The Rainy Days Gifts (Why this collection exists)

What Rainy Days Taught Me About True Values

There were years when I hid birthday party invitations.

Because I couldn’t afford a gift—and the shame of that felt heavier than any excuse.
So I said we were sick.
Again. And again.

There were years when I washed my hair with dish soap and my dishes with shampoo, because I couldn’t afford both.

You learn strange logistics when money is thin.

You learn substitutions.

You learn to stretch.

You learn not to ask.

You also learn something else:
how quickly joy begins to negotiate for permission.

That lesson stays.

This collection, the Rainy Days Gifts Under 10€, was born from memory.
From long seasons of calculating, postponing, choosing silence over asking.

Fast forward.

My kids are teenagers now, tTaller than me. 

My eldest asked for money this Christmas. He’s saving for a PC. He’s a nerd. He needs it, wants it, deserves it. I said yes.

And few days later he came back, almost embarrassed.

“You always bought me a LEGO set every Christmas. It’s a family tradition. I think I’d prefer the LEGO instead of money. I’ll save later for the PC.”

Not Vans.
Not a logo.
LEGO.

A kid, one head taller than me, asking for the same thing he loved when he was small, because continuity matters. Because some rituals tell you who you are.

We did both.
Because this time I could.
Because I had waited for it and planned ahead.
Since I became the only adult in the room I plan in layers over layers over layers of small amounts.

That’s what rainy days teach you.

My kids often begin their wishes with:
“Could we possibly buy…”

Sometimes they don’t ask at all.

That’s what scarcity leaves behind:
Hesitation.

And I had to make this collection.

It is not charity.
Not “budget-friendly.”
Not “cute little gifts for tight wallets.”

This is pain, love, and intelligence combined.

It’s knowing materials well enough to choose wisely.
It’s designing with intention.
It’s craft built by someone who knows exactly what it means when money is discussed in whispers, or discussed at all.

These pieces exist so that:

no one has to skip a celebration,

no child has to stay home “sick”,

no gift has to come wrapped in apology.

They exist so love doesn’t have to explain itself.

I will never let this memory leave my body.

Because it keeps my hands honest, my work grounded, and reminds me that value has never been about price, but about care and presence.

Rainy days don’t make you weak.
They make you resourceful.
And this collection is proof of that.