Kay SM

This Labor Day weekend was nothing short of soul-filling. Three days spent camping at Settlers Cove gave us just the right blend of relaxation, adventure, and family connection. It felt like summer’s last big embrace—sun on our shoulders, sand between… Continue reading

Does he have the space to be a boy? To break things, to build things, to wrestle, to climb, to create—and yes, even to destroy? Boys are wired with energy that spills out of them, sometimes louder and messier than… Continue reading

This season feels like a love letter written in dirt-under-the-nails cursive. I’m measuring life in jar lids and berry stains, in the soft thud of potatoes hitting a bucket and the bright ping of seals setting on the counter. Somewhere… Continue reading

When I think about my childhood, the first thing that comes to mind isn’t material possessions—it’s the feeling of being enjoyed. My parents genuinely loved raising us. Of course, there were rules and responsibilities, but underneath it all, there was… Continue reading

It feels like five minutes ago my little brothers were using my hairbrush as a lightsaber, pranking each other, or trying to convince me that yes, gummy candy counts as nutrition. Somewhere between Nerf gun battles in the living room,… Continue reading

Let’s just go ahead and say it: I don’t do it all. Not even close. I know how it can look from the outside—muddy boots drying on the boot rack, happy kids running wild, homemade berry jam and pickles cooling… Continue reading

If you didn’t grow up in Southeast Alaska running around in rain boots and eating snacks you found in the woods, did you even grow up here? I was raised in the thick of it—leading two wild younger twin brothers… Continue reading

Some mornings start with hot coffee and a good book, relaxing on the couch in a quiet serene home. Others start with someone screaming “MOM!!! It’s so rainy again!!” Guess which happens more often. Raising boys in Alaska is like… Continue reading

The house rarely gets quiet. Not truly. There’s always some soft rustle—a dryer spinning, rain tapping against the windows, footsteps running up the hallway, a little boys voice asking for something, again. But once in a while, just long enough… Continue reading