How I Choose Gifts
I choose gifts by imagining their life far beyond the moment they are unwrapped. I think about where they will land once the paper is gone, once the novelty softens, once time begins to smooth their edges. I wonder how long they will last, how they will age, and whether they will still feel meaningful when the excitement has passed and the ordinary days return. I am drawn to things that endure. objects that can be loved now and later become part of a story, part of a shelf, part of a childhood remembered rather than something quickly outgrown and quietly forgotten.
I find myself gravitating toward materials that feel honest and grounding…wood, metal, paper, fabric that wears in rather than wears out. Toys that invite imagination instead of overstimulation. Things that encourage patience, curiosity, and engagement. For Clover especially, I have a soft spot for old things, small metal trucks with chipped paint, wooden pieces smoothed by time, toys made the way toys once were, when durability mattered and beauty lived quietly inside function. I love the idea that these objects might one day rest on a bookshelf or desk, carrying with them the memory of small hands and big imaginations, gentle reminders of who he was before he became who he will be.
Lately, I lean even more toward simplicity. Wooden toys. Thoughtful tools for learning. Books that invite slow discovery. I’m drawn to pieces that don’t rush childhood along, that allow play to unfold naturally and without instruction. Things that can be revisited again and again, each time revealing something new. This kind of play feels aligned with the rhythm I want for my boys, slower, more tactile, more present.
Books hold just as much weight for me as toys, maybe more. I choose them with a long horizon in mind, collecting stories and ideas that can grow alongside my children. I think often about the education I want to offer them, one that is rich and thoughtful, expansive without being overwhelming, grounded in curiosity and independent thinking. I gather books and learning tools now, long before we will need many of them, trusting that one day they will open doors to conversations we haven’t yet imagined. I want learning to feel alive in our home, woven naturally into everyday life, not rushed or forced, but invited.
Clothing makes its way into the mix as well, simply because growing boys need it constantly. Even there, I try to choose with intention, pieces made to be worn hard, washed often, and still hold their shape. Natural fibers when possible. Clothes that feel comfortable and lived-in, not precious, but still beautiful in their simplicity. Things that can be passed down, softened by time, marked by play.
Gift-giving, for me, is a quiet practice. It’s less about abundance and more about discernment. Choosing fewer things. Choosing better. Letting care and consideration guide what enters our home. I want the objects around my children to feel steady and thoughtful, not fleeting or disposable. I want what we bring in to matter long after the paper is gone and the day has passed.
The philosophy lives here.
The how, the what, the practical details, they live elsewhere.
Shared more intimately, more quietly, in my letters.