We hit #1 this week in Home & Gardens on Substack! (My middle school English teacher never saw this coming.)

If you’ve been here for a while, you know I generally try to keep my distance from metrics. But when I saw that notification pop up, I just felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

For you, and for this corner of the internet we’ve built together.

It’s no secret that I am an overthinker. Every single letter takes me three times longer to write, far too many open tabs, and a minor existential crisis about whether I’m making sense. But I pour my heart into it because I care so much about what we talk about here.

I think a lot of us are just feeling tired of how fast and disposable everything has become. It feels like so many things today either look totally identical, fall apart six months in, or cost a fortune for no reason.

So whether we’re working our way through the Buy Once list, falling down a hyper-specific design rabbit hole, figuring out what it actually means to design a home with soul, or I’m just sharing a bit of my own weekly chaos... I’m just so, so glad to be in it with you.

Thank you for showing up, for reading this hyper-fixated labor of love, and for funding this work so we can keep building it for the long haul. I’m really glad we found each other.

A few years back, I read an article about a girl who fell in love with her Miele vacuum, an obsession handed down from her mom. I recorded a quick video about it, and through some strange twist of internet fate, that clip is how most of you ended up here. I will never fully get over that detail, and lately, it’s made me think about how many women, some close to me, some total strangers, have built the person I am today.

They say if you want to remember who you actually are, go back to who you were at eight years old.

Staging elaborate imaginary cooking shows in the kitchen, soundtracked by The Chicks, Alanis Morissette, and Norah Jones, I was constantly surrounded by half-finished scrapbooks & the coolest woman I knew. She wore turquoise rings, embellished guitars, traveled to trade shows on weekends, and made it all look effortless. But more than that, my mom was a builder. She’d sketch her dream home down to the exact pathway, then slowly turn the house we lived in into the closest possible version of it.

In college, I took a job on a farm run by Amanda and her husband, Brian. They’d started it with a few acres and a dream. Full moon dinners on weekends, a working farm during the week. Y’all, I loved it.

Here’s the thing about Amanda. They didn’t have a huge budget back then, but she never compromised on things that mattered to her.

Upgrade to paid

She bought the good ingredients. She made gorgeous floral arrangements foraging the property, then wholesaled the star stems. She sketched floating tables that would one day drop from the ceiling of a restaurant that didn’t exist yet. She thrifted vintage plates in every corner of Texas, even if it meant handwashing hundreds of them after late dinners. She bought the fancy chips at H-E-B and listened to a small radio in her kitchen instead of paying for cable.

She dreamed up her future, and pulled it into reality with whatever was available to her at the time.

Pam took me in when I was a homesick intern in Florida, a vulnerability I was far too proud to admit out loud at the time. In her late sixties, and still full of life, she taught me the secret to a long marriage: never lose yourself. “Find something completely separate from your husband,” she’d tell me. “Do not merge into one person.” She wore heels in the oppressive heat of a Florida July, her clothes without a single wrinkle, and left a signature perfume lingering in rooms long after she’d walked out of them.

Then there are the women who have inspired me, even though we’ve never met. Like the all-female design firm in Megève, France, whose chalet projects I once spent an entire year deep-diving, with Google Translate working overtime in another tab.

And these are just a few of the many women who have made me who I am today. Them, and that eight-year-old girl in the kitchen staging imaginary cooking shows. Which brings me right here, to this page, sitting with you.

I tell you all this to explain the why behind the newsletter you hit subscribe on. I started this to share everything I’ve learned, and everything I’m still figuring out, right alongside you.

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And then there’s the other half of it: a deep, persistent frustration with the declining quality of everyday products. The exhaustion of endless marketing campaigns. The fatigue of asking, every single time, is this actually worth it, or is it just really good commission?

I want to build a space that counters all that noise with something real and useful.

I went through the Buy Once Directory this month for updates, plus one new addition on deck.

Quick refresher if you’re new: I go through the list monthly to make sure every product still earns its spot. Before anything gets added, it gets a real deep dive or a real-time update based on my own experience using it.

The update:

After weeks of overthinking,

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There is magic in the act of zhuzhing.

Growing up, my mom would always say that something just needed a little zhuzh, and I knew whatever she was talking about was about to get good.

Never the trendy thing. That was rule number one, even though she never said it out loud. She wanted the unique thing, the weird thing, the thing nobody else had, and if she couldn’t afford it, she’d zhuzh the basic one until it acted as if it belonged to a different, more expensive life.

Half the time zhuzhing didn’t even involve buying anything. She’d walk into a room, shift a chair three inches to the left, and that was the whole move. The entire transformation. And somehow the room would just...breathe again. Still don’t fully understand the mechanics of it.

Sometimes it was paint. Sometimes rhinestones, glued on with way more confidence than precision (none of them ever quite matched, and somehow that was the point). Sometimes it was just piling vintage turquoise over a plain tee, or a pair of leopard shoes that made an outfit that had been trying too hard suddenly, finally make sense.

It was always the layers. The hardware with some age on it. The art that didn’t technically match anything else in the room and worked anyway. The things that came with a story, even if the story was just “found it at an estate sale with your dad” and nothing more.

Whenever I heard that word, I knew something good was coming. Still do.

32 now, and somehow I still believe it, the same way I believed it at 8. You don’t need a new house. You don’t need a new outfit. Most days, you don’t need a new life. You just need to shift the thing you already have three inches to the left.

After many years of zhuzhing, it almost always comes down to the same six or seven moves.

If you’re currently fighting the urge to buy an entirely new piece of furniture, try changing your..

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My Notes app is a disaster right now. Normally, I have a strict, self-imposed rule: I don’t recommend anything until I’ve lived with it for at least a year. Long-term utility is the only metric that matters in a world constantly trying to sell us a slightly shinier version of things we already own. If it doesn’t survive a winter, a move, and three different existential crises, does it even count?

But we’re officially past the mid-year mark, the humidity is making everyone a little reckless, and my digital scratchpad has devolved into a chaotic, unhinged collection of things I am currently testing, obsessing over, or actively trying to talk myself out of buying at 2:00 AM.

So, what do you say we break the rules? Just a messy, entirely unfiltered check-in of what’s in the house on probation, and what’s been living in my cart long enough to pay rent.

First, the big one. We really need to talk about the Sixpenny sofa…

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I started keeping a buy-once list a while ago, mostly because I was just so exhausted by the internet. You watch a review for something that promises to fix your life, you finally hit purchase, it arrives, and it’s completely disappointing. Or it breaks in the first six months.

