birth, fresh48, Uncategorized

Isaac | fresh48

Mother’s Day had me all nostalgic for this baby’s birth day and I got to see these friends in real life earlier this week and snuggle this bean, and I just can’t help but marvel at what a gift he is. Stephanie and I have been photo swapping for years, and you may remember Steph & Ben’s Everyday Session a little over a year ago. Stephanie and her husband struggled with infertility for years leading up to Benjamin’s birth in 2014 and then again two years ago when trying for baby number two. She had come to terms with the fact that she would be a mom of one, gave away all their baby things and stepped into her new role as part stay at home mom and part small business owner. It was Mother’s Day last year when she had a suspicion she may be pregnant and got a positive pregnancy test at home. This was a true miracle, as they had stopped fertility treatments months earlier, and the fact that it was on Mother’s Day was just beautiful. I love when God does stuff like that.

Fastforward to December, she had a scheduled repeat C-Section at 37 weeks to the day after being diagnosed with pre-eclampisa for the second time, and her sweet baby boy Isaac Nathan was born healthy, strong and to the sound of Christmas music. He brings us laughter. He truly does, I saw him a few days ago and the kid is the happiest, chillest baby I have ever seen. Cannot help but smiling and chuckling with joy when you make eye contact with that guy!

I had the complete honor of documenting those first sweet hours of baby Isaac’s life and to get photos of him meeting his big brother and grandparents for the first time. Fresh 48’s offer such a sweet relaxed time for mom and dad to be fully present in the moment without worrying about getting their own photos. It’s such a joy to serve in this way and watch my friends’ lives change in an instant. Such an honor. Happy Mother’s Day to one of the bravest, strongest, hardest working, realest moms I know. Your boys (all three of them are blessed to have you.


Shi // Birth

On a joyful day in November, my warrior of a friend left me the best kind of voicemail. She was heading to the hospital to get ready to welcome her third boy.

She and I have been almost hilariously staggering our pregnancies for the past four years, seemingly getting pregnant pretty soon after the other gives birth which has created the most spectacular exchange of sleep deprived text message exchanges and pajama hangs with feeding babies, cleaning up boogers and changing diapers. Nothing like having someone in the trenches with you.

During my first labor she became in an incredible source of text encouragement which took our budding acquaintanceship and was the beginning of what blossomed into a full blow sisterfriendship. I adore this woman and it was a complete honor to photograph the joyous day of welcoming Shiloh to the world.

This was her second vbac and I hope the photos communicate what a calm, zen labor it was until it was time. She labored fiercely and calmly, and then suddenly took a knee, water broke and baby boy was born quickly! The midwife rushed in, had just enough time to lay some blankets on the floor and catch him. It was amazing. I screamed with joy. This girl is strong, fierce, talented, creative, loving and an incredible mom and friend. I adore her.

Welcome to the world, baby Shi. We are so glad you are here!



A Social Media Elimination Diet


About 10 days left of my social media break and I am loving it. Loving it, I say!

I didn’t realize how noisy it was in my head until it was quiet. And I like the quiet.

If you’re just tuning in– I just decided to quit social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter) cold turkey for the month of February for a myriad of reasons that I have not fully shared. Ultimately: best thing I’ve done in a while. 

I didn’t realize how second nature and mindless the scroll and read had become until I didn’t have anywhere to scroll and read. My first instinct was to replace it with something else, and I did for a while. Websites, articles and a dumb game on my phone while I fed the baby or killed time and then I started testing out this thing called nothing. I’d sit in silence and just think. Or pray. Or just take it all in. The sights, sounds and feels of the moment. I realized that by taking photos constantly, uploading them and sharing them, I was desperately trying to save them for later. I was procrastinating on the moment. What if I just used both my eyes, both my thumbs by my side and just see the moment and live it fully? Isn’t that kind of the same as keeping it? There have been a few sweet brother sister embraces, funny things seen out and about, and pretty meals that have remained undocumented and I guess I’ll be okay.

So, the verdict is, that much like gluten, dairy and refined sugar, I can tolerate Facebook, Instagram and Etcetera in extreme moderation. They are otherwise extremely harmful to my heart, soul and mind flora. I have no idea how I am going to go about reintroducing these things back into my life, but I will, I’m sure. Probably fail miserably like The Whole 24 of 2012 (day 25 held a dessert buffet) but I am definitely learning a ton. Also, I’ve done some fun things in addition to keeping my family somewhat alive and well during a few weeks of back to back sickness.

