatic way, but in a slow, aching realization of time slightly bent away from its true beauty. Today, I meet life without the crutch—just its sheer, unfiltered reality. Its brilliance and pain, its aching softness and sharp edges. And strangely, without the haze, it's all more beautiful. Sometimes more heartbreaking. More real. More raw. More joyous and magical. A true gift each and every day we get to live it. Savor it. 

But I can't rewrite the past.

What I can do is celebrate this new chapter.

Five years on, I’m living in a way that feels real. My writing is clearer. My connection to nature, deeper. My time with my family is filled with laughter, presence, and gratitude. And the buzz I get from this life — from simple mornings, from creativity, from truly feeling things — far outweighs anything I ever found in a bottle.

So yes, this post is a little different. It’s more personal than usual. But it’s also honest. And it’s part of the story — the real story — behind how I found this path and why I show up here to write.

To anyone else walking a similar road or even just beginning to ask quiet questions about their own path: know this. You're not alone. And there is so much joy waiting for you on the other side of what feels hard right now.

Thank you, always, for reading — and for being part of this journey with me.

Savoring simple daily pleasures

It’s been one of those weeks.
Cold. Wet. Relentless. The kind where you look out the window at 3 p.m. and wonder how it’s already so dark. The kind where the to-do list grows faster than it shrinks, and the sky never seems to stop weeping.

Between umbrellas flipping inside out, traffic crawling through misted streets, and fingers chilled despite thick gloves, it would be easy to write this week off as miserable. Just another bleak stretch of winter. A series of grey, forgettable days.

But here’s the thing — if you slow down, even just for a moment, there are gems hidden in plain sight. Beautiful, shimmering flecks of joy that defy the gloom.

Like that rare gift of a deep, uninterrupted sleep, the kind that cradles you and lets you wake up feeling human again. Or the cheerful songbird on a leafless branch, its melody slicing through the drizzle with optimism that feels almost defiant.

There was that succulent piece of steak sizzling on the barbecue, warm smoke curling into the cold air, a taste of summer in the heart of winter. The quiet indulgence of a fresh manicure, fingers polished and neat — a tiny reclaiming of order and self-care amid the mess.

Then there was the walk, the rain paused just long enough to step outside. Damp earth, mist clinging to hills, and puddles reflecting the soft gold of the late sun. Laundry on the line, finally, after weeks of relying on indoor racks and damp corners. There’s something so wholesome about sheets dancing in the breeze again.

Inside, little pockets of satisfaction: a fridge finally organized, everything in its place, meals practically planning themselves. My beautiful cats— especially talkative and affectionate, brushing against my legs, purring like an engine as you scoop breakfast into the bowl.

And let’s not forget the fire, wood crackling and popping, heat seeping into your bones. Or that sigh — the deep, contented kind — as you close the cover on a good book, story complete, soul satisfied.

These are not just moments. They are anchors. Reminders. Gifts.

It’s tempting to wait for perfect days — clear skies, smooth schedules, warm breezes — to feel grateful. But that kind of perfection is rare, and fleeting. What we can do is train our eyes and hearts to notice the beauty tucked into imperfection.

So this is your invitation:
Look closer.
Savor deeper.
Treasure the ordinary miracles.

Because even in a busy, rainy, cold week — maybe especially then — there’s wonder to be found.

Savoring simple daily pleasures

It only recently dawned on me—perhaps in a quiet moment folding laundry or arranging a simple bud vase on the windowsill—that homemaking, in its broadest and most soulful sense, has been within me since childhood. It’s not something I suddenly adopted after becoming a mother or homeowner. Rather, it’s been a lifelong thread, gently weaving its way through every stage of my life.

As an only child, I was constantly building little worlds. Dollhouses weren’t just toys—they were whole universes where I could imagine, arrange, and tend to tiny, imagined lives. In the garden, I would create make-believe homes with sticks and leaves, setting up “rooms” and pretending to live within them. At school, even the playground was a stage for domestic daydreams—games of house, carefully crafted roles, stories of family and space and comfort. I remember endlessly reorganising the furniture at home, tidying up corners, arranging objects into little vignettes that somehow made a room feel right. I was always seeking a feeling—a sense of peace, beauty, and belonging.

Later, when I chose to study art, I realise now that it wasn’t just about the paintings themselves. I often imagined where a piece might hang. What kind of home would frame this canvas? Who would live with it, look at it daily, feel something from it? These questions were quiet but ever-present. They weren’t distractions—they were clues.