That exhaustion was channeled into starting The Cabinista. I wanted a place where you can open an email and know that I have overthought & spent hours researching everything before it ever hits your inbox. I’m not promising to always get it right; I’ve been wrong plenty of times, but I do promise to put actual time behind what I share.

Being this intentional means slower growth. But I believe that building an honest, well-researched archive is the only thing that’s actually worth our time right now.

So, I spent the last week auditing the house, my closet, and my bank statements. I put together a list of ten things I am never buying again. It’s a breakdown of the mainstream “luxury” items that are basically engineered to break, and the aesthetic traps I unfortunately fell for, so you don’t have to.

This one is paid because I want to give my 100% unfiltered, honest opinions without holding back, but also because I don’t love putting negativity out into the world. P.S. I’m only talking about giant corporations here, not small businesses.

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In the cart this week: a dehumidifier and a portable AC unit, which is not the haul I’d choose to lead with, but here we are.

I’d love to blame my husband for the running list of cooling equipment taking over our hallway, but it’s completely on me. I’m a January baby. I love the idea of summer, but I cannot handle the actual physical reality of a heatwave. Yet somehow, I live in one of the hottest states in the country. It’s a complicated, slightly toxic love-hate relationship, but it’s worth it most days.

I’ve had this exact relationship with summer most of my life.

I’m obsessed with its aura.

The version where a messy fruit-and-cheese board counts as lunch and a high pony with an oversized tee passes for evening wear. The smell of sunscreen, the Hill Country peach stands (especially the ones with the homemade ice cream), keeping a worn-out quilt in the trunk for park picnics, firepits, jalapeño wine, and acoustic music when the sun finally goes down.

But every season carries the bad with the good, and summer’s bad is the absolute scorch. Usually, the heat is manageable. Less so this year, with no peaches in sight and the humidity creeping up through the floorboards.

But the boring, mechanical infrastructure that keeps a house livable is just as much a part of design as a good chair.

It’s going to be a long July.

The Good Stuff:

The American Sleepover: I can’t stop watching the World Cup content. The sheer dopamine of everyone coming here, bringing so much joy to the States, is contagious. I’ve always said being married to a Brit living in America means I get to experience this country twice. Once through my son, once through my husband. Every time he tries a new food, experiences a new place, or makes his first Buc-ee’s run, I get all my firsts again, except better. Someone in the comments last week said it’s as if the world knew we needed help celebrating this year and reminded us why we love this place.

East Fork Pottery’s new Longleaf collection & the little Kitchen Pot for herbs. If you don’t know them, they were founded by potters in Asheville, North Carolina, making dinnerware from local Appalachian clay. The clay is iron-rich, so these tiny mineral speckles bleed up through the glaze, and no two pieces come out the same. The first thing you notice when picking one up is the weight. It feels grounding, like it’s actually there in your hand. A mug you’re still reaching for in ten years is cheaper than the four cute ones you’ll buy and replace twice. That’s the whole math. Buy once.

Also, if you’re eating raw summer tomatoes right now without a proper garlic plate to grate fresh cloves directly into the olive oil before the tomatoes hit, we need to fix that immediately.

Kyrgies (Craig’s current obsession)

Gave these to him for Father’s Day. Handmade wool slides. He’s been sliding them on every single evening since. Might be the best reaction to a gift he’s given me in years.

The Highwomen. The way they harmonize makes me emotional. Plus, I am completely hyper-fixated on their custom Manuel Couture jackets. My mom introduced me to classic Western fashion when I was little, and I can’t help but love the artistry of a true Nudie suit, the chain-stitch embroidery, and the pearl snaps.

• The totes: The Clare V. L’été Tote is the perfect mix of utility and pretty, but if you want a structural print, the Call It By Your Name Maxi Cabas Bandana Tote.

  All of my favs here.

• The sunscreen standard: Do not skimp on face protection. The ISDIN Eryfotona Actinica Mineral Sunscreen SPF50+ is what dermatologists actually use. Zero chalky residue, pure skin barrier. Pair it with the HANNI Water Balm Custom Hydration Mist for when you’re baking on the sand.

• The sandal: The Jeffrey Campbell Linques Tortoise Jelly Sandals do that nostalgic, slightly ironic ‘90s nod while still looking sharp enough for a casual dinner.

• The audio: I’m officially rejecting the phone-scrolling-on-the-beach vibe. I put a Jensen Bluetooth Anti-Skip Portable CD Player in my bag. It forces you to listen to an entire album start to finish, the way it was meant to be heard.

  

• Turkish Towel: The only beach towel worth owning. It dries in minutes, shakes clean instead of dragging half the shore home with it, packs down to nothing, and quietly becomes a wrap, a blanket, a scarf the second the sun drops. One object, four jobs. You already know how I feel about that.

• Carabiner: Clip to the strap of your bag. That’s it. Wet swimsuit, damp hat, sandy sandals, all of it hangs off the outside on the walk back instead of soaking the inside of your bag.

• White Vinegar: For jellyfish stings. Not the other thing the internet keeps insisting on, which actually makes it worse. Vinegar neutralizes the sting, and you move on with your day.

& a brief appreciation for ugly appliances:

Midea Cube dehumidifier and the Midea Duo smart inverter AC. Unsexy, mechanical, and absolutely flawless at creating a livable micro-climate when the weather outside feels like a personal attack.

I spent the week auditing the house, my closet, and my bank statements, and compiled a list of ten things I am never buying again. Mostly mainstream “luxury” items engineered to fail, and a few aesthetic traps I unfortunately fell for, so you don’t have to.

It goes out Tuesday for paid subscribers and will live in the Buy Once Directory afterward. That directory is really the point of the upgrade, less about a single post and more about a running, weekly updated log of what is actually worth the investment and what isn’t.

Get 7 day free trial

Your midnight researcher bestie,

xx

Peyton.

I have at least 11 screenshots of the exact same giant fire pit saved in my camera roll right now.

I’m not even looking at them anymore. At this point, I’m just manifesting.

You know I consider myself a borderline professional internet sleuth. It’s a core facet of my personality that I can spot a leopard chair in the background of a random Architectural Digest tour and find you three versions at three price points before my coffee even cools.

But this fire pit. And that one French soap dispenser I saw on TikTok three years ago.

They are the two unsolved cases keeping me from claiming a perfect record.

So consider this an open case file. When I finally find it (and I will), you’ll hear about it here first, probably in a deeply unhinged 6 a.m. post. And if you’ve seen it somewhere (a giant, brutalist concrete situation), please reply to this email. I will personally owe you a jalapeño marg.

Because that’s still the dream: one day we take this whole group chat offline. The coolest, kindest people I’ve managed to find on the internet, drinking margs around a giant piece of concrete, talking about anything and everything.