  • Started listening to audio books (completed two!)
  • rekindled the love of some music — The Temper Trap, older Elevation Worship, Veggie Tales…to name a few.
  • learned how to play a few chords and songs on the Ukulele
  • Had some serious fun with my kids, including an all day pajama party that took a midday field trip to Whole Foods (during which Lincoln peed his pants, but YOLO)
  • watched almost all of Parks and Recreation and developed a weird love obsession for Amy Poehler (just finished her audio book “Yes Please” today, actually…) and learned way too much about her life.
  • completed almost all of the prep work for my Powersheets (Haven’t you heard?! March 1st is the new September 1st (new January 1st)).
  • blogged…. a lot.

All in all– do it. A social media break. You will not regret it!


blogs & brands, Uncategorized

Two Years with Lularoe Tracy Vazquez

You guys! It’s been almost two years exactly that I’ve been making magic with my girl Tracy. Two years ago we were both Spanish teachers at the same school and now she is full time Lularoe/Styling and I am full time teachering at home and momming and shooting. SO MUCH LIFE on those two years, and can’t imagine not shooting with her all the time! Fast five, coming at ya!

ONE: I do love Lularoe leggings and I cannot lie. I wore my black ones up until my precious baby was born at 41 weeks and 2 days and they were comfy as heck!

TWO: Tracy is the real deal. She is gorgeous, so fun to photograph and always up for an adventure. We will stand outside and take photos in 20º weather and laugh our butts off.

THREE: Tracy could get dressed in the dark and come out looking way cuter than I do most days getting dressed when the sun is way way up. Her ability to style and visualize clothes with each other and accessories is incredible. A true spiritual gift.

FOUR: She encourages me to GET AFTER IT. She gives me the best pep talks and her encouraging words hang with me and give me fuel to GO GO GO when everything points to stopping.

FIVE: We are different in a lot of ways but our creativity is on the same wavelength and I LOVE working with her and creating fun, colorful and exciting images for her business. Check her out at and her amazing styling magic! Her mission is ON POINT. She truly does inspire me to be who God made ME to be: Kellie.

Here’s some favorites from our work together for the past two years. We are JUST getting started! SO many fun things coming this year for us. INSERT BEYONCÉ HAIR FLIP GIF HERE. 

PS: I always love to collaborate with bloggers to get y’all  high quality photographs to support your high quality content. Check out my “blogs & brands” page and let’s get together! Seriously I have one million ideas. Let’s do it. Something fun.


atopic dermatitis, dupixent, eczema, Uncategorized

My Best Yes: Dupixent

With a blog it’s tempting to wait until any difficulties have passed to write about them. It’s nice to wrap the past troubles up in a blog post and tie a bow on top while proclaiming “this is what happened and here’s what I learned!”. After stumbling upon Helen’s very honest and vulnerable blog about her journey with mamahood and eczema, I felt compelled to share my own. Finding her “me too” was like finding GOLD. It was healing balm to my soul to find at least one other heart on this planet that shared the same struggles and fears as me. I often feel very alone in my Eczema Mama journey. It’s so unique, so severe and so lonely at times. I figured it was time for me to share while I’m in the middle, because I know FOR SURE there is another mama out there like me. I hope you find this, girl.

We are gonna make it through this. You know how I know? I did it once already. This is how the story ends: WE WIN. 

I found Helen’s blog by searching “Dupixent success stories”. My amazing dermatological team has been recommending this new drug to me and after this big flare that has lasted several weeks now, I’ve finally ordered it. It is basically the opposite of everything that got me through last time. Last time I stopped breastfeeding, went strict Autoimmune Paleo, and within a month I was almost completely clear. And it was fine! (PS: to see how Dupixent works click here… it’s cool)

The problem I’m running into this time is that eating for eczema is the ultimate metaphor for a works based religion: you have no idea how much you have to do before it works and you’ve achieved salvation. It takes time, and I don’t have time. This is NOW. This is my kids’ childhood and while I’m taking lots of pictures, singing songs and snuggling I am missing quite a bit. I wake up most mornings these days unable to extend and bend my arms without intense pain. I can’t get my hands wet, so I can’t give the kids a bath. I would basically saw my arms off for a chance to sit in a hot shower and cry out all the regular frustrations of new motherhood, but a hot shower is basically a guarantee that I’ll be miserable and immobile for the next three days. And speaking of crying, I basically have the ultimate Raccoon eye mask of eczema around my eyes, and salt water tears? Literal salt in the wound. Crying makes it worse, so crying I do not. I just want a good cry.

