I never thought the living room would become our family’s archive of small, perfect moments, but it did. One rainy Saturday when my two kids, ages 9 and 11, built a blanket fort that swallowed half the sofa, I watched our neighbor’s little boy peek through the curtains and grin. The memory of that afternoon – coloring lines on the coffee table, the scent of cinnamon toast, my husband paging through an old photo album – made me want the room to be both lived-in and lovely. As an American mom in my forties, my days are full of carpools,…