Which leads me, naturally, to the cozy summer porch.

There was no way we could start this series anywhere else.

To me, summer starts and ends on the porch.

Every year I build this very specific list of porch must-haves, and I’m incredibly picky about it because I’m not shopping for furniture. I’m chasing a very specific brand of nostalgia.

I want a porch that feels like:

• The rhythmic back and forth of an Adirondack.

• Morning coffee in the quiet humidity before the world wakes up.

• Looking out to see Grandpa already in the pool.

• The faint hum of a radio floats through the screen door when you pull into the driveway.

• A chaotic, beautiful pile of colorful towels and pool floats baking in the sun.

I’ve spent months testing deck stains. I’ve hunted down outdoor furniture that actually survives (Texas-tested). And I found a few fire pit alternatives that almost…almost made me forget about the eleven screenshots.

Let’s get into it.

In the remainder of this edition:

• The exact ten pieces,

• The resort tree lighting trick nobody talks about,

• The stain breakdown I spent way too long testing

This is the actual research: dozens of hours of deep-diving, returning, and weather-testing so you don’t buy the wrong Adirondack twice. It also happens to cost about one jalapeño marg a month. Love you, see you on the other side!

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There is a giant blue moon shining through my windows right now, and the house is echoing with a very specific, chaotic kind of cheering. The Spurs just pulled off another win.

I’m on the floor finishing this week’s letter to my favorite corner of the internet (that’s you), and for one second, everything just feels good.

If you’ve been here a while, you know I am not a Sports Girl. I am typically a merch-and-snacks girl. But there is a specific comfort in having a game playing in the background. It’s the ultimate white noise. It sounds like childhood. It sounds like a Sunday night before reality kicks back in.

But once in a blue moon, I accidentally get pulled in.

Tonight is one of those nights. My 22-year-old brother just texted me a photo from a midnight line at Academy, sweating through his shirt just to buy a limited-edition championship tee. Watching the people on my screen, hearing the city honk into the night, I don’t know, y’all. Everything feels heavy lately, but watching people experience pure joy together? It feels a lot like hope.

Plus, the ‘Wemby’ fan edits on TikTok are keeping my dopamine levels alive.

Thanks for letting me have my sports moment. I know, I know. 400 words on existential joy, immediately followed by bedding recommendations. It’s chaotic, but that is just the current landscape of my brain: half existential awe at human connection, half hyper-fixated on finding the perfect summer bedding.

Here is the good stuff I found for your week:

• The Inn Keeper Cherry Coffee Cake Recipe: Make it on a Thursday night so Friday morning feels like a holiday.

• Puff Quilts & Summer Quilts: Obsessed with the texture of these, & they are so fun for summer.

• The Downright Comforter: Life-changing. It’s everything you want in a comforter. Light, fluffy, might be my favorite comforter ever.

• Pepper Home Aegean Silk Roman Shades: For a quick, beautiful window refresh.

• Fatboy Outdoor Beanbag Chair: The summer edition of an adult beanbag.

• Marie Oliver Collection: My current Obsession. Effortless, sun-drenched prints

The goal is a hotel breakfast. The effort is almost none.

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We are exactly one day away from summer, and if I had to describe the last seven days in a single word, it would be survival. Or maybe unhinged. Let’s go with unhinged.

It felt like someone accidentally tapped the first domino on Sunday night, and my only job for the rest of the week was to stand there and watch the whole row go down while pouring a cup of coffee.

The absolute peak? My son missed Field Day. For the SECOND YEAR running.

Now, if I had missed Field Day at his age, it would have been a relief, a ‘get out of forced cardio free card.’ But he is not me. He was devastated.

Watching your child navigate that very specific brand of childhood heartbreak while your inbox is simultaneously exploding and the school calendar is aggressively colliding with your nervous system?

It’s a very specific, late May cocktail:

By Wednesday, I wasn’t walking through my week; I was dragging myself across the finish line. But stay with me here. I promise I’m getting back to the flowers.

Right before the dominoes fell, my husband had picked up two bunches of peonies from HEB. They were under ten dollars each. One for me, one for my mom.

My mom is notably not a “flower girly.” She doesn’t gush over flowers. But these flowers were different.

When we first put them in the vase on the kitchen counter, they were just small, bright pink buds. Very, “we’re closed for the season. Come back later.”

But as the week completely deteriorated and the dominoes fell one by one, these flowers decided to stage a full, very dramatic, theatrical performance in the background of my collective meltdown.

• Monday: Aggressive hot pink buds (and 47 unread emails)

• Wednesday: Exploding coral, petals splayed open (and total emotional collapse)

• Friday: A soft, buttery yellow (and complete acceptance)

They were unreal.

The flowers shifted from hot pink to bright coral to orange, and finally to a soft, buttery yellow (honestly, a stunning character arc. Give them an award).

I promise I am not trying to get deep and philosophical about a ten-dollar bunch of grocery store peonies. But in a week where my schedule was entirely unhinged and I felt like I had absolutely zero agency over my own life, watching those shifting colors became the exact, gentle reminder I needed. It was a little note to myself that transitions can still be beautiful and expansive, even when the context surrounding them is a total, chaotic mess.

Since we are almost through the last week of school, I went back and bought three more bouquets to finish out the year strong. One for my mom, one for the Huddy’s teacher, and one for me.

Make that four. Because I’m sending one to you, too.

A Little Countertop Hope ✨

One day, when this Substack is my full-time gig, I hope to buy flowers for everyone in this community. But for now, let’s start small. The next person to upgrade to a paid subscription will get a virtual gift card from me to grab a bunch of peonies for their own kitchen counter. We all need a little bit of hope on the counter.

Now, where were we?

Think of today’s letter as the official prologue to what I’ve been calling our Summer of Cozy. I know. The math of that sentence feels a little broken for late May. But I’m not talking about heavy wool blankets or forced autumn aesthetics. When I say cozy, I mean something deeply nostalgic. It’s the feeling of eating popsicles on the porch after dinner. It’s quilts and wood floors with wet footprint marks, outdoor fans, and early-summer breakfast trays. It’s climbing into a cold bed after a full day outside, Pendleton blankets draped over Adirondack chairs, and giant fire pits. It’s a living room with the AC blasting, a few pops of blue, and a really good playlist in the background.

Over the next few months, this space will become a bit of a blueprint for creating that exact feeling.

But first, an end-of-week palette cleanser: a few May favorites, some new buy-once additions, and a couple of necessary, slightly heartbreaking brand breakups.

Anyway, onto the new additions...

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There were stations set up all over the classroom. Bins of neon nail polish. Loose cotton swabs. A pack of first-graders who are personally, passionately committed to bringing back 1998 frosted blue eyeshadow.