Eventually, I found myself drawn deeper into interiors. I formally studied interior design, worked in design and procurement, and fell in love with the process of creating intentional, meaningful spaces. Each project was about more than aesthetics—it was about atmosphere, emotion, and experience. Then I had children, and that thread continued to evolve. Homemaking became less about styling and more about living. Creating a life of contentment, simplicity, and sanctuary within the walls of home became my daily art form.

There’s a mindfulness to all of this—a grounding that happens when our environment reflects care, clarity, and love. Homemaking, for me, is an act of everyday reverence. Whether it's preparing dinner in a clean, ordered kitchen with fresh ingredients and a vase of garden blooms… or choosing an outfit from a simple, curated wardrobe where everything feels like me—these moments are expressions of something deeper. Something joyful and sacred.

Martha Stewart was, and remains, an enormous influence on me. She taught me that there is dignity and delight in the details. That beauty matters. That daily life can be elevated—not in grand or unattainable ways, but through intention, order, creativity, and care. I still find so much joy in the little rituals: using my beloved KitchenAid mixer, folding linens just so, lighting a candle after tidying a room. These are not chores—they're gestures of affection for the life I’m building.

This blog is, in a way, an extension of all of this. A space to explore the ordinary magic of daily life. To honour the rituals that bring joy, peace, and groundedness. To reflect on how we create homes—not just as physical structures, but as sanctuaries of soul and spirit.

Thank you for being here. I hope, in some small way, this space inspires you to see your own home—your own life—as a beautiful, evolving work of art.

The Power of a Mindful Closet: How Sorting, Editing, and Intentional Organization Can Transform More Than Just YourWardrobe

In a world saturated with fast fashion, fleeting trends, and the constant pull of consumerism, it’s easy to lose control of our wardrobes. Many of us open our closets daily and feel overwhelmed — stuffed hangers, clothes we haven’t worn in years, and a nagging feeling of “nothing to wear.” But what if there’s more to organizing your closet than just making space?

Sorting, editing, and being truly mindful and intentional with your closet organization can create a ripple effect that transforms your lifestyle, your mental well-being, your wallet, and even your environmental impact. This isn’t just about aesthetics or minimalism — this is about reclaiming control, clarity, and confidence.

Let’s dive into the tangible and intangible gains from intentionally organizing your wardrobe.

1. Clarity and Mental Calm: A Decluttered Space = A Decluttered Mind

Your physical environment is often a mirror of your mental state. A chaotic, overflowing closet can unconsciously add to daily stress. You begin your mornings feeling rushed and indecisive, digging through piles and hangers, often leaving the closet frustrated.

By sorting and editing your closet, you create a calm and intentional space. Everything in it has a purpose and a place. The act of choosing an outfit becomes less about stress and more about self-expression. You’ll find that a simplified closet provides decision-making clarity, setting a grounded tone for your entire day.

2. Discovering and Refining Your Personal Style

One of the most satisfying outcomes of a thoughtful closet edit is the realization of what you actually love to wear. When you take the time to analyze what pieces make you feel confident and comfortable — and let go of those that don’t — your personal style begins to emerge more clearly.

You stop buying clothes that don’t serve you just because they’re on sale or trendy, and you begin curating a wardrobe that reflects you. This self-awareness fosters a stronger sense of identity and authenticity.

3. Saving Time and Reducing Decision Fatigue

The average person spends countless hours each year deciding what to wear. When your closet is organized and edited down to what you actually wear and love, this daily ritual becomes streamlined.

You’ll spend less time searching, matching, or second-guessing. A mindful closet often operates like a capsule wardrobe: fewer items, but more combinations. Your mornings become smoother, your routines tighter, and your energy preserved for bigger decisions.

4. Financial Benefits: Buy Less, Buy Better

Closet clarity often leads to spending clarity.

Once you understand what works for you and what doesn't, you’ll begin shopping with more intention. Instead of impulse buying or accumulating similar pieces, you’ll seek quality over quantity, investing in items that last and make you feel great.

This shift often leads to fewer but better purchases, reducing waste and unnecessary spending. Over time, your bank account thanks you.

5. Environmental Impact: A More Sustainable You

The fashion industry is one of the largest polluters in the world. Fast fashion, in particular, contributes heavily to landfill waste, water pollution, and unethical labor practices.

Being intentional with your closet means being more conscious of your consumption. You’ll likely find yourself repurposing, donating, or upcycling more often. You’ll buy only what you need, prioritize ethically-made garments, and reduce your personal textile waste. Every piece you keep or thoughtfully pass on becomes a small act of environmental activism. I have educated myself on ethical and local companies that prioritize the garments and their manufacturing and impacts, and as more often than not these sustainable brands are a little dearer than fast fashion high street, I look out for specials, sales, and certainly don't overlook second-hand opportunities. 