So, after some gentle coaxing and absolutely no pressure from my dermatologist friends and husband (they know me so well– the slightest bit of you should do this will make me NOT do it immediately) I have reached my pain threshold and decided to give Dupixent a yes. My Best Yes.  As Lysa taught me, a yes is always a no to something else. So, the big No is breastfeeding. Which, first time mom me was relieved to say goodbye to. I stopped breastfeeding Lincoln when he was around 8 months old and it was hands down the best choice for our family at the time, but second time mom me is having a harder time with closing this chapter. Emmeline is our last biological baby (we’ve always talked about fostering or adopting, but that is just a twinkle in our eye..) and I am struggling with closing the chapter on the babymaking days and all the wonder and magic and dreaminess of it all. These are the days I dreamed about, you know? So much of her story has been so redemptive to me. My pregnancy, birth and even breastfeeding went so much smoother and was just so joy-filled, that I just really don’t ever want it to end. Alas, reality has reared it’s ugly, red, itchy face and I must return from my visit to the stars. It’s taken a few weeks, quite a bit of bartering with God, waiting-and-seeing, crying and bottle and paci hunting, but the time has come. My healing will be arriving on Wednesday on a Refrigerated White Horse requiring a signature and my big, sad No will lead way to a bunch of Yeses that I haven’t said in years. I’ll be saying yes to some of these things without fear for my skin to retaliate. Cannot wait. Also, I have not even considered that this treatment will not work for me so, please pray with me that it will.

short sleeves, bathing my kids, a long hot shower, wearing mascara, wearing my wedding rings, swimming in the summer, sweating, exercising, hairspray for my crazy baby hairs, pimento cheese, pet my dogs, wash dishes, hold hands with people at church, paint my nails, try new foods, wear my hair down, use regular soap in public bathrooms, bend and extend my arms fully, scratch without fear, get a pedicure, get a massage, get a haircut, get ice cream?!, eat at the State Fair, wear sunscreen, snuggle sweaty sleeping babies, clean the bathroom, holding my camera with whole fingers without cracks, epsom salt baths to relax (not out of necessity), sleeping all night, UV rays from the sun, walks outside, crying while watching a movie 

Last week I set up some self portraits of me and my sweet girl in our special place. As deep as the pain goes, the joy goes just as high– and that chair has been the place for it all. Snuggled her brother in that chair when she was barely a blueberry in my belly. He told me she was a “sister” weeks before we really knew. Those early baby piranha nursing days. Cluster feeds from 6-10pm for what seemed like months. The time she pooped on the wall. Rocking a stuffy baby to sleep, and many sleepy snuggles to come (she just doesn’t know it yet). That chair is holy ground.

I stumbled upon a few eczema hashtags on Instagram recently and wanted to contribute. Most of the images were expressionless faces, and I thought I’d mix it up a bit with a smile. This disease is the absolute pits. A slow torture and an unpredictable thief. But here’s the thing, it’s not anything we did or that we didn’t do. It just is what it is, and it’s up to us to choose joy. We just gotta. I hadn’t really realized how bad it had gotten because my brain just stopped feeling it. All my fingers were cracked, open wounds around and I legit didn’t feel them. I’d avoided mirrors for a few days and not really made eye contact with myself. When I looked at these photos on the back of my camera I remember hearing a sob and realizing it was my own. It was like looking at someone else’s diseased body.

I’ve never been particularly attached my appearance. I’ve always been one to choose comfort over style, sleep over a shower, money in my pocket over a haircut or makeup… so while I would definitely prefer to not wake up disfigured or oozing some mornings, I’ve adjusted to the no-make-up and one hair wash a week lifestyle just fine. Now that I’m a girl mama, I’ve been kind of worried about how I’ll teach her to do her hair (I need to take a class, for real) or make up or dress or other girly things, but I hope she looks at these pictures in her teens, twenties or even when she’s thirty like me and see that beauty is so much more than skin deep. Yes, daughter, we should shower. But also, your face isn’t everything. Your soul matters, your heart matters and also, being funny matters (please be funny, my little girl!). 

These are some of my favorite pictures of she and I to date. Strangely enough, I’m at a loss for words to describe why. Behold, he is doing a new thing. Same disease on me, but a new thing in me, for sure.