I sat in one of those tiny plastic chairs, the ones that make your knees hit your chin, smelling like cotton candy body spray, while my son used my eyelid as a canvas. I was trying not to blink. I was trying to be present, which is somehow both the simplest and the most exhausting instruction anyone ever gives you.

I have complicated feelings about these school events.

School is already a lot for kids. Days like this can be incredibly hard in ways nobody plans for. They make an absence feel loud in rooms designed for celebration. I hope we figure out, eventually, how to honor the love without amplifying the quiet of who isn’t there.

But I sat there anyway.

And somewhere between the blush brush and whatever the “glitter situation” was, I stopped looking for the exit and started looking at the women around me.

There was a mom with a new baby at home who showed up ten minutes early, wearing red lipstick. She seemed to glow with pure joy. Another woman, a nurse, had just finished a twelve-hour shift and was still in her scrubs. She had matching braids in her hair and her daughter’s, both done before sunrise.

Looking at them, I was reminded of the invisible architecture we’re all constantly, quietly, holding up.

There’s a shared strength in being a woman, being the emotional support and the safe place for others, all while trying to build a future without a clear plan. It’s a lot to carry, living in a world that expects us to be everything while we’re still figuring out who we are when the room is finally quiet.

It’s beautiful, and it’s a disaster. Easy and devastating, sometimes in the same hour, sometimes in the same breath.

And still? Even with smeared purple glitter on my face and the exhaustion of navigating a system that wasn’t built for us, I would choose this.

We talked about mothers yesterday, and we should. I just keep thinking we don’t do it nearly enough, the other 364 days!

Every woman I know mothers the world in some way. She raises, anchors, restores, and holds things together that would otherwise fall apart. She does it in small ways, in daily ways, in ways that go completely unnoticed and most of the time unrewarded.

She does it anyway.

There’s something I keep coming back to:

That’s not a small thing. That’s actually the whole thing.

To this community, the ones who read this, who reply, who trust me with your homes and your time. I don’t take that lightly. I see you turning around. Thank you for being here.

• Summer Design Secrets: The textures & products I’m obsessed with for June.

• The “Buy Once” Update: I’m officially retiring one “must-have” and finally sharing the one I’ve been waiting to share.

• The Design Waitlist: Three spots. Wednesday at 9:00 AM.

But first.

Last year, I dumped out my mom’s bag on the table, and y’all loved it!

She has the best playlists, the jewelry you never want to take off, and this genuine, deep love for people that makes everyone feel like the only person in the room. She has that kind of “cool” that isn’t a performance, it’s just her.

I asked if we could do it again this year. She didn’t even look up from her coffee.

“Of course,” she said.

The chaos, the receipts, and the leather-wrapped tape measure.

There is a difference between buying things and building a life you love being in. My mom has always known the difference. We went through everything in her bag this afternoon, from the jewelry she never takes off to the one thing she says “every woman should carry.”

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A butter yellow chaise lounge. Always missing one arm cover. Warm in the way that makes the rest of the house go quiet, like a Norah Jones song you didn’t realize was playing until it stopped.

My mom had these honey toile sheets she’d pull out every June, a signal that summer was almost here. I still have magazine cutouts of yellow sunrooms that have followed me through three zip codes. They’ve survived every purge. I’ve never been able to explain it.

In the 2000s, we used so much yellow we gave the entire design world a migraine. Then we spent the next decade scrubbing it out. Traded the sun for Greige and called it growth. Optimized our living rooms for resale value and strangers on the internet, and forgot we had to actually live inside them.

I’m not trying to bring back the Tuscan kitchen. Not today.

But there’s something about yellow glass catching afternoon light, or a beam that’s been stained honey for forty years, that white paint simply cannot do. It’s warmer than a trend. It’s something you remember from somewhere.

Maybe we’ve just been living in rooms that don’t love us back.

Yellow is the hardest color to get right.

A true shapeshifter. Looks like a dream at 10 AM and a migraine by 4. The difference between the ones that work and the ones that don’t is something I can actually explain.

And it has nothing to do with the shade.

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I’ve had about 14 gift guides land in my inbox in the last two weeks, and I refused to be the 15th. So instead of a whole separate email, I just put mine here. Every selection is thoroughly vetted, tested, and obsessively researched, so you don’t have to stress-scroll until midnight. Thoughtful picks for your mom, your mother-in-law, your best friend, or, honestly, just yourself. No judgment.

I did the deep scroll. So you don’t have to.

Know what you want?

If you’d rather skip the poetic one-liners and go straight to the good stuff, no judgment. Tap below to jump right into the full Mother’s Day gift collection.

Shop Gift Ideas

The Splurge List

One Gift. Months of Joy on Repeat. If you want something that does the thinking for you. The Seasonal Subscription Box is for you if you want her to think about you once a month for the rest of the year. That’s just good strategy.

The Handmade Velvet Luxe Leopard Print Portable Lamp, cordless, three sizes, rechargeable. It belongs in a corner she hasn’t figured out yet. She’ll figure it out the moment it arrives.

The Tigre Rug, because some of my favorite gifts are the ones I least expect.

The Downright Comforter is possibly the softest comforter I’ve ever felt in my life, and I’ve felt a lot of comforters. I can’t explain it, just trust me and buy it for her. Or yourself. Ideally both.

Murray’s Cheese Board: The gift for the mom who hosts and takes it personally when the cheese board isn’t right.

The Top Shelf

Soft Services Theraplush Mother of Pearl Gift Set, the packaging alone earns its spot on the list.

Soft Services Vacation Buffing Bar for the mom who takes her skin seriously

ELLIS BROOKLYN Salt Eau de Parfum, clean, warm, quietly magnetic. The kind of fragrance people ask about three years later. SOSPIRO Vibrato if she leans more boldly.

Bondi Boost Everlast Airstyler System or the Infrared Long Barrel Hot Round Brush are genuinely good hair tools that she won’t buy herself because she keeps putting it off.

The ETOILE Oval Toiletry Case for the mom who travels. The Pill Box, because it’s small and perfect, and something she wouldn’t buy herself.

The Art of the Host

The John Boos Cutting Board, Buy Once. Full stop. The kind of thing that gets handed down.

NICKEY KEHOE Straight Medium Glass, a Tuesday glass of water that feels like an event. Already in this month’s Honey Archive for a reason.

The 1-Pint Ice Cream Maker or the Frozen Yogurt & Sorbet Maker, one of these is going to make her the most popular person at every summer gathering. Both are small enough to actually live on the counter.

Tortoise Catena Link Napkin Rings and Sabre Paris flatware for the mom who loves flatware.

