My mother named me Katie. Not Katherine. Not Katrina. Katie. Had she named me after my favorite heroine of all time (Katie Scarlett) I might have forgiven her, but she saddled me with the nicest, girly-est name imaginable and then tacked the word “Joy” on just in case you missed the sweetness overload.

The name Katie will forever make me think of puppy dogs, pigtails, and pretty pink dresses. And during a time when I felt being soft and tender was a weakness, I wanted a name that made me feel tough and brave and maybe even a little bad ass. So from the moment I was old enough, I lodged protest, embraced my contrarian nature, and refused to answer to anything but Kate. (My dad, who still calls me Kay-TEE, with a stubbornness even greater than my own has been the singular exception.)

And for over 20 years, I never even turned my head if someone said my given name. Then my husband, Jesse, started to teasingly call me Katie Joy. And a couple of friends picked it up. And while I first hated it, I begrudgingly began to like it.

And while I still rarely answer to the name Katie (more from lack of use than lack of fondness) when it came time to name this blog, I thought a little sweetness might me some good.

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