When I sat down to create the album I Love America, I knew exactly how it needed to open: with strength, with power, and with a declaration that we’re not backing down.
“America First” is that opening statement.
This patriotic anthem isn’t just about a slogan – it’s about the journey of resilience. It’s about being forged in fire, having steel in your spine, and standing unshakeable no matter what comes against you.
The Story Behind the Song
I wanted to write a song that captured what so many Americans feel right now: we’ve been through a lot, we’ve been tested, but we’re still standing. We’re still fighting. We’re still rising.
The lyrics “Forged in fire across this land, steel in our spine, iron in our will” came from thinking about what makes America different. We don’t break easily. We bend, we struggle, but we come back stronger.
Why a Duet?
I chose to make this a duet because strength isn’t just one voice – it’s all of us together. Male and female voices united, representing every American who refuses to give up on this country.
The chorus – “America first, we plant our feet, no retreat, we don’t accept defeat” – is meant to be sung together. It’s a stadium anthem, a rallying cry, a reminder that when we stand together, we’re unstoppable.
What This Song Means to Me
As a homeschooling mom and independent artist, I’ve faced my share of challenges. This song reminds me that the same resilience that built this nation lives in each of us. We all have that steel in our spine when we need it.
Musical Style
We went for modern country rock with serious edge. Think powerful guitars, driving drums, and vocals that command attention. This isn’t background music – this is music that makes you stand a little taller.
Listen to ‘America First’
This song sets the tone for the entire I Love America album. It’s celebration, defiance, and hope all rolled into one powerful anthem.
Album I Love America releases June 8, 2026.
Tomorrow: I’ll share the story behind Vance 2028 – our rally anthem for the best VP we’ve ever seen.
I’m so excited to finally share what I’ve been working on. On June 8th, 2026, I’m releasing my new album I Love America- a collection of 11 songs that celebrate everything I love about this country.
This isn’t just another patriotic music project. This is my heart poured out in song – about the America I believe in, the values I hold dear, and the hope I have for our future.
What is I Love America About?
I Love America is a journey through American pride, faith, compassion, and celebration. These American anthems cover everything from honoring our founding fathers to praying for our political opponents, from celebrating strong leadership to remembering our forgotten heroes.
As an independent patriotic artist, I wanted to create music that reflects the America so many of us love – the one worth fighting for, praying for, and believing in.
The 11 Songs on I Love America:
Over the next week, I’ll be sharing a blog post about each song on the album. Here’s what you can expect:
America First – Our opening anthem about strength and resilience
Vance 2028 – A rally cry for the best VP we’ve ever seen
The Dream Lives On – Connecting Reagan’s vision to today’s mission
America’s Forgotten – A sorrowful lament for those left behind
Welcome Home – Honoring soldiers with invisible wounds
I Still Pray For You – Faith-based healing across political division
America’s Children – An inspirational anthem for the next generation
Red, White, and Blue – The meaning behind our symbols
If They Could See Us Now – A tribute to our founding fathers
Long Live the President – Gratitude for courageous leadership
I Love America – Our grand finale celebration
Why I Made This Album
I’m a homeschooling mom, a quilter, a worship leader, and a singer-songwriter. I love this country deeply, and I wanted to create music that celebrates that love without apology.
In a world where it sometimes feels like loving America is controversial, I wanted to write songs that say: it’s okay to be proud. It’s okay to celebrate. It’s okay to believe in this nation.
These are pro-America songs written from the heart of someone who believes our best days can still be ahead of us.
How to Follow Along
Starting tomorrow, I’ll be releasing a new blog post each day diving deep into one song from I Love America. Each post will share the story behind the song, the inspiration, and what I hope it means to you.
Album Release: June 8, 2026
Mark your calendars! I Love America releases everywhere on June 8th. Whether you’re looking for new patriotic music, American anthems for your playlist, or just songs that celebrate faith and freedom, I hope this album speaks to your heart.
This is my love letter to America. I can’t wait to share it with you.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the first song story: America First.
Grab your tissues. I’m serious. Go get them. I’ll wait.
….
Got them? Good. Because I cry every single time I sing this song, and I have a feeling you might too.
“Last First Kiss” was about where love begins. “Dance With Me” is about where it goes—and friends, I’m taking you all the way to the nursing home on this one. But like, in a romantic way. The good kind of nursing home feels.
(Is “romantic nursing home vibes” a genre? It is now.)
The Night I Saw Us at 80
It was a random Tuesday. Dan and I were cleaning up after dinner—him washing, me drying, the boys already in bed—and some old song came on. I don’t even remember what it was. Something slow. Something with strings.
