Nana #1
My mom — who dropped everything when I was pregnant, stayed three months, cooked every meal, cleaned every room, and loved me through the hardest transition of my life.
Every cookie we bake carries this story. Every order is made by hand, with the same care Nana gave to me.
Taste what love made.
Nana #2
My husband's mom — the same heart, the same warmth, the same way of making sure everyone around her is fed and whole before she ever thinks of herself.
The best cookies start with a real story.
This business wasn't born in a commercial kitchen. It was born from the memory of what it feels like when someone who loves you bakes something just for you.
01
Five piles of laundry.
I was heavily pregnant with my second child. My toddler was running circles around me. The baby's room wasn't ready, the hospital bag wasn't packed, and there were five piles of laundry I hadn't been able to touch in weeks.
If you've ever been pregnant with a toddler at your feet, you know what that kind of tired feels like. It's not laziness. It's not falling behind. It's your body having nothing left after it's already giving everything to the life growing inside you.
That's when Nana showed up.
She worked through every pile. Washed, dried, folded, organized. She set up the baby's room, sorted the newborn clothes, helped me pack my hospital bag — and then she went to the kitchen and started cooking. Real food. From scratch. With love.
For the first time in weeks, I could breathe. I could sit down. I could just exist without the weight of everything undone pressing on me.
She fed me. She took care of me. And in doing that, she was already taking care of the baby I hadn't even met yet.
02
The kitchen at 2am.
One month after my second baby was born, I put him down after nursing and stood in the kitchen. Dishes piled in the sink. Crumbs on every surface. Floors that needed sweeping. My whole body felt like concrete.
I didn't have it in me. So I sat down — and somewhere between exhaustion and surrender, I fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, the kitchen was spotless.
Floors swept and mopped. Every dish clean and put away. The counters wiped down. And Nana was already at the stove — making breakfast from scratch. Real food. Warm food. The smell of butter and something sweet drifting through the whole house.
She hadn't woken me. Hadn't made a sound. She had just seen what I needed and quietly, completely, handled it — so that when I opened my eyes, all I had to do was be a mother to my baby.
I will never forget that morning for the rest of my life. The way the house smelled. The way I felt. The specific relief of walking into a kitchen that someone had cared for — because they cared for me.
That feeling is what I put into every cookie I bake.
03
The drive home.
Three months later, I dropped Nana at the airport. I hugged her. Watched her walk through the doors. Got in the car and drove home.
I walked through the front door — and it hit me all at once.
The baby. The toddler. The cooking. The cleaning. The laundry. The endless invisible list of things that keep a household alive. All of it. Mine again. Just me.
I sat down on the kitchen floor and I cried.
Not because I couldn't handle it. But because I finally understood — truly understood — what she had been quietly carrying for three months. How much lighter she had made my life simply by showing up and giving herself to it.
And I thought: how many women out there are carrying all of this alone right now? How many moms are standing in their kitchen at midnight looking at the dishes and feeling exactly what I felt? How many people have never had a Nana show up for them?
That question changed everything.
Our Mission
Every cookie from Nana's Touch is made the way Nana made things — from scratch, with real ingredients, with the intention that the person eating it should feel, even for a moment, like someone made this just for them. Because they did.
So we started baking.