The Handmade Ceramic Olive Boat Set for the one who entertains.

Starry Night Rocks Glass or Recycled Handblown Glassware if she’s the one who makes every drink feel considered.

The Not Another Bill Silver Ice Cream Lid is tiny, perfect, the kind of thing she’d never buy herself and will use every single day.

The Cozy Home Edit

Vintage Amber Tortoiseshell Art Glass Compote Bowl, hand-blown, is the centerpiece she’s been looking for.

Faux Tortoise Box Set of 2 and the Honey Bobble Catchall for the mom who likes her surfaces to look intentional.

The Small Stamped Matchbox in Turquoise and the Small Stamped Round Dish are tiny gifts that land big. The kind that end up on the nightstand and stay there.

The Wardrobe

The Jack Bag, she’ll reach for every day without thinking about it. That’s the best compliment a bag can get.

Mona Studded Shoulder Bag for something with a little more attitude.

Wild One Oversized Tote or the Giant Black Bag for the mom who carries everything for everyone and deserves to do it in something she loves.

The Jeannie Short-Sleeve A-Line Mini Dress is the thing she’ll wear all summer, and feel good every single time.

The 7:00 AM Aesthetic

Bamboo Waffle Knit Robe, the best robes. She’ll never go back.

Ember Cold Tumbler keeps her iced coffee cold for hours. Worth it.

Rest Duvet Evercool Cooling Fitted Sheet for the mom who runs hot and hasn’t slept well in longer than she’ll admit.

Down for Good Comforter Ethical down, the kind of weight that makes you cancel plans. It zips closed, which sounds like a small thing until you’ve wrestled a duvet insert at 11 PM and lost.

Santa Maria Novella Relax Scented Wax Tablet, she won’t know what it is, and she won’t stop thinking about it.

• Gemini Express in Red: The chicest espresso maker that doubles as kitchen eye candy.

• Trade Coffee: The gift that starts working the morning it arrives.

• Bread Warmer & Basket Gift Set: Cozy and thoughtful, this set keeps bread warm at the table—perfect for anyone who loves hosting.

• Bread Bow: A fun, quirky tool for perfectly slicing bread

• Tortoise Catena Link Napkin Rings: Classic tortoiseshell napkin rings that add a touch of vintage warmth to any table setting.

• The Crisp Sheet Set: Cool, structured, hotel energy.

• Happy Box: A curated box of things that just make someone feel good. No overthinking, no shipping seven separate packages, it arrives already the moment. That’s the gift.

Mom Edition Photo-Wrapped Hardcover print the camera roll. Make it a book. She will cry.

Camp Snap Camera for the mom who documents everything on her phone and would love an excuse to slow down and do it the old way for a summer.

Write her a memory menu: List 5 meals she made that shaped your childhood, and what you remember about them (bonus: handwrite it and tie it with twine).

Create a custom playlist: Not just any playlist, songs that remind you of her, from your road trip phases to her favorite grocery store anthem

Print and frame a screenshot of a text she sent you that made you laugh or cry. Frame it like art because it is the most intimate, beautiful and unique art that connects you both.

Give her “a day off.” A homemade voucher for one day, where no one asks her where anything is (include coffee and a "do not disturb" sign).

A Personalized “Home Survival Kit”

Fill a pretty vintage basket or wooden box with:

• A candle

• Fancy matches

• A jar of bath salts or infused oil

• Her favorite snack or drink

Framed Recipe in Your Handwriting: Take one of her signature recipes and write it out by hand. Frame it in a thrifted or antique frame.

Pressed Flowers in a Frame: Go for a walk, gather blooms, press them in a book, and place them in a floating glass frame.

Custom Mix CD or USB “Radio Hour”: Record yourself introducing her favorite songs like an old-school radio DJ, then pair the playlist with a little note explaining why each song made the cut.

Painted Matchbox + Fancy Matches: Paint or collage the outside of a matchbox with art, family photos, or funny labels like “Emergency Vibe Restoration Kit.” Fill with good matches and a mini candle.

PS: Need more ideas?

Browse the complete curated list, along with real-time updates on my Shop My. Every selection is thoroughly vetted, tested, and obsessively researched, so you don’t have to stress-scroll until midnight.

Shop Gift Ideas

Love ya, mean it, bye!

Peyton.

*Contains affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission on any items you purchase.

There was a specific kind of magic in getting ready, wasn’t there?

Music on. Sitting on the floor for no real reason except that the floor was always better than a chair. Everything from the makeup bag was dumped out in front of you. Twenty minutes where the day hadn’t actually started yet and was still completely full of possibility.

Somewhere in the rush, I just stopped.

Lately, I’m sucking down lukewarm coffee while microdosing world-ending headlines before I’ve even blinked. I’m attempting to “observe, not absorb,” which is a losing battle at 7 am. So the phone is now face down.

Which somehow sent me down a deep dive into vanities.

Why did we let these disappear?

Somewhere along the line, the industry decided a bathroom sink and an LED mirror that makes you look like you’re being interrogated was “enough.” But a real vanity isn’t just a table; it’s a piece of furniture designed for the sole purpose of taking your time.

I have a decade-deep folder of magazine tears and middle-of-the-night screenshots of the vanity I’ll eventually build from scratch for us.

But in the meantime, I’ve been looking for the pieces that actually have a soul. The kind of furniture that is built to last and actually makes you want to sit down and stay a while.

Here is what I’ve found so far…

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Blackberry key lime pie for breakfast. A missed FaceTime. A breaking news alert. Taxes. Late nights reading about pollen with a kind of personal vitriol that suggests I have absolutely no other responsibilities in this world.

Cabana magazine delivered. My son is currently obsessed with red-footed tortoises; we are deep in the research phase, his grandmother is on board, and I am outnumbered. Meanwhile, I’ve been shopping for an oversized cheetah-print lounge chair.

This is the part nobody posts about. The week isn’t exactly hard, just full. Full of things that matter and things that absolutely do not, and the strange fact that both can feel equally urgent at 11 pm on a Thursday.

I have a feeling you’ve had those days, too. The ones where you’re caught between the weight of the world and the specific shade of a reptile’s shell.

And since I have never learned the art of being nonchalant, you should know: I started writing because I had things I needed to say and nowhere that felt like home. Then you showed up. All of you. Now, this is the thing I look forward to every single week. Not the metrics, not the numbers on a dashboard, but this. The act of sitting down to write to you, like you’re already in the room.

The fact that we found each other in all this noise is the only part of this that makes sense to me. Some things are better felt than measured.

Life is short. I’m just really glad we’re spending a little of it here together.

Okay. Let’s get into it.