NZ and Australian Brands I enjoy are: KowTow, Untouched World, Moochi, Marlow, ELK, WE-AR and Assembly Label.

We recently introduced a "Clothes Schwap" element to my book group, so we gave items we were tired of or that no longer served us and happily exchanged them amongst ourselves. ANything not re homes was donated with no hard feelings- I came away with a 'new' black skirt I LOVE!

6. Emotional Healing and Letting Go

Clothing holds emotional weight — the dress from a past relationship, the jeans that no longer fit, the blazer from a job you hated. Sorting through your closet can become a surprisingly emotional and cathartic experience.

Letting go of clothing that no longer serves you is a symbolic act of releasing what no longer fits your life — physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s not just about freeing up space; it’s about creating emotional closure and welcoming growth.

7. Increased Gratitude and Presence

When you intentionally organize your closet, you become acutely aware of what you own — and what you actually use. This cultivates gratitude.

You start appreciating each piece more deeply: the story behind it, the quality, the versatility. You become present with your wardrobe, mindful of how each garment makes you feel, how it fits into your life, and how it reflects who you are right now.

This gratitude spills over into other areas of life, inviting more mindfulness in daily routines, relationships, and consumption habits.

8. Inspiring Other Areas of Your Life

Once you experience the benefits of a well-organized closet, it’s common to feel motivated to tackle other areas of your life. The mindset of clarity, intentionality, and simplicity can influence your kitchen, your digital files, your schedule, and even your relationships.

In a way, your closet becomes a gateway to larger life transformation. It teaches you to prioritize what truly matters, to recognize clutter (in all forms), and to move through life with more purpose and presence.

Tips for Getting Started

• Start small: Dedicate just 30 minutes to one section (shoes, tops, jeans).

• Sort by category: Create piles — keep, donate, sell, unsure.

• Ask yourself honest questions: Does this fit? Do I love it? Have I worn it in the last year?

• Be gentle but firm: Letting go isn’t easy. It’s okay to feel conflicted — but stay committed to your goal.

• Reorganize with intention: Use boxes, dividers, or labels that make finding and maintaining order easy.

Final Thoughts

A mindful, edited, and organized closet is far more than a tidy space. It’s a reflection of who you are, what you value, and how you move through the world. It offers you clarity, confidence, calm, and control — one hanger at a time.

So the next time you feel overwhelmed by your wardrobe, remember this: organizing your closet is not just a chore. It’s an act of self-care, self-discovery, and empowerment. And the rewards? They reach far beyond your wardrobe doors.

   Savoring Simple Daily Pleasures. 

This morning, as the sun broke over the treetops in a watery golden hush, a little earlier every day as we pass the winter equinox, I heard it — the fluting call of a blackbird. Not a rare sound, not exotic or extraordinary, but one so deeply woven into the rhythms of home that it caught me mid-step. There, perched confidently on a bare branch, its song seemed to hold everything I’ve been feeling lately: a quiet joy, a grounded familiarity, and the kind of peace that doesn’t demand fanfare.

The common blackbird — Turdus merula — might not turn heads like a kingfisher or dazzle like a bird of paradise. But that’s precisely what I love about it. It’s ordinary, yet its song can stop you in your tracks. It thrives in gardens, hedgerows, parks, wild bush tracks and city corners — adapting, enduring, serenading the world from the backdrop of daily life.

This past week has been all moody skies and mercurial weather — a little sun, a lot of rain, a few sudden downpours to keep things interesting. Friends have escaped to sun-drenched beaches, chasing warmth and blue skies. But me? I’ve stayed put, wandering the same footpaths with damp boots and a grateful heart.

Because there’s a quiet magic in not needing to flee. In savoring each season as it comes — winter included. There’s clarity in breathing in the sharp, rain-sweetened air and watching the trees shift through their cycle. Even when the light is low and the clouds sit heavy, there is beauty waiting — if we’re willing to look for it.

It’s easy to forget, in a world obsessed with the extraordinary, that joy often hides in the simplest things. A blackbird’s song. The steam from a mug warming cold hands. The crunch of gravel underfoot on a solitary morning walk. The way a patch of sunlight lands on the wall and transforms the whole room.

In those moments, I’ve found a kind of contentment that doesn’t come from grand adventures or perfect weather. It’s the quiet kind — the kind that comes from noticing, from being fully present, from choosing to see what’s already here.

Like the blackbird, I’m learning to sing my song regardless of the season. To savor the everyday, not as something to endure, but as something sacred. Because ultimately, that’s what everyday contentment is: not a destination, but a way of seeing.