Dan put down the dish he was washing, soap suds still on his hands, and held one out to me.
“Dance with me.”
Now, I need you to understand: we are not spontaneous dancers. We are not rom-com people. We’re more “collapse on the couch after the kids are asleep and watch three episodes of something” people. The last time we danced was probably at someone else’s wedding, and even then, I think we mostly swayed and talked about what time we needed to leave.
But something about that moment—the quiet kitchen, the soft light over the sink, the absolute ordinary-ness of it—made me take his soapy hand.
We danced. Badly. Beautifully. In our kitchen that still had dishes in the sink and crumbs on the counter and a weird smell coming from the trash that neither of us wanted to deal with.
And out of nowhere, I saw us.
Not us now—us then. Fifty years from now. Gray-haired. Slower. Maybe a little creaky in the knees. Still swaying in some future kitchen, to some song only we remember.
I started crying right there between the dishwasher and the refrigerator. Dan thought I’d hurt myself. (“What happened? Did you step on a Lego? We talked about the boys leaving Legos out—”) But it wasn’t pain. It was the opposite of pain. It was the overwhelming realization that I want to dance with this man until we physically cannot dance anymore. And then I want to hold his hand and sway.
Why It Had to Be a Waltz
When I sat down to write this song, I knew immediately it had to be in 3/4 time. A waltz. There was no other option.
Here’s the thing about waltzes: they’re timeless. Your great-great-grandparents waltzed. Your grandparents waltzed. And if you’re lucky—if you’re really, really lucky—you’ll still be waltzing with your person when you’re somebody’s great-grandparent.
A waltz is also deceptively simple. One-two-three. One-two-three. You don’t need fancy footwork or dance lessons or any idea what you’re doing. You just need someone to hold, a song to follow, and the willingness to keep stepping forward together.
(If that’s not a metaphor for marriage, I don’t know what is.)
The rhythm also gave me something else: space. Waltzes breathe. They don’t rush. And this song needed room to be tender, to sit in the quiet moments, to let the emotion build without shoving it down your throat.
Writing the Promise
The hardest part of writing “Dance With Me” was saying something true without being cheesy.
Because let’s be honest: love songs can get real cheesy. “I’ll love you forever” is sweet, but it’s also on approximately forty-seven million greeting cards. I needed something that felt like us—specific and ordinary and real.
So I wrote about what I actually want. Not grand gestures. Not dramatic declarations. Just… this. Dancing in kitchens. Holding hands through hard seasons. Knowing someone so well that you can have a whole conversation with one look. Choosing each other again tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, until we run out of tomorrows.
I wanted the song to feel like a promise you could actually keep. Not “I’ll never let you down” (because we all let each other down sometimes—that’s just being human). But “I’ll still be here. I’ll still reach for your hand. I’ll still want to dance with you, even when we’re old and tired and the world is heavy.”
That’s the promise. Not perfection. Presence.
When Dan Heard It
I was terrified to play this one for him.
“Last First Kiss” was sweet, but it was about the past—safe territory. “Lucky Me” roasts his bathroom habits, which he finds hilarious. But this one? This one was about us, right now, and all the years I hope we have left. This one was vulnerable.
I played it for him one evening after the boys were in bed. Made him sit on the couch. Told him he wasn’t allowed to say anything until it was over. (I know myself. I would’ve stopped halfway through if he’d made any face at all.)
He listened. I watched his face and then couldn’t watch his face, so I closed my eyes and just sang.
When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I started mentally preparing for constructive criticism.
Then he said: “I want that to be the last song played at my funeral.”
Dan. WHAT. WAY TO MAKE IT WEIRD.
But also… I understood. He was saying this song holds everything. The beginning and the end. The whole story.
(We did have to have a follow-up conversation about how “that was beautiful, honey” would’ve been a normal response and the funeral thing gave me a minor heart attack. He apologized. Sort of. He was still kind of proud of himself for being “poetic.” Men.)
Who This Song Is For
The engaged couples: If you’re looking for a first dance song that isn’t overdone, that feels timeless without being ancient, that will make your grandma cry AND your best friend cry AND probably you cry—hi, hello, I wrote this for you. You’re welcome. Send me the video.
The long-married couples: You know what I’m talking about. The ordinary magic of still being here, still choosing each other. Put this on during dishes. Dance badly in your kitchen. Remember why you started.
The anniversary celebrators: Doesn’t matter if it’s your 5th or your 50th. This song is a love letter to everyone who’s made it through hard seasons and come out still holding hands.
