The Cousins House
The story of The Cousins begins with a simple fact: nobody remembers exactly when the first one arrived.
One day there was an empty chair. The next day there was a Cousin sitting in it as if they’d always belonged there.
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They don’t knock. They just arrive.
The Cousins aren’t monsters. They’re family. The kind that show up unannounced, eat all the snacks, and somehow become the highlight of the gathering. They don’t ask for permission. They don’t wait for introductions. They just settle in like they were always meant to be there.
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Every one has a past life.
Each Cousin is handcrafted in a basement workshop on the shores of Lake Superior using rescued fabrics that already had full lives before becoming something new. Old sweaters, forgotten curtains, well-traveled cloth, and overlooked scraps are all given another chapter. The stuffing is new. Everything else has history.
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It started with drawings that refused to behave.
Long before they became The Cousins, they were known as Daddy’s Little Monsters. Inspired by imaginative drawings from my children, I spent evenings bringing impossible creatures to life while receiving detailed design feedback like, “It needs three eyes,” or, “Give it a tail.”
Years passed. The children grew up. The creatures remained.
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The name wasn’t planned. It just stuck.
Somewhere along the way, my now-adult kids started calling them The Cousins.
Because that’s what they felt like. Unpredictable. Familiar. Slightly chaotic. Impossible not to recognize.
The name stayed.
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Nobody agrees on what they’re supposed to be doing.
Every Cousin arrives with a personality that feels fully formed. Some seem dependable. Some absolutely should not be trusted with spare keys. Some look like they know more than they’re saying. Others look like they just walked in from somewhere they can’t quite remember leaving.
All of them have quirks. All of them have presence. None of them are accidental.
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You don’t adopt them. You just make space.
When a Cousin moves into your home, you’re not adopting them. They’re already family.
You’re simply making room at the table.​ And, like most family stories, things tend to get a little crowded, a little strange, and a lot more interesting than you planned.
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