Audio Books, The Pukes and A Paci


Day seven of my social media fast thing and it’s been SO INTERESTING. I haven’t spent a moment of my adult life without social media, period. Nearly every place I have been since graduating college had a high speed connection and my thumbs took advantage. This includes a 12 hour bus ride in Peru and rest stops in Costa Rica.

So, now I have all these thoughts and nowhere to put them and it’s possible that my husband and three year old are tired of hearing me talk. Although Lincoln’s “wow! That’s so cool, mommy!” sounds really convincing so that makes me feel better since like 90% of the time I say that to him I am not listening and/or have no idea what he’s talking about. But maybe he really thinks I think he’s cool! Hashtag: three. Hashtag: my finger pockets are so big mommy! Hashtag: wow that’s so cool, buddy! Hashtag: but really, wut?

I figured since I have all these extra fringe minutes, I could do some things I’ve wanted to do but haven’t made time for in the past. Not big things, but little ones. Like listening to books that I will most likely never ever make time to read (if I am laying or sitting down and not working, I am not reading, I am ASLEEP). I’ve been trying to get on the audiobook wagon for a while, but am totally suspicious of those services that charge you every month. I thought about trying Audible for free, but I always forget to cancel things before they charge me or whatever and I just end up feeling like a sucker.

Enter: THE PUBLIC LIBRARY. They have audio books! And not just cassette tapes hanging up in zip loc baggies like they did in 1991– they have them ONLINE. And you can listen to them. For. Free.

I just finished listening to Jen Hatmaker’s “For The Love”. It’s been on my “to read” list for like a year. And I read it. Well, I “read” it. And it was so good it had me Amening and sending up praise hands while I drove, cooked dinner and folded laundry. It was so good, I might listen again. Jen reads it so it’s basically an 8 hour long episode of her podcast which I also love.

So here’s the deal with the audio book thing. You download the app, Libby, find your library and put your library card info in and start checking out audio books. They only have a few copies of each and there can be quite a waitlist (I’m number 1,237 for a Brené Brown book currently) which I don’t fully understand for audio books, but once it’s your turn it downloads it to your app and sends you an email and lets you know it’s on your shelf. BAM

After hanging out with Jen for 8 hours in the past few days I figured I’d check out her website and blog and home girl only blogged two times in the past year. Sure, she’s been writing books, touring and raising five kids or whatever but that was like a huge confidence boost for me. If Jen Hatmaker, a professional writer person doesn’t blog regularly… then I am totally off the hook*. G’Bye. Also, she writes like I think with lots of dramatic punctuation and capital letters. WHENEVER SHE FEELS LIKE IT. I dig it.

*as in, a totally self imposed, nonexistent hook that I really don’t care about or take too seriously.

So, I kind of miss social media but mostly I miss seeing pictures and videos of my friends’ kids. Which is a good excuse to text them and say hi. I also miss sharing pictures of my cute kids, so if you get a random text with pictures of my kids in it and no explanation— it’s just I CAN’T EVEN.

So what’s new here? Not much really, except we survived and conquered a throw up stomach bug (y’all know I’m telling you throw up so you didn’t think we all just had the runs… ) from Sunday morning to Tuesday night like a family of bosses. Probably one of my new core memories of motherhood is nursing the baby in her room trying not to touch her in clothes that I’m fairly certain have her brother’s puke on them after trying to teach him how to puke in a trash can every twenty minutes all night long. Four for four, the bug got us. And I got a fresh batch of positivity and despite the sights and sounds, I enjoyed the family time and breaking some rules like watching movies for like 24 hours straight and unlimited applesauce pouches. Basically I was able to parent like I always want to, but don’t. TV all day and no food preparation. It was a dream. Minus the puking and staying up all night of course. Unrelated: we probably won’t be having anyone over until we rebuild our house after it burns to the ground because germs. Also, Tuesday I finally got my monthly package in the mail from Young Living with my Thieves oil in it. You know, the one that kills germs and keeps you from getting sick? Too little, too late YL. Too late. 

Maybe it’s the audio books, the fact I’m not feeling sick anymore or that I found a paci that Emmeline will take, but WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE. Keep on, friends. Keep on!


Every Minute


February 1st, welcome welcome! January was my self-proclaimed Sabbath Month and I completely let go of all self-imposed expectations to do anything above the bare minimum. The bare minimum was basically keep family alive, feed them and clothe them and whatnot. All were fed and clothed, although the degrees of healthiness and cleanliness varied. It was truly wonderful, though. A great break from everything and a good time for me to really listen to my inside dialogue and get down to the nitty gritty of what I want the rest of my year to look like and what God is teaching me. I’m powering through the Powersheets still and have quite a bit left to do before I actually set my goals for the month, but God has given be a great bit of clarity about what really matters and for me, in this season it is NOT deadlines. Especially arbitrary ones like “firsts” or “lasts”.