The dreamers: If you’re not there yet—if you’re still waiting for your person—let this song be a vision of what’s possible. This kind of love exists. It’s ordinary and extraordinary. And it’s worth waiting for.
The grieving: I know some of you are listening to this and missing someone. The partner you danced with who isn’t here anymore. This song is for you too. It’s a celebration of what you had. And I hope it holds you gently.
Listen Now (And Maybe Dance)
“Dance With Me” is officially out today. Go stream it. Download it. Add it to every playlist you’ve got. And then—this is important—actually dance to it.
Grab your person. Your spouse. Your parent. Your best friend. Your cat. (Cats are notoriously bad dancers but very non-judgmental.) Find someone, hold them, and sway.
If you use this song in your wedding, anniversary video, proposal, or random Tuesday kitchen dance, I want to know about it. Tag me. Send me the footage. I will absolutely cry, and I will absolutely share it (with your permission), because this is why I make music—to be part of your story.
Two Down, Thirteen to Go
“Last First Kiss” and “Dance With Me” are out in the world now—but the full album is coming in just two weeks!
“Through It All” drops February 7th, and trust me when I tell you: these two songs are just the beginning. We’ve got comedy songs about marriage fights over dinner decisions. A Galentine’s anthem for your girls’ night. A cemetery ballad that will wreck you (in the healing kind of way). A lullaby that doubles as a love song. And so much more.
Fifteen songs. Every kind of love. All coming your way.
Pre-save the album now so it lands in your library the moment it drops. And keep following along—I’ll be sharing the stories behind every single song.
Here’s to the dances we’ve danced, and all the ones still to come.
One-two-three, one-two-three, forever,
Melanie
The Melanie Grace
P.S. — Dan says hi, and that he stands by his funeral comment. I have married a deeply strange man and I love him very much.
Like, a lot of frogs. We’re talking a whole swamp’s worth. A wetland preserve. An entire ecosystem of frogs who were perfectly nice humans but absolutely, definitively, not my person.
There was the guy who talked about himself in third person. (“Kevin thinks you’re really pretty.” Kevin, my dude, why.) There was the one who brought his mom on our second date—surprise!—and the one who asked if I’d be willing to convert to his very specific interpretation of a religion I’d never heard of before the appetizers arrived.
I went on dates where I excused myself to the bathroom and seriously considered climbing out the window. (I didn’t. But I considered it.) I had situationships and almost-relationships and one very confusing three-month thing that I’m still not sure had a label.
The Night Everything Changed (And I Had No Idea)
Here’s the thing about your last first kiss: you don’t know it’s your last first kiss when it happens.
There’s no dramatic soundtrack. No slow-motion cinematography. No voiceover saying, “Little did she know, this mediocre-looking Tuesday evening would change everything.” You just… kiss someone. And then you go home. And then you wake up the next day and eat cereal and go to work and have absolutely no clue that your searching days are over.
I remember what I was wearing that night. (A top I thought was cute but have since seen in photos and… choices were made.) I remember being nervous, which was annoying because I’d been on approximately nine thousand dates by then and thought I’d graduated from First Date Nerves University.
But something about Dan made me nervous in a different way. Not the “is this guy going to be weird” nervous. The “oh no, I might actually like this one” nervous. Which, if you’ve been single for a while, you know is somehow scarier.
We talked for hours. He made me laugh—not polite-first-date laugh, but actual snort-laugh, which was mortifying. He listened like he actually wanted to know the answers to his questions. And when he kissed me goodnight, my brain did that annoying thing where it went completely blank except for one thought:
“Oh. There you are.”
The Beautiful Irony of Hindsight
I didn’t know that night was the end of my search. I still had all my dating app profiles active. (Listen, I’d been burned before. A girl keeps her options open.) I still had that mental checklist of “red flags to watch for” running in the background. I still half-expected him to reveal some dealbreaker, like a secret ferret collection or a belief that the moon landing was faked.
But weeks turned into months. Months turned into “so… are we doing this?” And “doing this” turned into a wedding and a life and two incredible boys and a decade-plus of choosing each other every single day.
Now, looking back, I can pinpoint that kiss as the moment everything shifted. The last first kiss I’d ever have. The one that made all those frogs worth it, because they led me to him.
(Okay, maybe not Kevin-in-third-person. I could’ve skipped that one. But the rest of them.)
Writing “Last First Kiss”
This song had been living in my head for years. I’d hum it while doing dishes. Sing fragments of it in the shower. Write half a verse in my Notes app and then forget about it for six months.