For the Spring Edition Below:

• THE Leopard Sofa: always been a “maximalist neutral.”

• The Pinkberry “Tart” Dupe: It took three attempts to get the texture right. Version 3 is the only one you need.

• The “Pollen-Proofing” Secret: The car-detailing product that seals outdoor furniture.

• The 10-Minute Utility Hack: The one thing to do to your condenser unit before AC season hits your bill.

• The Forever Tool: The garden staple you keep replacing & the BIFL version that ends the cycle.

• The Spring Refresh: Five moves. Different house.

• In My Cart: The new collabs & stair runners.

Read more

My husband won me over with an itinerary.

I hate an itinerary.

A schedule on my day off feels like a threat, places I have to be, and outfits I have to coordinate. But this wasn’t your typical itinerary.

It was a love letter for a Sunday.

There were no 11:00 AM brunch reservations or “must-see” exhibits. It was just us: wandering the aisles of a supermarket, buying pancake mix, and coming home to lose three hours to a movie we’d both already seen. An oversized T-shirt, unbrushed hair, Vitamin D kind of day.

If I hadn’t already known he was the one, that promise of a slow supermarket stroll would have done it.

I think about that letter a lot lately, mostly because my Sundays aren’t slow anymore. They are a high-speed chase against the Monday Scaries. A chaotic “reset” where I’m not actually resting, I’m just preparing to be productive later. I’ve traded park sandwiches and kitchen dance moves for the optimized weekend, where every hour is a move in a game of chess against my own burnout.

It’s the idea that if I just prep enough, if I just “get ahead” of the week, I’ll finally earn the right to exist without an agenda.

But things don’t slow down; you just have to choose to. That’s the whole secret, and also the hardest part. Peace isn’t a reward you get at the end of a to-do list; it’s the thing you have to claim while the house is still a mess.

As Sunday finally comes to a close, I’m choosing the movie I’ve already seen. I’m choosing the pancakes.

If you’re reading this and you’re not quite ready to hand yourself over to Monday, same. The pressure doesn’t just turn off because I wrote a Substack about it.

But I think rest isn’t the reward. I think it’s the whole point. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

New month, new week, and we’re all just on a spinning rock anyway. Do one thing this week that’s just for you. Even a small one.

Oh, and Wednesday is..

A burnt maple latte, I’ve been making every morning. French cheese paper & a handful of other very specific, super niche things for spring. Oh, and a “Buy Once” addition I’ve been sitting on for three years. I refused to say anything until I was certain it wasn’t just a passing phase.

I’m sure.

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I found myself in the magazine aisle yesterday. Chasing inspiration, maybe. Or just a hit of dopamine with a hint of nostalgia.

Fourteen dollars for what is mostly ads felt steep, so I was just taking mental photos. Flipping fast, absorbing what I could before I had to be somewhere else. But the real inspiration wasn’t on the pages. It was the man next to me.

He was in his late seventies, and he had simply plopped, I am talking criss-cross applesauce, right there on the floor with a giant stack of magazines he’d gathered from the top shelf. He was settled in as if he had absolutely nowhere else to be, radiating a kind of pure happiness I haven’t seen from a stranger in a long time.

My first thought was: I hope I can still plop like that at 75…

My second was quieter. There is an 8-year-old living somewhere deep inside all of us, begging us to please slow down. To do the unexpected thing. To choose the floor over the hurry. He didn’t know he was teaching me anything, which is probably why it landed.

I’ll admit, I’ve been in a bit of a feral mood lately. Between the man on the floor, the four-leaf clover my son brought me, and seeing this publication land on the Substack “Rising in Design” list thanks to all of you, it was a very loud sign to get over myself. To stop sitting in the doom and gloom and just be happy for another day here.

To celebrate all the new faces here, I spent the rest of the evening channeled into something one of you requested: “Buy Once” Faucet Recommendations. I got a little carried away and turned it into a full guide.

But first, a few things to start your week, because we're going to have an amazing week.

I’m writing it in black and white:

Currently Into:

• Foton. A female-founded brand that lets me turn all my favorite vintage containers into candles.

• Lands’ End Sateen Sheets: currently on my bed. A genuine threat to my productivity.

• Easter Basket Favorites: not your typical easter basket fillers.

• Pienza 10 oz Tumblers: the only glass I want in my hand all summer.

• Cayla Gray Fragrance: The Velvet Perfume. Consider me obsessed.

The Hyperfixation: Lemon Pasta

Add lemon peel to the water before boiling angel hair. Toss with French butter, good olive oil, lemon zest, heavy parmesan, and a little salt and pepper. It’s spring in a bowl.

The Faucet Guide

I went too far down this rabbit hole, so you don’t have to.

Here is something the plumbing industry would rather you not know.

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It’s 11:00 PM, and I’m twelve tabs deep into the origin story of a French bedroll.

My husband walks in, looks at the yellow legal pad next to me, and doesn’t even ask anymore. He just knows.

I’m back in the “Buy Once” rabbit hole, trying to find the exact year a heritage brand decided to swap its soul for a profit margin.

I never have a great answer for him. It’s just this slightly unhinged realization I can’t shake: that most things are built to break, and I’m desperately looking for the few that aren’t.

I’m at the point where I need to know if there’s any life left in the objects we bring into our homes. Or, at least, that’s how I justify the hours of my life I’ve sacrificed to a Google search bar.

Last weekend, I finally hit “post” on a video about that search.

By afternoon, the “Buy Once” philosophy felt very small. I was sitting in a plastic chair at our local Urgent Care, watching my seven-year-old fight a fever under those aggressive, flickering, fluorescent lights.

Two days before that, I’d been lying on the floor. I mean, literally, back on the rug, staring at the ceiling, having one of those what am I even doing? breakdowns. I actually asked the universe out loud: Am I just adding to the noise? Is any of this helping? Send me a sign.

And then, there I was. Sitting in a clinic, mid-symptom-spiral, when the notifications began.

It wasn’t the sign I pictured. No grand moment. No quiet epiphany. Just a video, finally finding its people, arriving in the most unglamorous setting imaginable, while I felt completely helpless about the only thing that actually mattered.

But I think that’s exactly the point.

We spend so much time waiting for the perfect time to start, for the house to be clean, for the stars to align. But the universe usually answers you while you’re sitting on a plastic chair in a waiting room, smelling like hand sanitizer and survival.

The momentum doesn’t care if you’re ready. It just cares that you showed up.

If you’re new here, hi, hello. I realize that was a lot for a first email, but I’ve never been very good at the small talk phase of things, so you’re just getting the whole of it at once.

I’m really glad you decided to stay.

I updated it.

