I didn’t set out to create a kids’ podcast. It wasn’t an idea I’d been carrying around, waiting for the right moment. It showed up much more quietly than that.

It started when Esther was little — and she fell in love with listening. She used to call it “talking.” That’s what she wanted on. Stories, conversations, voices. And it wasn’t limited to one moment of the day. It was everywhere: in the car, in the bath, while she was drawing, playing, building, zoning out.

Listening wasn’t something she did instead of living. It was woven right into it. And she wasn’t tuning it out. She was paying attention in that way kids do when they’re fully absorbed. You’d hear it later in a question she asked, or a comment she made that let you know she’d been tracking the whole time.

As she got older, that didn’t change. Listening became one of the main ways she explored the world. It was how she learned, imagined, and made sense of things. So naturally, I started paying closer attention to what she was listening to — not from concern, but with intention.

I wanted content that helped her learn and grow without being rigid or performative. I wanted stories that let her explore ideas, the world, and herself — the same way I explore ideas while making things. When I’m sewing Giddyup Gloves, my hands are busy, but my mind is open. I listen to podcasts like Esther listens to stories: exploring possibilities, letting ideas drift in, turning them over, seeing what sticks.

Sometimes something sparks. Sometimes it opens a door. Sometimes it quietly shifts how I see something I thought I already understood. That kind of learning matters to me — the kind that leaves room for curiosity. And that’s what I was hoping to find for Esther too: something that trusted kids with learning, assuming they’re absorbing more than we think, even without all the language yet. So I kept looking. And eventually, a thought started forming — not loud, not dramatic — just simple and persistent: Why don’t I just make one?