The challenge was capturing that feeling of not knowing—the delicious irony that the most important kiss of my life felt like just another kiss in the moment. How do you write about a turning point that didn’t feel like a turning point until years later?
The answer, it turns out, is nostalgia. Warm, glowing, “let me tell you about the night I didn’t know would change everything” nostalgia. I wanted the song to feel like sitting across from a friend, glass of wine in hand, getting a little misty-eyed about the early days.
I also wanted it to feel hopeful. Because here’s what I wish someone had told me during all those frog-kissing years: your last first kiss is coming. You just don’t know when. And that’s actually kind of beautiful—it could be any kiss. The next one. The one after that. Any random Tuesday could be the Tuesday.
The Part Where Dan Heard It
Writing love songs about your husband while he’s in the next room working on marketing copy is… an experience.
“Hey babe, can you come listen to something?”
“Is it the one about my beard taking over the bathroom?”
“No, this one’s nice. I promise.”
He sat down. I played it. And when I got to the part about not knowing that kiss would be my last first kiss, he got quiet. The good kind of quiet. The “I’m not going to say anything because I might get emotional and I have a reputation to maintain” quiet.
Then he said: “You remember what you were wearing that night?”
Reader, he remembered too. He even remembered my questionable fashion choice. (He was kind enough to call it “memorable” rather than “aggressively 2000s.”)
That’s when I knew this song was ready.
Who This Song Is For
If you’ve found your person and want to slow dance in the kitchen remembering how it all started—this one’s for you. Put it on. Look them in the eyes. Try not to cry. (Or cry. Crying’s fine. I won’t tell.)
If you’re still searching, still swiping, still wondering if your person is out there—this one’s for you too. Consider it a promise that one of these random dates could be the date. One of these kisses could be the last first kiss. You just don’t know which one yet.
And if you’re engaged or planning a wedding? Put this song on your first-dance shortlist. I’m just saying. It would be very cute. And I would definitely cry if I saw the video.
Listen Now
“Last First Kiss” is officially out today! Go stream it, download it, add it to your playlists, play it for your person. And when you do, I want to hear about it. Tell me your last first kiss story in the comments—I want all the details. (Well, maybe not all the details. Keep it PG. My mom reads this blog.)
Share it with your engaged friends. Your happily-married friends. Your “still kissing frogs but hopeful” friends. Music is made for sharing, and love stories are made for telling.
Stay tuned—”Dance With Me” drops later this month, and trust me, you’re going to need tissues for that one.
Here’s to last first kisses, wherever they find you.
With love (and significantly better fashion choices now),
Songs scribbled in journals at 8 AM. Voice memos recorded in parking lots because a melody wouldn’t leave me alone. Lyrics typed into my phone while my husband Dan thought I was scrolling Instagram or TikTok Shop.
Some were about loves that didn’t last. Some were about the love that did. And some? Some were about kinds of love I didn’t even recognize as love songs until I lined them all up and looked at what I’d been writing all along.
This February, I’m releasing all of them. Sixteen love songs. Every kind of love I know.
Welcome to “Through It All”
This album is my love letter to love itself—not just the Valentine’s Day, roses-and-chocolate kind (though that’s in here too). I’m talking about the real stuff. The messy, beautiful, hilarious, heartbreaking, ordinary, extraordinary reality of loving people for the long haul.
Because here’s what I’ve learned after years of marriage, two homeschooled boys, career changes, cross-country moves, grief that knocked us flat, and joy that lifted us back up: Love isn’t just one thing. It’s everything.
It’s the first kiss that ends your search and the thousandth kiss that says “I’m still here.” It’s laughing until you cry over the “where do you want to eat” argument you’ve had four hundred times. It’s standing at three graves with your mother and understanding that love doesn’t end—it just changes shape.
The Twists and Turns of Married Life
Let me tell you something they don’t put on wedding invitations: marriage is weird. It’s wonderful and weird and sometimes you find yourself writing a song about how your husband’s beard has colonized the bathroom sink and you’re not even mad about it anymore—you’re just… impressed? Annoyed? In love? All three?
Dan and I have been through it. Job losses that made us question everything. Seasons of grief so heavy we could barely look at each other. Financial stress that kept us up at night. The exhaustion of building a life while raising two boys who have more energy than any human should legally possess.
But we’ve also been through the good stuff. Inside jokes that make no sense to anyone else. That look he gives me—you know the one, the tilted head, the soft eyes, the little grin that says “I’ve got you” without a single word. Dancing in the kitchen. Planning vacations we actually earned. Watching our boys sleep and feeling that fierce, protective love rise up so strong it almost hurts.
