The Journey of Moms’ Playground

The Journey of Moms’ Playground

It all began in 2020, at the height of the pandemic.
Three mothers who loved art met for the first time at a quiet neighborhood playground. Each of us wore a mask, our faces shadowed by the weight of sad and fearful news that seemed to come every day. The quarantine had just been lifted, and we brought our children outside, hoping they could finally play in the open air. But when we arrived, there was no one else there.

The playground that used to echo with laughter was empty, except for our four children. They ran and climbed, their voices tiny against the vast silence. We stood apart—about six feet, as the rule said—speaking through masks, our words carried on the wind. Somehow, that distance made our conversations deeper. We spoke about everything: childhood memories, family, art, the strange rhythm of time under lockdown.

I don’t think I’ve ever shared so many long and honest conversations in my life. Maybe it was the isolation, or maybe it was because we were the only ones there. But those talks, in that deserted playground, became the quiet heartbeat of our days. Looking back, I feel deeply grateful for those women. We helped each other endure a time that was filled with uncertainty and fear.

I still remember the day we joked about taking our masks off.
“What if we can’t recognize each other?” someone laughed.
When that day finally came, it felt like waking up from a long, dark dream. Slowly, the playground came back to life. More children returned. Laughter replaced fear. The sun felt brighter than before.
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Our kids are older now. They don’t go to that playground as often, but the memory of those afternoons will always stay with me. It was more than a place for children to play—it was where we built quiet courage, friendship, and hope.

One day, we decided to build another kind of playground—not of swings and slides, but of stories and imagination.
A playground of the heart.

That was how Moms’ Playground was born.
At first, it was just the three of us—Emilia, Freya, and me. Later, Becca joined, and we became four. We met to talk, write, and create. Whenever life felt too heavy, we gathered to tell stories, share words, and laugh. Sometimes we wrote, sometimes we drew, and often we simply dreamed together.

Born during the pandemic, Moms’ Playground began with three mothers at an empty park and grew into a creative book club sharing hope through stories and art.

From those moments grew our first book, Our Treehouse.
Emilia wrote the most beautiful narration—gentle and full of wonder, like children building their dream treehouse in the sky. Her words painted such vivid images that illustrating them felt effortless. Page by page, we built that world together, sharing drafts, sketches, and little bursts of excitement with each new chapter.

When the book was finally published on Amazon, we felt an overwhelming joy.
We remembered the empty playground where it had all begun, and how stories had blossomed there when everything else felt barren. Just as those stories kept us alive through a difficult time, we hoped Our Treehouse would carry dreams and hope to others too.
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Today, Moms’ Playground is more than a book club.
It is a creative home—a playground of imagination and heart.
What started as three mothers talking across six feet of space has become a community built on storytelling, art, and shared joy.
We hope our journey continues to grow, reaching more people—mothers, children, dreamers—who will join us in this joyful act of creation.
Because even in the quietest, emptiest places, stories can bloom.