When you move to a new state, you may think that your new neighbors are going to greet you at the moving van with a warm hug and a plate of cookies. But they probably won’t. (How incredibly encouraging would that be, though?) Even though I didn’t have any neighbors come over with warm carbs, I made a vow to be THAT neighbor to someone else. #susiehomemaker
You most likely won’t walk on cloud nine every day at your place of employment. Let’s be real, people. It’s a job. Yes, of course you should love your job or at the very least, enjoy your job. But at the end of the day, it’s ONLY a job. It doesn’t (and shouldn’t) be your whole life. Make the most of the situations you find yourself in. #jobspaythebills #suckitup
Pregnancy is not as glamorous as I pictured it in my mind. Your boobs hurt. Like REALLY hurt. You have to pee, at least, 5 times a night. Every cramp and pain in your belly sends you into a tizzy because there are so many unknowns in this pregnancy game. You aren’t entirely sure if you’re getting bigger from your uterus growing or the amount of gas you’re holding inside you. Oh, and don’t forget to take your laxatives… #glamorous
Looking at your paycheck is a waste of time and will only send you into a swirl of depression. Who knew there were so many taxes taken out? I certainly did not. Why was I not prepared for this? I had to take a class in high school that taught me how to use a freakin’ check book, but no one could take 5 minutes to explain taxes to me?! #couldberichexceptfortaxes
When you buy your first house, prepare to feel like you’re signing your life away. 30 year mortgage? I’ve literally never thought more than 2 years (maximum) in advance. How am I supposed to know what’s going to happen in 30 years to the housing market? What if I can never sell my house? What if I made a horrible decision in picking THIS house?! What IS the housing market?! I can feel the panic and chest tightening already. #deepbreathing
Speaking of houses, once you buy one, everything breaks. And guess what the real kicker is? You no longer have a landlord that fixes everything. What a drag. So when the seller’s realtor tells you, “The water heater should last you at least 5 more years!” Don’t believe them. Financially prepare thyself. #RIPgarbagedisposal
Don’t listen to what anyone says about marriage. Especially the bitter ones. Marriage is fun. Marriage is what you make it. (And we’ve decided to make it like a nightly sleepover with your BFF.) Disclaimer: marriage only remains fun if you put in the effort. So don’t get lazy/boring/old. Go on adventurous dates, take walks at night, buy lingerie, actually wear said lingerie, and laugh at each other every chance you get. #youarewelcomehusbands
What feels like 5 years is actually taking 5 minutes in retrospect. When you look back at your life, you won’t believe how fast it went. As cliché as it sounds, make sure you take it all in and enjoy each milestone in your life. If you’re in high school and just turned 16 live it up with your girlfriends (or “tribe,” if that’s what the kids are calling it now). Dance in the car to loud music that boys hate. Have sleepovers and eat junk food. If you’re in college and just turned 21 go out with everyone you know and take lots (a responsible amount) of shots (because someday you won’t be able to handle shots anymore). Join all the clubs, but also go to class. (Okay you can skip a couple days of class, we all did it). There will be PLENTY OF TIME to experience the next milestone. #timeflies #butforreal
My name is Katherine Kring, although most people call me Kaile. You can blame my parents for the confusing two name situation. I was born in Lincoln, NE and raised in Minden, a small farming community in central Nebraska. I have adorably, in love parents and two siblings, one older brother and one younger sister.
Growing up it was apparent that I was kind of the odd man out. Both of my siblings are very blonde, athletic and competitive...and then there's me. I enjoy singing, theater, speech, writing, and reading. And unfortunately, do not have blonde hair.
After high school, I ventured off to the big city of Omaha, NE where my, then boyfriend, was stationed with the Airforce (He is now my Airforce husband and I have since followed him to Ohio.) I attended Nebraska Methodist College of Nursing and Allied Health in Omaha and pursued a career in Respiratory Care. I now get to have the initials RRT after my name because I am officially a Registered Respiratory Therapist.
My hubby and I live in Ohio with our two crazy, hyper dogs. We love to binge watch netflix, go antiquing, and travel. I also love my Lord, Jesus Christ and enjoy attending our church and reading my bible.
Do you remember that day in the fifth grade when the boys and girls were separated for the “Sexuality and Development” talk? Some nice old lady health teacher came into your room and gave you some straight talk about how the next few years were going to go for you. It was awkward and shocking and you knew your childhood would never be the same. When you hit your mid-thirties, there should be some kind of Part Two to that conversation. All the ladies need to be rounded up, lead into a dimly lit classroom that smells vaguely of pencil...