As I’ve posted on Facebook and Instagram (I deleted Twitter several months ago) I’m taking the whole month of February off from those accounts for so many reasons. Mostly, I’m not really an “in moderation” kind of person. I’m what Gretchen Rubin refers to as an “Abstainer” so if I need to cut back on something I just cut it out and that’s easier for me. This year my word is discipline and I’d like to work on being disciplined in that way– being able to eat some dairy, some sugar, spend some time on social media, but staying present and aware of what my mind and body are doing, ya know? It’s easy for me to just operate on muscle memory and suddenly find my phone in my hand with my thumb hovering over where Instagram used to be. Ya feel me? I kind of hate buzz words, but I really do want to be intentional about the way I am spending my time– just in the way we budget by giving Every Dollar (heyo, Dave Ramsey fans) a job, I want to do the same with my minutes and hours, days and weeks. A time for everything and everything in time. Nothing wasted, not sitting looking at my huge kids wondering where the time went and having to rely on social media to show me what I missed while I was trying to document it! Crazy right? So, starting with all or nothing before I reset with boundaries.

So, is a blog a social media tool? Maybe. Probably. But whatever. This blog is one of those things that I’m always like “oh if I had more time I’d write like I used to” and I suspect that social media was taking up more time than I thought because its 12:06PM at the moment and today I have:

  • cleaned and vacuumed the playroom
  • used the potty twice
  • consumed one liter of water
  • made 2 dozen paleo pumpkin muffins with Lincoln while Emmeline napped
  • fed myself and both kids, 2 meals and a snack (actually make that like 4 snacks for Emmeline)
  • posted announcements for the day, graded all the student work and got all my work inboxes down to zero
  • written this post

I think I found all those minutes I was looking for.








October Gizzoals

20170923_September Every Day121

You know how they say September 1st is the new January 1st? Well October 1st (okay, 2nd) is the new September 1st (new January 1st) for working moms of two small kids named Kellie.


So here’s my goals for the month:

  • Whole 30. I am obnoxiously posting this on the internet for accountability. Normally I’m pretty private about stuff like this, but I’ve been halfheartedly trying to eat totally paleo for the past five months but kept falling face first into gluten free bagels with grassfed butter. So here we are. Follow me at @kellieblogs for the full scoop, meal and snack posts overload. Doing this for several reasons, but really I don’t need to justify to anyone why it’s a good idea to eat less (no) white crack sugar and more vegetables. But I’ll blog about it later this month.
  • Say no to some things, no matter how fun they look.
  • Establish some work rhythms. I’m still living day-to-day and really need to get some solid rhythms going and schedule out some batch task days.
  • walk two days a week outside in the fall air
  • work out at least once (yep, at least once in the whole month)
So here’s if I had a magic wand what I’d do this month:
  • make my eczema go away
  • make Emmeline sleep through the night and nap during the day
  • schedule all my announcements for the rest of the semester
  • make all my students and parents join my Remind group and message me only there so I only have to check one thing
  • tolerate dairy (namely in the form of cheesecake)
  • fold all my clothes
  • put all my clothes away
  • wish for more wishes, etc.
Y’all I freaking love October. Let’s do this! My last month of my 20s! Hooray!

Monday Adventures (alternate title: Shoulda Gone Venti)

Fun breastfeeding photos done at Baby + Co by Amanda at Raleigh Birth Photography, scroll quick if that’s not your thing! 

I don’t know guys. They say it’s just a season, but I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again. Granted, I did sneak a shower today during “nap time” and my deodorant finally came in the mail, and turns out my black leggings were in the clean basket after all, so I’m feeling like 110% better about life than I did this morning. But this is how my week started. Let me set the stage for you:

It was a chilly, rainy day. There was a hurricane somewhere nearby which created this amazing napmosphere which worked on neither of my children. I picked the big kid up from preschool at 1:15pm (because at 1:16pm they start charging you extra) and hightailed to the Starbucks because I am a twenty nine year old white female and mother of two small kids and that is what I do when I don’t know what else to do. The entirety of the time he was at preschool was spent trying to get the little redheaded one to take a freaking nap. The whole time zone had basically become a rain sound machine and she was not having any of it. Not even in the Ergo, not even in the Solly, not even in the swing, only on my boob while I moved. Literally. The only way she would not scream was if I was standing up, swaying while holding her with both arms. She can scream while she nurses. It’s unreal. I couldn’t even trick her into nursing in one of my seven carriers so I could use both my hands to do some work. So yeah, heading into that Starbucks drive thru I felt really accomplished and like I was rocking it. Not. I am pretty sure the barista sensed the regret in my voice when I said “tall” and “half caff” like I was trying not to go all out with a venti americano at 1:30pm on a Monday. I got my coffee and took a sip and it was glorious. You know that episode of Friends where Chandler smokes? Yeah, that was pretty much me.

Lincoln then started asking where his coffee was, so before I drove away I had to awkwardly wave down the barista with a dollar bill from my wallet and I asked for a small cup with a lid so my two year old could pretend to drink coffee. He didn’t really understand what was happening but it was cute how quickly and awkwardly he found an empty “tall” cup for me to give to my toddler who was pumped. We took that Starbucks cup home and put some almond milk in it and read a book at the kitchen table while we drank our coffee and for about three minutes I did not feel like a complete failure. It was awesome. The baby napped in the carseat on the floor with the earth sound machine going and also the little iPhone sound machine playing for her and my Lincoln felt like the coolest most important kid in the world for those few minutes and it was everything. And then I told him the three words no two year old ever wants to hear: “It’s nap time.”

Basically I could have told him “hey buddy, we’re selling all your toys and you have to go to school only in your undies and sandals for the rest of all time!” because he lost his mind at a volume that was ever so slightly louder than the sound machines keeping the world spinning Emmeline asleep, so naturally she started expressing her distaste for nap time as well. Even worse, she was mad she got tricked into it in the car and with the sound machines, so she was super pissed. I ran Lincoln upstairs and in my haste forgot the most important detail of them all: potty. Mistake one. I slapped some comfy pants on him out of the clean clothes basket in his room (mistake two), and turned on his sleep sounds (he’s an ocean kinda guy) and hightailed downstairs to deal with the little screaming one. I grabbed the monitor and watched him wind down and read a book so I figured he would be asleep in a few minutes like he usually is. Mistake three.

Finally the combination of all the sound machines and breastmilk and swaying got her to go back to sleep and by some miracle she stayed asleep even when I swayed her into the swing which was also swaying. Say that three times fast. She was asleep, Lincoln was almost asleep. Finally, I could do some work. I got my laptop open, all my tabs open in Chrome, all my spreadsheets open and I was ready to roll with four days of grading that had been neglected since the previous Thursday and then…. I woke up. The laptop was sliding off my lap. Man, those sound machines are effective. And also, I haven’t slept for longer than 2 hours in a row in over a month. Basically I can sleep anytime, anywhere. Do not invite me to the movies. Or on a car ride. Or basically, anywhere.

Oh, but wait, what is that weird sound? Sounds like a baby crying? That’s weird, she’s asleep in the swing. It’s coming from upstairs. I didn’t even check the monitor, I bolted upstairs in my nap hungover state, not aware of what time it was, what day it was but managing to get one foot in front of the other to Lincoln’s door, not sure what I’d find on the other side. I swung the door open and found my sweet blond babe head first in the laundry basket (see mistake two, up there) but feet still on his bed, perched at this awkward angle where he was clearly stuck and didn’t have the upper or lower body strength to push himself out of it. Because I had been sleeping I have no idea how long he had been like that, and no idea how long he had been screaming and crying. But basically, the kid had wet his bed, (see mistake one) and I am pretty sure he was looking for some clean pants. In the excitement of being stuck in the laundry basket he had peed some more, and was wet from his ankles to his shoulders. His shirt and undies were completely soaked. He apologized (Mommy, I so sorry) and my heart broke in half as I dressed him in warm dry clothes and wiped the snot and tears off his face and he told me, “Mommy, I so sleepy” and crawled onto his pillow with a clean, dry blanket off the floor and fell asleep. So, that’s one way to get your kid to nap. At three forty five, he fell asleep on a bed with no sheets. I laid down with him and stroked his hair, told him I loved him approximately 3859208590205 times and apologized for not hearing him crying. And then I heard those ginger shrieks from downstairs. The swing sound machine had stopped. Ran downstairs and she had pooped all up her back.

