Welcome to Goblin Hour.

It’s my personal name for the most private time of day — after the kids are in bed, the emails have paused, and my husband is happily watching an obscure Viking show in our basement.

The name is borrowed from Goblin Market - a wild, dreamy, slightly unhinged 19th-century poem by Christina Rossetti that I’ve been obsessed with forever.

For me, Goblin Hour is in-between space, where I’m not a Founder or a Mom or a post on Instagram, I’m just a creepy little goblin wearing a red-light mask, humming to herself.