the here + now

I'm not much of a birthday person. It always feels like too much pressure. To make sure they know how loved they are. To accept "happy birthday" and gifts. To have to weigh the things that make my heart soar with the expectations of how I'm supposed to want to celebrate my birthday. I don't think I'll ever love birthdays but I'm trying to make it something for birthday lovers. I may never plan confetti shooters or surprise parties. I may be awkward when you tell me happy birthday for the fourth time. (Because come on, once is enough.) But please know if you're my people I love you to the depths and I'm thankful you're in my life.

At the beginning of summer I had grand ideas of how I was going to love our neighborhood. They would be simple, little ways. But would be an open door, nonetheless. All the sudden I realized today is July 16th, in a month my babies will be back in school. And I have yet to do any of those things I swore would be so easy to do. So I got the cones and the ice cream. I grabbed a little blue ikea table with my favorite blue folding chair from our garage. (Oh man, that garage is really the thing needing intentional love.) I sent text to a few friends saying "come get ice cream". It was hot and the ice cream was melting so fast. Sticky fingers and chocolate smiles. Kids riding bikes and running in the house to play x-box. I sat with a friend, while we talked with another about parenting and vacations. Then another friend came and we sat and talked and shared until the sun no longer danced in the sky. We got bit countless times by those pesky mosquitoes. Interrupted a

yesterday was 4th of july. independence day. the day of cookouts, swimming, country music and fireworks. but my heart felt heavy. because there are people who aren't living in america. or another well developed country  who just want to live. they want to be in america to watch their babies grow. to survive. to have a way to have a better life than their parents did. the are expecting the rainbows and butterflies. but now they're stuck. without basic human needs. or at least many of the needs i get just because i was born in america. i hate politics so much. somehow because i was born in america and she wasn't that matters. and its a bunch of crap. because i'm a christian. and there seems to be so many different types. but to me and my bleeding heart christianity and politics just don't go together. they're separate things. because i want to love God and all the people He created more than my comfort. more than what i

trying to write feels like death. letting it just come feels like breath. but what if i want to improve my writing. all the people say sit and force yourself. i'm not actually a fan of forcing myself to do things i don't feel. so what happens now. force myself to do the thing i'm not feeling. or force myself to do the thing that makes me feel alive somehow. in some weird 2019 way. today i'm feeling all sorts of weird. i'm on a trip with douglas. he works here in cleveland. last week we brought our babies with us. this week its just us. and really just me. because he'll be working all day. and trying to come down from the normal stay at home mom life is weird + hard. because i'm used to having so many things that "need" to be done. a home that reminds me that i'm no joanna gaines. children who are just freaking amazing but also they're selfish human beings. they make messes. they blame others for why they chose to do wha

When I was younger I remember the remarks. "Oh here goes Katie crying again." Over time I started to learned to bite my lip or tongue, take a deep breath. Whatever it took not to let the tears fall. This went deeper when I experienced a deep grief. Losing that baby girl. She was never mine But oh it felt like that. During that time I shamed myself hard for crying months after she was gone. IF I went a few days without crying I felt like I had accomplished something. It's a lie that actually made the grief drag on and a therapist had to help me see how much I needed to go deep with that grief, where instead I just let it continue to simmer on the surface. I still try to hide the crying because all the things can make me cry. Watching someone elses child sing a song, a commercial about an old man passing out chocolate a song a feeling a memory the present a friends hug. I cry. It's been this thing that feels like my biggest weakness. This thin

I'm not sure if you follow comedian John Crist on instagram. Mostly funny and often crossing a line that makes many uncomfortable. Some things I personally find funny and the things that make me squirm I just pass on by. I know I tend to feel things more intensely and know my limits. Most of the time. But a recent post I just can't stop thinking about. The church sign. You may or may not know what I'm talking about. The sign says " I'm proud to be a drug baby - my mom drug me to church " From my understanding, it's a line from a Lecrae song, although in my short 2 minute googling efforts I could not find said song. But what got me was all the comments of "my pastor said this" or "my pastor says this" Your pastor? You? Your mama? I'm confused . Do they not understand that there are truly drug babies. Babies fighting for their life? Mamas and Dads overdosing. Foster parents holding babies writhing around detoxing. Please he