When I stop to think about it, seven is a funny number.

It doesn't have the electricity of year one, when everything was terrifying and new and you couldn't sleep because you didn't know if anyone would walk through the door. It doesn't have the drama of year two, when the world shut down and none of us knew what anything meant anymore. It doesn't have the milestone weight of year five, when you finally look up and think okay, this is real. This is actually happening.

Seven just quietly arrives. And when it does, you realize that quiet is actually the whole point of this entire thing.

Because what seven years really means is this: we're still here. On the same beautiful corner in Camp Washington. Making the same amazing toast. Pulling shots of ‘spro for people who have watched their kids grow up on our bar stools, who have changed jobs, moved houses, traveled the world, and fallen in love and come back to tell us about all of it over a cup of coffee. We're still here, every single day, for all of it.

As I sit to reflect on these seven years, I keep getting caught on so many beautiful moments in time. The anniversaries we celebrated out in the yard. The day we built the outdoor garden for the community to gather in. The afternoon we sanded those shelves to rest big beautiful bottles of wine on. The very first morning we opened our doors, so impossibly busy we could barely keep up. Our first hires in 2019, teaching them the Mom 'n 'em way, watching something click. And every single employee since, each one adding their own color and light to this place in ways I don't think they'll ever fully know.

But what I come back to most is this house.

I remember the first time we flew home to Cincinnati to visit the space in 2016. We drove through Camp Washington up to 3128 Colerain, just the two of us, to see the progress and try to imagine what it might become. Some moments it was hard to. I even caught myself thinking, what the hell are we even doing?

Because on paper, it was a little absurd. Opening on a random corner in Camp Washington, in a vacant, run-down house that had no windows, no yard, debris everywhere, nothing but four walls and a whole lot of history we'd only come to understand later. Every single piece had to be imagined from scratch. Two brothers standing in an empty house, trying to see something that wasn't there yet.

What most people don't know is that this house was originally supposed to be a home for my brother Tony. After years of grinding in San Francisco kitchens, he was ready to come back to Cincinnati, to come home, to build something here, to be part of where we were from again. And eventually, so was I.

The original vision was to run Mom 'n 'em Coffee out of a vintage 1950s Airstream trailer on the side yard. We pushed and pulled with the city for nearly three years before finally landing approvals, only to have the project come back unfeasible due to weather and construction costs. It was a long time to fight for something, and losing it stung.

But somewhere in that feeling of defeat, a new idea took shape. What if everything lived inside the house itself? What would that look like? What would it feel like?

We know the answer now. It feels like being home!
We picked a corner that people told us was the wrong corner. We even had folks tell us we'd fail.

We opened anyway, on Mother's Day in 2019, which wasn't planned so much as it was just fitting. The project wrapped in early May, and it didn't take long for us to realize there was no other day to open but on Mother’s Day given that this whole thing was dedicated to our mom, Theresa.

And then Cincinnati did something we will never stop being grateful for.
You chose us.

Not because we were the most convenient option or the flashiest thing around. You chose us because you felt something real when you walked in, and you decided that feeling was worth coming back for. That is not something a business builds. That is something a community gives. And you have given it to us, every single day, for seven years.

We think about that a lot, what this city actually is. Cincinnati is not a city that chases what's trendy. It is a city that is loyal. A city that roots for the underdog, that takes pride in its own, that will drive across town for something it believes in and tells ten people about it on the way home. We have felt that loyalty since day one. It is the reason we are still standing here today.

So here we are. Seven years old.
Still learning, still growing, still figuring it out one morning at a time. Grateful in a way that is hard to put into words but impossible to stop feeling.

If you have ever sat at one of our chairs, even once, we thank you. If you have ever brought someone in and said you have to try this place, thank you. If you have ever sent us a postcard from your vacation, tagged us in something, or just quietly kept showing up, thank you. You are the story. You always have been.

We are celebrating year seven on Mother's Day, May 10th, 2026. A birthday brunch at our Camp Washington location.
Bring mom, and come hang!

Seven years down and a lifetime to go.
Tony, Austin, Mom & the entire Mom 'n 'em Coffee fam ❤️