About Me

My name is Melissa Grant. I live in Mount Dora, Florida, in a small, light-filled house with my husband and our son. 

If you know Mount Dora, you know it is not loud or rushed. Our street wakes up slowly. Mornings smell like damp grass and coffee, and by late afternoon the sun leans low and warm against the walls of the house. This is where my days now unfold, quietly and intentionally.

Before this life, I worked in an office. My job revolved around collecting data, checking numbers, organizing reports, and meeting deadlines that always seemed to arrive too quickly. 

Weekends were rarely free. Every two weeks, if schedules aligned, I might meet friends or former colleagues, but often my husband was traveling for business, and I was catching up on work or recovering from the week. At the time, I told myself this was what progress looked like.

I read a lot of modern books about independence, productivity, and equality. I clearly told my husband, more than once, “I am equal to you. If you go out to work, so can I.” 

And we did exactly that. Two careers, two full schedules. Then we had our baby, and the pressure of trying to do everything at once slowly began to show. We argued more. We were tired in ways sleep could not fix.

Around that time, I watched several friends from college go through divorces. These were women who had been just as driven and confident as I was. Seeing their marriages fracture forced me to pause. I did not want to wake up one day asking where my family had gone while I was busy proving something to the world.

I started sitting quietly in the evenings, after the house was finally still, asking myself hard questions. What was I working for? What kind of home did I want my son to grow up in? And who was I becoming while chasing a version of success that never seemed satisfied?

About a year ago, I made a decision that surprised even me. I stepped away from office work and became a full-time housewife. My husband became the sole breadwinner. 

I did not make this choice out of pressure or obligation. I made it because it felt honest.

There is an old saying that stayed with me during that time: “Men build houses, women make homes.” I used to dismiss it. Now I understand it differently. Making a home requires presence, care, and attention, and those things take time.

This past year has been the calmest year of my adult life. I cook meals slowly. I organize our home with intention instead of urgency. I notice when the light shifts across the dining table in the afternoon. 

My son once asked me why I did not write about my days, about the things I love, about the way our house feels. That question stayed with me longer than he probably realized.

Flowers are at the center of my days now.

I buy them weekly from local shops or small markets around Mount Dora. I keep notebooks where I jot down what I notice. White hydrangeas dry faster in our Florida humidity than I expected. 

Also, garden roses open wider when I trim the stems at a sharp angle and change the water every two days. Sunflowers never last long in our kitchen, but I buy them anyway because they lift the whole room for at least three good days. 

I learned that eucalyptus near the front door keeps its scent longer if I lightly crush the leaves before arranging.

Flower arranging is not a performance for me. It is how I ground myself. I arrange flowers on the kitchen counter while dinner simmers. I place small bundles in the bathroom, the hallway, and beside my son’s bed. Sometimes an arrangement is messy. Sometimes it feels just right.

Over the course of a year, I realized I had more than 300 small stories tied to flowers, seasons, family routines, and the quiet work of keeping a home. This blog is my place to record them honestly.

Here, I will share my real experiences with flowers and flower arrangement, how I decorate our home, what works, what doesn’t, and how this slower life has changed me. This is about choosing presence over noise and finding beauty in ordinary days.

If you are here, I am glad you found your way in.