I took in every note from new readers, added a few, cut some more out, and honestly got stricter. Because here’s the thing: brands change their products. A Buy Once item stops being one the moment the formula changes or the manufacturing moves. So the list will update monthly. That’s my promise to you, to be the filter, do the research, and only put something on there when I actually mean it.

I also pulled off a handful of things I genuinely love, but that don’t quite clear the Buy Once bar. Great products, just not forever products.

Those are moving to a Worth the Splurge List, which I’m building out now.

Most beds that look good don’t actually sleep well. You want the visual weight, the layers, the texture, the “sink-in” feeling, without the 3 AM night sweats.

I finally cracked the balance this season. It’s three specific pieces that provide the gravity without the heat. No over-styling, no “museum” pillows. Just the things that actually get better the more you live in them.

The source list and the three move layering guide are below for paid supporters; it’s how I keep these late-night research rabbit holes running and the spark in my husband’s side-eye alive.

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There’s a very specific kind of childhood memory that starts with a Sharpie-labeled CD and a parent looking at you in the rearview mirror to ask,

We’d be halfway to nowhere, somewhere between “Luckenbach” and “Landslide,” and suddenly the destination didn’t matter. The drive was the whole point. I think that’s where I learned that the “in-between” is usually where the actual life happens.

I ended up marrying a man who treats a playlist like a love language. It’s our slightly unhinged solution for when the world gets heavy. We just put on the right song and drive until the air feels lighter.

Hudson asked to go see his great-grandma. Seven years old, completely unprompted.

So, we just went.

The morning started with a heartbreak: my favorite coffee spot in Dripping Springs was closed. If you know me, you know that’s a genuine tragedy. But we pivoted. We grabbed a bag of Austin Pretzel Co. (now a non-negotiable road trip staple) and a cup of Buc-ee’s coffee that tasted exactly like 7:00 AM on a Saturday.

We had Harry Nilsson on the speakers before we even hit the highway.

• Everybody’s Talkin’, Harry Nilsson

• Time In A Bottle, Jim Croce

• Always Somewhere, Scorpions

• Human, Brandi Carlile

• What Are You Listening To, Chris Stapleton

• Lost Highway, Kacey Musgraves

• Going to California, Led Zeppelin

A long stretch of highway. A trunk full of things with a past life. Coming home completely wrecked and already wanting to do it again.

I pulled into the driveway with a vintage haul and a singular, intense urge to rearrange the house. It’s a sickness, really. That specific brand of exhaustion that feels exactly like inspiration. If you know, you know. And if you’re here, you probably know.

But because I know you weren’t all road-tripping through East Texas with me, I spent Monday sourcing the near-identical versions online.

My online thrifting system is pretty simple, but it’s taken me a decade of trial and error to actually trust it. It really just comes down to this...

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Some good news: The Year of the Fire Horse hasn’t officially arrived yet.

I am gripping onto that technicality with both hands. I am very much in it right now. This is my third attempt at writing this. I’m not talking about a light dusting of edits. I’m talking about a full-on “select all, backspace, stare into the middle distance” afternoon.

When I find myself in this headspace, I don’t just rewrite; I research. It’s a hazard of the job. It’s why I only take on a handful of design clients at a time. My research hours triple when I’m choosing products for someone else’s home. I cannot recommend an item unless I know you will LOVE it, or I am 99 percent sure you will.

But lately, the obsession has reached a new, slightly unhinged level.

Exhibit A: I spent HOURS this week researching classroom Valentines for our son.

The Goal: Avoid them being sentenced to “junk drawer abyss.”

The Reality: I was deep-diving into the parent companies of Valentine manufacturers, checking if they were actual small businesses or just venture capital firms cosplaying as them.

The result? A box of dominoes wrapped in twine. A win for my conscience; a total loss for my sleep schedule.

After the domino & twine spiral, I sat down to finish my Valentine’s Gift Guide and just... stopped.

My cursor was blinking at me, and I felt nothing. It felt like I was contributing to the very noise I’m trying to drown out.

So, I hit delete.

This isn’t some polished ‘2026 Brand Strategy.’ It’s the opposite. It’s me admitting that the old way of doing things doesn’t fit the world we’re living in anymore.

Everything feels heavier lately, doesn’t it? I don’t want to pretend it isn’t. I want to show up here and be real with you, even when it’s messy. That means I’m becoming even more protective of your time (and your peace).

I’m still going to find the good stuff, the interior design finds that actually have a soul, but I’m being more picky than ever. If it isn’t ‘Buy Once’ quality, it doesn’t make the cut. But I also want to share the rest of it: the life hacks that actually give you an hour of your day back, the shortcuts I use in my own “beautiful mess,” and the kind of honest advice I’d give you over a glass of wine or coffee.

So, I’m shifting things a little.

• Finding your “Forever” style. How do we stop chasing trends and start trusting our own eyes? I want to look at the art of the antique hunt and how to curate a home that evolves with us, rather than one we’re ready to toss in eighteen months.

• The people and places that make life worth paying attention to. Artists, entrepreneurs, the people quietly building something real. I’ll share who’s inspiring me and why.

• The Beautiful Mess. This is multi-generational living, the day-to-day chaos, and the “real life” that is usually edited out. That’s where everything worth talking about is happening anyway.

• The “Good Stuff” (The Research). I’m going to keep being the person who stays up until 2 AM vetting brands you haven’t heard of yet and finding the unique pieces that actually change how your home feels. I’ll do the obsessive research into makers and materials so you don’t have to.

I want this to be the subscription that earns its place in your inbox, a little more solid, a lot less noise.

If you value having a human (and a professional deep diver) in your inbox, consider upgrading to a paid subscription. It’s how I’m able to keep this space independent and noise-free. I’m so glad you’re here regardless.

Subscribe now

**A deep exhale in furniture form**

One good thing came from my 2 AM research spiral: I found a furniture brand that actually feels like it’s on our side. I’m currently debating a swap: trading my Sixpenny sofa for two of their sofas in Indigo.

The sourcing list and the specific fabrics I’m eyeing are below. It’s how I keep this space going.

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A few years ago, I sat next to a stranger on a flight from Atlanta to San Antonio. He had a newspaper instead of an iPhone, and I made the weird choice not to pull out my headphones.

The man in 4C had kind eyes and wore his wedding ring like a badge of honor.

We got to talking somewhere over Alabama, the way you do when you’re suspended at 30,000 feet with nowhere to be but present. He was heading home to San Antonio. A Doctor, now retired. Two kids, three grandkids who were, in his words, “the whole point of living.”

He asked about my life. I deflected with something about work, about design, about “my plans.” Then he asked the question that made me pause:

Are you happy?

