Jacflash

Almost 2.5 years ago, we walked into this house for the very first time.
Roman was just a baby. Rocco was a tiny toddler running from room to room. We were excited, terrified, grateful, and full of dreams for what this home could become.
We knew this house would take years of saving, planning, and pouring every bit of love we had into it. What we didn’t realize was just how quickly it would become home.
So many firsts happened within these walls. Family dinners. Christmas mornings. Tiny footsteps. Endless laughter. Ordinary moments that somehow became the ones I’ll remember forever.
Last week, we packed up the entire main floor in preparation for demo starting next week. It was such a surreal feeling.
We’ve been waiting so long for this renovation to finally begin, but as I packed away our things and watched the boys race around the living room one last time exactly as it is today, I realized this chapter is over.
It’s funny how the moments you’re most excited for can also make you unexpectedly emotional.
This renovation has always been about creating our forever home, but it’s also about honouring the history that’s already here. We’ll be restoring and celebrating the original character we fell in love with including the wood panelling, stained glass, original windows, fireplace, and coffered ceiling while thoughtfully adding the spaces our family needs for the next chapter.
I honestly can’t wait to bring you along for every step of this journey.
Here’s to preserving the past, embracing the chaos of renovation, and creating a home our boys will grow up remembering.
Follow along... demo starts next week. 🤍 SPACES BY JACFLASH — International Interior Design Studio

For the longest time, I felt like I was rushing through motherhood.
Always looking ahead to the next stage. The next milestone. The next bit of freedom. Thinking life might feel a little easier when they were older.
And while motherhood is still hard in so many ways, something has shifted lately.
Rocco is 4.5. Roman is almost 3. I haven’t fully found my way back to myself yet, but a little piece of me returns every day. The fog feels lighter. The overwhelm doesn’t feel quite as heavy. I’m finally able to slow down enough to really be here.
To notice the weight of a sleepy child in my arms.
To linger a little longer during a hug.
To soak in the ordinary moments that I know one day won’t be ordinary at all.
These years are exhausting and beautiful all at once. Some days still test me in every possible way, but moments like this make it all worth it.
Lately, instead of wishing time away, I find myself wanting to hold onto it. Because if I’m being honest, I’m terrified of how quickly they’re growing. Terrified of the day they won’t reach for me the same way they do now.
So I’m trying my best to stay here. To be present. To soak it all in.
Because one day, these little arms won’t fit so perfectly around my neck anymore.

When we renovated the third floor of our 1918 residence to make it our primary suite, the intention was never to make it feel new. It was about preserving the soul of the home while layering in warmth, patina, and the comforts of modern life.
Old homes hold stories. The beauty is in letting them keep telling them. 🤍

WHY am I inside the duvet.
No like… why am I IN it.
My husband (6’+) does this in 30 seconds like it’s a magic trick.
Meanwhile me… 5’2”… fully trapped. No oxygen. No plan.
I thought I was being efficient.
I was actually just fighting for my life in Egyptian cotton.
AND THEN I realized…
this entire thing was being recorded on the baby monitor.
There is footage of me.
Inside a duvet.
Spinning. Panicking. Disappearing.
I have never laughed harder in my life.
And now I have to do a queen size for Rocco today…
so if you don’t hear from me again, you know what happened.
Send help. Or a tutorial. Immediately.

I always said I wasn’t going to allow my boys to play with toy weapons or toy guns… and yet here I am, realizing how much parenting quietly humbles you.
When they’re little, it all feels so controlled. The soft beige outfits, the carefully chosen toys, the organic meals, the playdates you curate. You feel like you’re shaping everything, like if you just do it “right,” it will stay that way.
And then… they grow.
They develop their own opinions, their own friendships, their own interests that don’t always align with yours. Suddenly it’s foam swords, laser tag sets, and imaginary battles, and you’re standing there thinking, “wait… I said I would never.”
But I’m learning it’s less about controlling every detail and more about guiding them through it. Teaching kindness, empathy, boundaries, and respect… even when the game in front of you isn’t one you would have chosen.
Because the goal was never to raise perfectly curated little humans.
It’s to raise good ones.
And maybe part of that is letting go of who you thought you’d be as a parent… and becoming who they actually need. 🤍

Two years in, halfway done… and I wouldn’t change a thing.
I took a 1917 home down to the studs, knowing this would be a slow, layered process. Not something rushed, not something perfect.
And wherever I could, I held onto what was already here.
The original fireplaces. The railing. The doors. As many of the original light fixtures as I could keep.
Anything that was in good shape, I preserved.
There are still parts of this house that feel chaotic, unfinished, constantly evolving.
But this is exactly the kind of home I wanted for my boys.
One with history. One that’s built with intention. One they get to grow up inside, watching it all come together.
And then there are moments like this.
From nothing but framing and dust…
to a space that finally feels complete.
My closet.
A small, finished piece of a much bigger vision…
and proof that even in the middle of it all, something beautiful is always taking shape.