mother
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Every year, for as long as I can remember, I watched Meet Me in St. Louis with my mom. Every Christmas. That was our tradition. She loved that movie. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she was teaching me something. About music. About warmth. About how certain stories quietly become part of who
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When I was little, my mom told me she was going to redecorate my room. I remember the thrill of choosing paint swatches—so deep a royal blue it felt like diving into the night sky. As the first coats went on, the room took on a hushed glow, and we pressed glow‑in‑the‑dark stars into the
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I was about four years old when one of my earliest memories unfolded—a simple, magical day in St. Louis. It was sunny, and my mom and I set out for a walk, just the two of us, in search of ice cream. Every step felt like an adventure. I remember the rhythm of our footsteps
Steven LaChance Blog 