In July, my husband and I celebrated our 10-year wedding anniversary. We got married back in 2008 following my college graduation. I was only 22 at the time and him? Well, he was all good-looking at the prime age of 30. There were may vocal skeptics who chimed in, unasked of course, to share with us their belief that we would “never last” and that it would “never work”. To them, I say, “You were wrong! Na-na, na-na, boo-boo!” Just kidding, of course; I don’t talk like that. I am a respectable mother, not a four-year-old child and thank goodness...
It was time. It had to happen. We’d had a good run at pouring our children into bed at 11:30 p.m., sweaty, sticky, and exhausted from their head to their toes. But bedtime had to get back to its (somewhat) regularly scheduled program. When we had one kid, bedtime was a breeze. Each night, we had a 10 step process. And the steps were simple. And very, very routine. 1. Toys away at 7:10 p.m. 2. Up the stairs at 7:15 p.m. 3. Change into pajamas 4. Brush teeth 5. Read two books 6. Say prayers 7. Light off 8....
Your husband has a mere headache, but he automatically now believes that he is going to be a chronic sufferer of cluster migraines. Or, maybe he got a small splinter, but he now believes that he is, without probability, going to end up with a staph infection. And, well, that cough of his (cough, cough) is going to have him laid up in bed for the next two days because he is just feeling so terrible. Sound familiar? It is all too familiar to me. What am I talking about? How men are babies when they get sick. Yes, I said it. I...
Is anyone else as sick of the facade as I am? Because on social media, everyone seems to have their crap together. But I sure don’t. Scrolling through my feeds leaves me feeling inadequate and lonely, desperately lonely. I know social media is only the high points. I know there is always more going on behind the scenes that I don’t know about. But at the end of the day, I just feel like there’s no one who would want to be friends with little, imperfect, insignificant, me. So, I’m placing an ad. Wanted: Imperfect Friends A kind, but quirky,...
I’ve got a question for all you moms out there: Have you ever been late? Yeah, me neither. Just kidding! We’ve all been there. We have an appointment, a meeting, an event, or just a playdate, and we want to be on time. In fact, it often looks and feels like we’re going to be on time. We’ve planned ahead. We have everything in order, and we are ready to head out the door. But then, without fail, the inevitable happens. Actually, it seems that a good number of inevitables happen. And we’re running late, again. Being on time is...
We know Mom loves us, don’t worry about that . . . but sometimes it seems like she’s just making up a whole pile of rules to ruin our fun. For instance, we’ll be in the middle of a huge independent project and she’ll come along, usually shriek, and be like, “You can’t use water guns to fill up the bathtub! And why are you shooting water into the toilet? Ewwwwww.” And just like that, we have to pack it all up and return to a clean orderly activity. A controlled activity. A zero fun activity. We’re not even sure...
While swaying in side-by-side hammocks, my daughter paid me the ultimate compliment: “It gives me enormous peace of mind while I’m working, to know you’re watching my son and that he’s in the most capable hands.” Then 10 seconds later while I was still orbiting in happy mode, she insulted me by offering to PAY me for this glorious privilege. We engaged in a little tit for tat tug of war with no clear winner. And the debate rages on, at least in our household. How about yours? To pay or not to pay the loving grandparents who bless us...
So you want a good old fashioned 90s summer, huh? I don’t blame you. The 90s rocked! (Literally, thanks to Kurt Cobain and Eddie Vedder.) I’m not going to lie—I take slight offense to the use of “old fashioned” and “90s” in the same sentence, as I’m pretty sure the 90s were like 10 years ago, but I’ll still help you out. If you’re really doing this though, you’ll need to ditch some of your modern conveniences, like your phone. I know, I know, but it’s a requirement. You may bring a beeper or clunky flip-phone, but no internet allowed...
Paid automotive transportation is pretty simple. You hop in the backseat of a cab, share the address where you are going and aren’t required to speak any longer until you arrive at your destination and pay the driver. The same primary rules apply to taking an Uber or Lyft. The unwritten rules have been in place for some time. Your trade-off for taking paid transportation is a ride in the backseat, where you don’t have control over the music, the temperature of the car, the route the driver takes or how fast the trip takes, not even the amount of...
By Katherine Kring 
by Her View From Home 
by Nicole Merritt 
by Ashli Brehm 
by Bailey Suzio 
by Charissa Thonus 
by Rebecca Bergman 
by Lisa Leshaw 
by Karen Johnson 
by Missy Hunter 