So, when people have asked me lately “how is it with two kids?” or “how’s work going?” or “do you want to hang out one day this week?” I kind of just smile like a lunatic and say “things are exciting! I’ll text you!” because I literally have no idea. I don’t know how it is. I don’t know how work’s going. I don’t know if I want to hang out. Basically just keeping everyone alive. Self included. Fistfuls of dairy free chocolate chips at a time.

You know, it’s kinda great though. I have a flair for the dramatic when I’m telling my stories, but really it’s so freaking good. You know, when the big independent almost three year old asks to sit with you and wants to snuggle. Or when the four month old unlatches to smile at you because you are her whole world. Or those moments when the big brother disappears from the breakfast table to sit thisclose to his sister and tell her about his toys or ask her what kind of food she likes (oh? you like baby milk?) There are days where I feel like a total failure, but I know better, you know? I’m doing okay. They are both happy and healthy, fed and clothed (note that I am excluding ‘bathed’ or ‘clean’). They know they are loved and they keep crying because they know I’ll always come, arms ready. That feels good.

Am I completely failing at cleaning and laundry and eating well and getting enough rest? Absolutely. Is work stressing me out a ton? Absofreakinglutely. Is there any sort of boundary between work life and life life right now? NOPE. I am feeding a baby while I teach classes, I’m answering text messages from students while I play trains and more often than not I respond to work emails while I poop. It’s a hot mess. It’s my mess though. And I love it. When my circus is grown and has circuses of their own, I can’t wait to tell them about the crazy days I had with them. They are crazy for sure, but crazy special. And they are ours.

And you bet your jellybeans that today at Starbucks (Thursday? How the eff is it just Thursday?!?) when I ordered a tall while my kids were screaming in the backseat, that I wised up really quick and changed that to a venti. It’s 8pm and I’m still drinking it. The way I see it, what’s the worst that will happen? I won’t sleep tonight? Probably not.


It’s In Your Hands, Black Lives Matter, and Comfort in The Church


I typically avoid politics and related discussion, mostly because I big fat don’t care and I have no apologies for that. Relationships with people are more important to me than being right about something. I do not enjoy a spirited debate, in Facebook or real life. I research around election time, make my decisions, cast my vote (love rocking that 19th amendment, baby!) and I live my life the way I believe things should be lived. Voting is important, but the older I get the more I really believe the way that we live our lives daily is way more important than how we vote, where we identify politically or what we post to Facebook. Shocker, right? The way we speak to people, the way we treat strangers we meet at the grocery store, and the things we say in our heads about people when we see them are way more important. Those things start the shift. Simple words and thoughts are what start the movement.

So, me and diversity, in short(ish):

I grew up in Durham, I went to preschool through my senior year of high school with people that looked different from me and I never noticed. It was normal. It was so normal that it was a non-issue for me. Whenever people talked about racism I was sincerely puzzled, thinking it was a thing of the 1950s segregated days that we grew up learning about each February. I always had friends that were not white. It was not until I started college at a private women’s school in Raleigh that I noticed the absence of women of color. It was weird. I remember my freshman year finally making friends with a black girl and thinking how strange it was that I actually had to look for a friend that was different than me. Over time though, I became closer friends with the girls that lived near me or that were in classes with me and maintaining a racially diverse friend group became less of a priority. Before I knew it, I was graduated and working at a high school in rural North Carolina that literally had one black staff member that was not part of the custodial staff, and she was a teacher’s assistant. It was beyond bizarre to me. My second job literally had ZERO staff members at my campus that were not white until halfway through my second year. It was like living in a parallel universe. Both public schools, one in the country, one in the city, in 2010 and beyond– nearly completely white.

Once I started working at home and was knee deep in diapers, I really didn’t have any friends that weren’t middle class white moms. In June of 2015 when the shooting at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston happened, my world was rocked. It was so sad. It was so hard to believe that now, so far removed from the civil rights movement, that crap like that was still happening. Kind of the same way that it’s hard  for me to believe that people still smoke (helloooo didn’t you see that video in middle school health class that talked through the hole in her throat?) it’s hard for me to really believe that people truly think that they are superior to others just because their skin is white. It blows my mind that that kind of ignorance still exists and that it is a motivator for violence for people. Insane. It’s even more insane to me that a lot of these people associate themselves with my same Jesus. Completely insane.