Not fine. Not busy. Happy.

I gave him the honest answer, the kind you only give strangers on planes or therapists you’ve paid. And then he leaned in like he was about to tell me something important.

“Fifty years,” he said. “Fifty years with my best friend, and I’ll tell you the only thing that matters.”

He pulled out the newspaper from the seat pocket, flipped to a blank margin, and wrote in careful block letters:

“All five,” he said, underlining all. “Not four. Not three. All of them. Every single day.”

I was engaged when I landed…

A few months later, I wasn’t…

That’s its own story, but I still have that newspaper margin.

A few years later, I married my person. The one who gives me time even when he’s tired. Who talks to me, really talks, not just at me. Who reaches for my hand in the grocery store. Who I trust with the messy, imperfect parts of myself.

All five. Every single day. Just like the man in 4C said.

I never got that man’s name. But I think of him every time I choose love that checks all the boxes.

I’m telling you this because this past year has been heartbreaking in ways that feel too big to carry. The news. The violence. The endless scroll of what’s breaking. It’s hard to live in a world you don’t recognize, where cruelty seems louder than kindness.

It’s easy to believe that good people are losing.

But here’s what I know, what that stranger on a plane taught me without even trying:

They’re not.

Good people exist everywhere. They stay. They show up. They choose connection when isolation is easier. They write wisdom on newspaper margins for people they’ll never see again because they believe in protecting what’s tender in all of us.

Love always wins. Not because it’s easy. Because people like him choose it.

And here’s the part that might sound naive, but absolutely isn’t:

It’s so easy to forget about all the good. So you build a life where forgetting is impossible. You surround yourself with evidence that it happened and will continue to. You keep newspaper margins in desk drawers. You remember the strangers who saw you. You choose to be that person for someone else.

Not someday. Not when everything is perfect.

Now.

Your grandmother’s brooches. Your kid’s art. That blurry photo from the trip that changed everything. The ticket stub from the concert that mattered.

Your actual, specific, irreplaceable life, the messy, beautiful one, deserves to be seen.

Because when you’re living in a world that feels like it’s burning, you need reminders. That you’ve been loved. That you’ve loved back. That your life has been specific, beautiful, and worth documenting.

The Good Stuff:

This is what I’m obsessing over right now

Valentines Finds: a Little whimsy because February deserves it

Siggi’s Icelandic Yogurt + Biscoff Cookies: the combo that has no business working but absolutely does. Thank you, @lorenzoskyfall, for this one.

Cosa Custom Love Letter Mug: your words, your handwriting, on something you hold every morning. It’s small, but it matters.

Lulu & Georgia’s New Collection: they’re dropping something called “It Was Nothing” soon, and I literally cannot wait. The name alone tells you it’s good.

Winter Survival Kit: A rechargeable light bulb for when the power flickers, a chimney sweep before it gets cold, and a living room tent.

Things that don’t cost much but mean everything. Things that make you remember: joy still exists in the small moments.

Last week, we talked about how to display memories. This week we’re talking about art.

I’ve spent years deep diving and overthinking this. How big should it be? Unique art or affordable art? Where to print oversized photographs? I found Etsy artists at 2 am. I tested framers. Tried different sources, different methods. And I’ve figured out things that genuinely changed how I approach filling my walls.

This week, my paid subscribers are getting everything I’ve learned: where to actually find artists, how to frame things beautifully for under $50, and the search tricks that have genuinely changed my walls. The whole system.

If you’ve been curious about this, you’re in the right place.

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I’m writing this from the HEB curbside, pickup spot 3. The awaited cart contains: pipe insulation, 3 faucet covers, the essentials, homemade Ding Dong ingredients, and the emotional support of 47,000 other Texans who remember 2021.

If you have freeze tips that don’t involve the phrase “you should have done this months ago,” please send them. I’m choosing optimism. Or delusion. Honestly, three weeks into January, they’re the same thing at this point.

When the world feels like one long doomscroll with a side of arctic blast, you can either make a five-year plan or make homemade Ding Dongs. This year, I’m choosing Ding Dongs with a side of attainable prep.

Scrap the January goals and replace them with something more manageable. Like weekly dreams, which feel more honest.

This week’s? Maybe finish a load of laundry. Keep the pipes intact and send good energy to the nightmare power grid we have here in Texas. If I don’t joke about it, I’ll cry, so here we are.

Design things keeping me sane:

I cannot stop thinking about Schumacher’s new Tortoise wallpaper. @kellykeiserdesign used it, and now I’m manifesting a client who NEEDS it. Universe, if you’re listening, I’m ready.

Also starting some new projects I’ll be documenting here, both personal and client work. Because if I’m going to stress-spiral, might as well make it productive and share all the shortcuts/finds with my people.

Kitchen Nostalgia That Hit Different

Six inches tall. Wrapped in silver foil. Impossibly good

My dad brought up these Homemade Ding Dongs we used to get in Round Top years ago.

• Six inches tall.

• Wrapped in silver foil.

• Impossibly good.

I found a similar recipe, and we’re making them this weekend because when Texas weather gets dramatic, so do I.

Also, the Pampered Chef Chopper arrived. The exact one my mom had. The one that actually works, unlike every fancy version I’ve tried since. Immediately added to the Buy Once List.

What can I say, I’m a romantic. Always have been.

What can I say, I’m a romantic and have always loved a little whimsy. My favorite part of school was making that Valentine’s Day box with my mom every year. Staying up late the night before, covered in glitter, making something beautiful out of a shoebox.

Maybe next year we can make this a thing? Valentine’s brunch, where we all make boxes and do a favorite things party situation? Just putting it out there.

A few favorites I’m currently obsessed with:

Emilie Workwear Jacket: Chic, practical, and pairs with everything. The trifecta.

On Cloud Nine Heather Grey Hoodie: The name is accurate. Use code: THECABINISTA for 15% off

Reo Leather Moto Jacket: The jacket that makes every outfit 47% cooler. Math checks out.

Lucky In Love Malachite Red String Bracelet: Manifestation girlies, this one’s for you. Tie it on, make a wish.

Mon Cheri Cake: Ship someone a cake because you love them (or yourself, no judgment).

The Annie Boots: Tecovas doing what Tecovas does best. These are the ones.

More coming soon 💌

I saw this post recently about someone’s childhood home, where her parents had turned sentimental items into these little art moments throughout the house. Not packed away. Not waiting for “someday.” Just visible, present, and part of the daily landscape.

I rounded up some of my favorite examples and ideas below.

That deeper dive, plus all the specific ideas and sources, is below for paid subscribers. If you’ve been thinking about upgrading, this is a good one.

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