There are days when life feels heavy, when I’m running on caffeine and chaos, holding everything together with tape and hope. When the to-do list never ends, the dishes mock me from the sink, and my brain feels too full to form another thought.
I get it and not in a distant, “I’ve been there once” kind of way, but in a real, I’m still there too kind of way.
I know what it’s like to juggle everything and still feel like I’m not doing enough. To pour every ounce of energy into my family, my work, and my community, and still wonder if I’m dropping all the wrong balls. To crave a moment of quiet, a breath, a reminder that I’m not the only one trying to keep it all together.
That’s really what Spark Play Studio is about.
It’s not just a place for kids, it’s a place for people who are doing their best in a world that keeps asking for more. For parents, caregivers, grandparents, and teachers who show up anyway, even when they’re tired, overwhelmed, or unsure.
I see you, because I’m right there with you.
No one really talks about the middle of it — the during. That space between “everything’s fine” and “I’m falling apart.”
Maybe your version looks like running late every morning, holding back tears in the car, or answering work emails while your kid’s asking for a snack. Maybe it’s loneliness, exhaustion, or that constant hum of “too much.”
Mine changes by the day. Some mornings, I wake up ready to take on the world, and other days, I’m just proud I remembered to drink water.
The truth is, I’m still figuring it out.
I’m a mom, a business owner, a dreamer, and a human trying to do a lot with a little. I’ve had moments of doubt, burnout, and questioning everything, and I know I’m not alone in that.
That’s why I built Spark, not because I’ve found the magic formula, but because I believe none of us are meant to do this alone.
Spark wasn’t built from perfection; it was constructed from need.
I needed a space where families could come exactly as they are: tired, hopeful, messy, and honest. A place that said, “You don’t have to have it all together to belong here.”
When I first dreamed of Spark, it wasn’t just about creating fun experiences for kids. It was about creating breathing room for everyone. A place where play could coexist with connection, and where adults could exhale without feeling guilty for needing to.
At Spark, life doesn’t magically get easier when you walk through the door, but it does get a little lighter, because when you’re surrounded by people who understand, even the hard days feel a little less impossible.
There have been plenty of flops along the way: projects that didn’t work, events that fell flat, coffee that went cold three times before I finished it, but then there are those moments that remind me why this matters: A kid’s proud grin after finishing a project. A parent finally exhaling like it’s the first deep breath they’ve had all week. Laughter echoes in the classroom after a day that didn’t go as planned.
Those moments are the heartbeat of Spark. They’re the reminder that even in the middle of the chaos, there’s still joy to be found.
People say “find your village,” and I love that, but sometimes, you don’t find one. Sometimes, you have to build it.
That’s what Spark is to me, the village I needed, and the one I hope others can lean on, too.
Your village might not look how you imagined. It might be a fellow parent you met at Open Play who remembered your name the following week. It might be the staff member who noticed your tired eyes and offered you a seat. It might be the sound of your child’s laughter mixing with another’s, that sweet, healing reminder that connection is still alive and well.
Spark isn’t perfect, neither am I, but it’s real. It’s a place where you can show up late, messy, unsure, and still belong. It’s a place that doesn’t ask you to fix yourself before you walk in, because I believe community isn’t built through big, grand gestures; it’s built through small, consistent moments of showing up for each other.
That’s how the village grows.
Behind every class and every project at Spark, there’s intention and heart.
When I plan Sensory Play, it’s not just about textures or mess, it’s about giving kids safe, creative outlets for emotions that don’t always fit neatly into words. When I plan STEM activities, it’s not just about science; it’s about confidence, curiosity, and that spark that lights up a child’s face when they figure something out. When I open the doors for Open Play, it’s not just to fill time; it’s to give families space to breathe, to connect, and to feel welcome.
Everything we do has a purpose, not because I’ve mastered balance or have all the answers, but because I’m walking through the same life everyone else is.
I’m learning as I go. Still stumbling. Still finding my footing, but that’s what makes it meaningful.
Spark isn’t about pretending everything’s okay; it’s about saying, “This is hard. Let’s figure it out together.”
I’m a mom making dinner at 8 pm, making lists that never end. I’m a small business owner who believes in creating something that matters, even on the hard days, and I’m a person who still thinks joy can exist, even in the middle of the mess.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that most people don’t need perfection; they need a soft place to land.
A space that doesn’t judge the mess. A community that doesn’t expect you to have it all figured out. A reminder that being human is enough.
That’s what I want Spark to be.
When you walk through the doors, I want you to feel seen. To feel a little lighter. To know that you’re not alone in whatever you’re carrying.
If your week’s been hard, I’ll hand you a smile and a seat. If your child needs space to decompress, we’ll help them create a calm environment and find their breath again. If you need a place to stay for a while, Spark is here.
No matter what kind of day you’re having, there’s room for you here.
I’m still in the trenches, and I’m still showing up. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I believe in what happens when people come together.
I believe in small kindnesses. In messy progress. In laughter echoing in the classroom at the end of a long day.
I believe in families, not perfect ones, just real ones, and I think that Spark can be part of your story, the place that reminds you you’re not the only one trying your best, because I’m trying too.
If you’re in a season that feels uncertain, you’re not alone. If you’re tired, I see you. If you’re showing up anyway, that’s enough.
You don’t have to be perfect to belong here. You don’t have to fix everything first. You have to keep going, one morning, one mess, one small joy at a time.
I’m right there with you: raising kids, chasing dreams, balancing hope and exhaustion in equal measure, and on the days when it feels like too much, I hope you’ll remember: You have a village. You have people who care. You have Spark.
So come as you are: coffee in hand, kids in tow, heart wide open. I’ll be waiting for you.
Welcome to the village.
Welcome to Spark.