Some evenings I stand on the back porch watching my two kids, ages eight and eleven, race the neighbor kids across the lawn while I hold a cup of tea that has long gone lukewarm. Between carpools, homework reminders, and the constant hum of life, I crave a corner of our yard that feels like a retreat without adding more stress. I started small, stealing thirty minutes to move a chair, test a light, or plant a pot of herbs with my son. Those tiny changes turned our awkward patch of grass into a place where memories happen: marshmallow toasts,…