As a middle class white lady teetering on the edge of my twenties, I don’t know what it’s like to be black. I don’t know what it’s like to be hispanic. I don’t know what it’s like to be anything than a white woman. I’ve had a few “out of my comfort zone” trips where I was a student in foreign country, but both times I was able to easily blend in with my European features (it wasn’t until I started speaking Spanish that people would get annoyed with my American-ness) but other than some sexist comments here or there, or people assuming that I’m racist because I’m white in various work or school situations I’ve not dealt with systematic discrimination or racism in my day to day life. I can really, truly only imagine what that is like. I can’t apologize for being white, much in the same way I can’t apologize for being American or a woman, or a Scorpio– it was one hundred percent out of my control. It just happened.

This sermon rocked me (Link: It’s In Your Hands, Pastor Steven Furtick at Elevation Church June 21, 2015). I was a new mama, working at home, holding my brand new baby imagining what it would be like if we were black in today’s society and it broke my heart. This message was before we were going to Elevation Church, we started going there about a month later, actually. After listening to it, creating opportunities for our son to meet, grow, learn and live with people different from us became a top priority. A lot of our neighbors were black and we didn’t know their names. Most of our church family/our entire small group at the the time was white, and that needed to change for us. I literally could not name a single black person that I had spoken to more than once since Lincoln had been born or whose name I knew (other than friends from school on social media). That was 100% not okay for me. And so, we began looking for a new church. Not that our old church was bad in any way, or racist in any way, in fact they were 100% committed to missions and were very active in the discussion on diversity in the church. But for us, it was time for more than a discussion– it was time for action. Our baby was growing up and would soon be watching us. It was time for a change. And as ridiculous as it sounds to say out loud, it was time to be friends with some black people.

This is just one area where we felt we needed to change. I’m not saying we’re awesome for doing it. I’m not saying you’re racist because you’re not doing it. But I think it’s worth examining your level of comfort in your current church situation. Are you choosing your level of comfort over the level of impact your family could have?  Examine your life as your kids would see it. What conclusions would they come to about black people by the way you live your life in front of them? Are they normal people just like you? Or are they just people you see and pass in the grocery store? Do they see and interact with kids that are different from them on a regular basis? Do you seek out parks to play in “white” neighborhoods? What stereotypes have you accepted as the norm from your parents or your spouse or your culture? QUESTION THEM. Where do these stereotypes come from? Hate? Misunderstanding? Do they come from God? Are they biblical?

What is an area you can change in? It’s in your hands. Racism can end with our generation, it’s just up to us. I think even sometimes we get so fixated on sending and missions we neglect the implications of the great commission here: go and make disciples doesn’t necessarily mean move to China and convert all the people. What if it could mean, meet people here, be in relationships with them, grow with them in the Lord. Do black people live in your neighborhood? Cool, meet them. If they don’t, maybe you need to try a little harder to diversify your circle. Ever drive out of your way to go to Target or Starbucks? Same concept. If it’s worth it to you, you’ll make it happen. You have to make it worth it.

So, hey, Christians: Look at your life. Before you post on Facebook about whatever whatever whatever political whatever, look at your life. Are you living out what you believe or what you say you believe? When you post on Instagram #blacklivesmatter, are you living that? Are you teaching your kids with your relationships and your friends and your interactions with strangers in front of them that black lives matter? How can you live your daily life, outside of your “statement” on social media, that black lives truly matter? Or are you just being trendy and hashtagging and reposting and living your comfortable white life? How can you demonstrate love for your brothers and sisters in a real way?

And hey, Christians: is America the source from which your freedom comes or is it Jesus? Was it founding fathers that died on the cross for you or was it Jesus? Yeah. We have freedoms here that we wouldn’t have in other places in the world, but what is more important? Your freedom to offend people with your speech or the freedom and grace given to you by Jesus that you should be extending to others? It’s okay, and GREAT to be thankful and appreciative that we have the freedom and rights that we do but under no circumstances does our freedom of speech become an excuse to intentionally offend, hurt, or belittle others. That is not the message of Jesus in any way shape or form.

And hey, Christians. People can be so involved on social media that they feel like calling out those that are “silent”. Maybe those people aren’t silent because they are complicit to the racism and atrocious acts happening. Maybe they are “silent” on social media because they aren’t on their phones or their computers living their lives. Maybe they are out living and loving.

The cure isn’t a hashtag, or another Facebook post “discussion” or a viral graphic or video to be liked and shared. The cure is living it. Examine your life, make a change, live it up. (And also, watch this sermon even if sermons aren’t your thing– it will challenge your perspective on many things).