I’ve always been someone who finds meaning in the little things.

And photographs have never really felt still to me.

When I look at one, my mind almost automatically plays back everything that happened around it — the laughter before the picture was taken, the silly things someone said, the effort it took to get everyone looking at the camera, or the hundred little moments that never actually made it into the photograph.

A class photo may simply look like a group of children smiling. But I remember the personalities behind those smiles, the friendships, the silliness, the coaxing, how much they had grown, and all the ordinary days we shared before that one photograph was taken.

Photographs don’t only show me what happened. They bring me back to how it felt.

For over 15 years, I worked in early childhood education, and as the years went by, my work naturally grew beyond my own classroom. I was entrusted early in my career with greater responsibilities — guiding teams, helping educators find their confidence, contributing to curriculum and teaching practices, leading projects, and thinking deeply about how we could create meaningful experiences for the children in our care.

But what stayed with me most were always the people.

I watched children arrive unsure of themselves and slowly find their confidence. I watched friendships begin, little personalities emerge, and groups of very different children learn to become a little community of their own — learning, playing, working together and showing kindness to one another.

I watched educators grow too. We shared ideas, learnt from one another, celebrated the good days and supported one another through the harder ones. Colleagues became friends, teams changed over the years, and photographs eventually became little reminders of a chapter when we once spent almost every day together.

Throughout it all, one belief stayed constant: what we create for children should be more than simply cute. It should have purpose. It should invite curiosity, feel right for their age, and be thoughtfully designed around how children actually learn, play and engage.

Then I became a mother to Sofia and Sonia, and suddenly all of this felt even more personal.

There were the big moments, of course — birthdays, first days and family holidays. But there were also the funny phases, the things they used to say, the ordinary afternoons and all those little versions of them that seem to change before you even realise it.

I feel the same way about marriage and the life we build together. Wedding photographs, anniversaries, little dates, holidays and everyday moments are all part of our story. Sometimes one photograph can bring you straight back to where you were, what made you laugh, and how much life has happened since.

And then there is my grandmother.

Even now, she still asks us to print photographs for her — pictures from family celebrations, her great-grandchildren, and photographs of my late grandfather. There is something about that which has always stayed with me.

She doesn’t need hundreds of photographs hidden inside a phone.

She simply wants the people she loves somewhere she can see them.

Maybe that is why I love the idea of turning memories into little things that can live around us — on the fridge we walk past every day, on a desk beside us while we work, or somewhere our eyes naturally land in the middle of an ordinary day.

Because sometimes a tiny keepsake can hold an entire chapter.

A childhood. A friendship. A class. A team. A marriage. A family. Someone we miss. Somewhere we loved. A version of ourselves we almost forgot.

And that is really where Little S.O Studio comes from.

It brings together so many things I care about — children and meaningful learning, creating with intention and kindness, the people we love, and the little memories we want to keep close.