If July were a person, we’d all agree she needs therapy. A whole team of therapists, actually, and maybe a retreat somewhere with no wifi. We’re only halfway through the month and it feels like we’ve lived six months in two weeks, which tracks, because nothing in my life moves at a normal speed anymore.

June ended in a way I’ll treasure forever, even though it also ended my dad’s life, so “treasure” feels like a weird word to use but I don’t have a better one.

My last conversation with my dad wasn’t sad. It wasn’t scared. We talked for a long time and laughed a lot, and somewhere in there he told me I’d energized him, that talking to me gave him hope and bought him more time. Neither of us knew how little time there actually was. I’ve replayed that conversation more times than I can count, not because I wish I’d said something different, but because I’m so thankful for what we did say. Small mercy. I’ll take it.

Grief is weird like that. One minute you’re answering emails like a normal functioning adult, and the next you’re standing in the grocery store trying to remember why you walked into the cereal aisle, wondering how the world just kept spinning when yours very clearly did not. 

Being hundreds of miles from the rest of my family hasn’t made any of this easier. Some days I just want to sit on a porch with my siblings and tell stories until somebody laughs through the tears by accident. Instead I’ve learned love stretches across state lines just fine. It just hurts a little more doing it that way.

And because life has zero respect for emotional timing, the rest of July kept happening anyway.

There were vacations that fell apart. Hours on the phone untangling promises, cancellations, refunds, credits, departments, supervisors, and enough hold music to legally qualify as psychological warfare. 

Lesson relearned: when life throws a wrench into your plans, advocate for yourself. Be kind, be patient, but don’t be afraid to ask questions or hold a company to what they told you. Most people genuinely want to help, you just have to keep climbing the phone tree until you find the one who can.

We also had a dinosaur train adventure that did not go according to plan (is anything ever going according to plan this month, really). But one manager completely turned it around just by listening, caring, and fixing what she could. Customer service isn’t about never messing up. It’s about making people feel heard. We’ll go back. Not because it was perfect. Because she was.

Then there were the ordinary moments, the kind that never make headlines. Eight years of marriage. Traditions we keep just because they’re ours. Home repairs that multiply while you’re fixing the first one, like some kind of cursed rabbit breeding program. The Great Fake Pool Leak Investigation of 2026 (still not over it). The hustle to keep enough work coming in. Late nights on puzzles. Books keeping me company on the nights sleep decided not to show up for its shift.

Some days I looked around and wondered how this beautiful chaotic life keeps demanding so much from all of us at once. Then my kids remind me why it’s worth it anyway.

I watched one daughter take on way too much because she wants to do everything well, and I know exactly where she gets that. Unfortunately. One of the hardest things I’ve learned as an adult is that saying yes to everything eventually means saying no to yourself, so we’re working on that together. We’re the kind of family that has five-year plans over dinner, dreams written on a whiteboard, goals that get revised more often than the grocery list. I want her to know it’s okay to change direction. It’s okay to walk away from something that stopped serving the life she’s actually trying to build.

Another daughter quietly hit her first year as a general manager, and I don’t think she has any idea how proud that makes me.

My oldest son and I had one of those conversations that sneaks up on you. Somewhere in the middle of it I realized I wasn’t just talking to my son anymore. I was talking to someone I genuinely like. Someone who gets me in ways I never expected. 

Justin keeps amazing me too. No matter how tired he is, he still finds the energy to chase little girls around the house. To them he’s a superhero. To me he’s turning into one of the kindest men I know.

Tyler’s started helping with the girls now, and if you’ve been around here a while, you know what a big deal that actually is. Watching those little moments of connection happen has filled my heart in ways I can’t really explain and won’t insult by trying too hard.

Thomas has been teaching Kayson how to spell. Then I found out Jacob already taught him “yellow.” So now I’m wondering if Jacob missed his true calling as an elementary school teacher, or if Kayson has just quietly assembled his own personal education committee. Possibly both. Honestly, I’d hire either of them.

Life rarely slows down long enough to let us appreciate it while it’s happening, so sometimes you just have to stop in the middle of the mess and say: this matters. This conversation matters. This hug matters. This ordinary Tuesday matters. This family matters.

July has reminded me that joy and grief don’t take turns. They coexist, rude as that is. You can cry over someone you miss while laughing at your toddler insisting mosquito bites are “forever.” 

You can mourn a parent while celebrating your kids in the same breath. You can be exhausted and unbelievably grateful at the exact same time, and both of those things can be completely true before lunch.

That’s life. Messy. Beautiful. 

Heartbreaking. Worth every second, even the parts on hold with customer service.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go solve at least one problem the old-fashioned way, with a homemade Philly cheesesteak. 

If your week needs a little comfort too, hop over to the recipe page and make a batch. Sometimes healing starts with good bread, melty cheese, and a family gathered around the table.

Have a beautiful Sunday, friends.