I still remember the afternoon my daughter spilled berry jam on our faded farmhouse table and my son decided to use a woven placemat as a superhero cape. That chaotic little scene somehow became the turning point for our kitchen makeover. As an American mom in my forties, proud of my roots and the recipes my parents taught me, I wanted a space that felt lived-in, warm, and a little adventurous. My husband helped pull up old tiles, my sister gave me a stack of vintage bowls, and the neighbors admired our new plant shelf. With two kids between eight…