Love conquers all—but not in the fairy tale way. It conquers because it shows up. Day after day, argument after argument, hard season after hard season. It conquers because you choose it, even when choosing is hard. Especially when choosing is hard.
That’s what this album is about. The choosing. The staying. The laughing when you could cry. The crying when you need to. The loving through it all.
Two Songs, Two Stories: Meet the Singles
Before the full album drops in February, I’m releasing two singles—and I have to be honest with you: these are my favorites. Out of fifteen songs I love, these two hold the most tender places in my heart.
“Last First Kiss” — Coming Early January
Do you remember your last first kiss? Not your first kiss ever—your last first kiss. The one you didn’t know would be the end of searching.
I remember mine. I remember exactly where I was standing, what I was wearing, the way my heart was pounding. I had no idea that kiss would be my last first kiss. I didn’t know I was done. But looking back? That was it. That was the moment everything changed.
This song is pure nostalgic romance—the kind that makes you want to slow dance in your living room and text your person “I love you” for no reason. If you’ve found your person, this one’s for you. If you’re still looking, this one’s a promise that it’s coming.
“Dance With Me” — Coming Late January
If “Last First Kiss” is about where love begins, “Dance With Me” is about where it goes.
I wrote this one imagining Dan and me at eighty years old. Gray-haired, slower, maybe a little creaky—but still dancing. Still choosing each other. Still swaying in the kitchen to a song only we can hear.
It’s a waltz, because waltzes are timeless. It’s a promise, because marriage is daily promises. And honestly? It makes me cry every single time I sing it. The good kind of cry. The “I can’t believe I get to have this” kind.
This is the wedding song I wish I’d had at my own wedding. If you’re engaged, planning a wedding, or celebrating an anniversary—put this one on your radar.
What These Blogs Are All About
Over the next several weeks, I’ll be sharing the stories behind every single song on this album. The real stories. The “here’s what was happening in my life when I wrote this” stories. The embarrassing ones, the heartbreaking ones, the ones that make me laugh out loud.
Because here’s the thing: I love music. I love making it. I love sharing it. I love when a song lands in someone’s ears at exactly the right moment and they think, “Wait—how did she know?”
I’m not a major label artist with a marketing team and a publicist. I’m an independent musician writing songs at my desk while my kids do math problems at the kitchen table. I’m building this one listener at a time, one share at a time, one “hey, you should hear this” at a time.
And that’s where you come in.
Share the Love (Literally)
If these songs resonate with you—if a lyric makes you think of your best friend, your spouse, your dad, your kids—share them. Text a link to your group chat. Play it at your Galentine’s party. Send it to your coworker who just got engaged. Add it to your family road trip playlist.
Music is meant to be shared. Love is meant to be shared. These songs are my gift to you, and if they mean something, I hope you’ll pass them along.
Because every time you share a song with someone, you’re saying “this made me think of you.” And isn’t that its own kind of love?
What’s on the Album
Here’s a sneak peek at all fifteen tracks—from comedy to grief, from Galentine’s anthems to lullabies:
1. Last First Kiss — The kiss that ended my search
2. Cheaper By The Bottle — Because your girlfriends ARE your valentines
3. You Get Me — Gratitude for being truly understood
4. Lucky Me — A loving roast of married life’s quirks
5. Anywhere’s Fine (But Not There) — The “where do you want to eat” anthem
6. Smile and Nod — Loving what you’ll never understand
7. Dance With Me — Growing old together, one waltz at a time
8. Through It All — Surviving the hard seasons, together
9. That Look — The silent language of long love
10. I Hope You Miss Me Sometimes — Honoring the almost-loves
11. The Ritual — My mom, three graves, and love that outlasts death
12. My Original Valentine — Dad’s chocolate rose on my nightstand
13. Safe Here — A lullaby that’s also a love song
14. Dear Younger Me — A letter to my searching self
15. We Earned This — Celebrating the joy we worked for
16. Girls, Let’s Go — Party Anthems for the Moms
Join Me on This Journey
I can’t wait to share these songs with you. I can’t wait to tell you about the night I wrote “Through It All” while crying at the kitchen table. About why “The Ritual” took me three years to finish. About the real “where do you want to eat” fight that inspired “Anywhere’s Fine.”
Subscribe, follow, bookmark—whatever you do—so you don’t miss a single story. And if you’re already excited? Leave a comment. Tell me which song title intrigues you most. Share this post with someone who needs a new love song in their life.
