Someone I  love deeply  is hurting.           
                                           I don't know how to reach out to her. 

On a twin bed, in the dark, we cling to one another as tears flood my ears drowning out the mighty sounds...and only you know.

Like paper torn and taped again, we are okay, but it is not alright.  Pieces of you and I are on the floor of my childhood room. 

Even when you cannot tolerate my optimism and I cannot sit in your sadness, I am here for you.  I am silently holding your hand. 

I see that in some ways, you are broken.  I see you.  You are not invisible, but stronger than you know. 

In the stillness of the twilight, in the depths of your despair, in a small place of your mind's eye is that room and I am clinging to you, sister.  You are not alone.  We are bound together. 

 Until never dawns. 

Love, B

Fresh

    Windows open and white sheer curtains blow into our family room.  The window frames the green.  So much green in Indiana in the spring.  I hadn't noticed until I saw April through my sister's California eyes.  The smell of snuggle's blue sparkle filters in from my laundry room.  Our home is just tidy enough I can sit down and focus here. 

     I haven't made writing a priority and feel funny typing now.  The words swish away in my head like gravel under my feet;  tangible but evasive.  Be patient with me.  I am determined to reconnect with you.

     Spring brings a season of fresh.  Fresh fruit and veggies after a winter of root vegetables.  The market this morning overflowed with bell peppers and kiwi fruit, strawberries, and asparagus.  I wanted to buy it all.  And the tulips and lilacs.  Ahhh, my favorite.  Color, yellow, pink, and baby blue, lavender, and white, and green.  So much green. 


I feel renewed.  Refreshed.  My desire to grow and learn is revitalized and desperate for attention.  But that's another post entirely. 
 
Spring is the time for new beginnings.  I have had the joy of photographing several beginnings so far this season. 

     Welcome to the world.  May you bring your parents fresh eyes...open to the joy of life. 

Thank you for the nourishment you brought my soul with our time together. 

 

I wish each of you the magic of a silver penny.  You must have one to get into fairyland you know.

Love,  B

The winds of March are keen and cold;

I fear them not, for I am bold.

I wait not for my leaves to grow;

they follow after, they are slow

My yellow blooms are brave and bright;

I greet the spring with all my might.

The Song of the Colt's Foot Fairy

~Cicely Mary Barker

It seems that spring has sprung.  Earlier and without the usual tribulation of Indiana's February.  There was no snow.  No bright white windows, trapped indoors days.  Oddly, I feel melancholy as it passes without so much as a graduation ceremony or celebratory song. 

But I do love spring, so I bounce back quick.

My children picnic and run and bike and jump rope in our suburban streets and it is trash day so the Costco sized boxes of cereal blow circles around the courts in the wind.  Ah, this suburban life. 

I encourage you to think of this day as a renewal.  Reach within yourself.  Find the most optimistic, sunshine spirit fairy and hold on tight.  This is natures New Year's Day so make a resolution, appreciate the sun, and work on creating some seriously crazy smile wrinkles. 

Do something today that scares you.
Dance like no ones watching.
Squeeze life like a juicer.
Find more cliches on pinterest.

  Greet the spring boldly, with all your might. 

The fact of the matter is: It is Spring and you've got it made, sugar. 

 So smile. 

I am swimming in a sea of unattainable ideas.  I float like a mermaid in the deep blue.  My hair, long and dark, surrounds me swaying slowly to the rhythm of the water.  There are rainbow reflecting bubbles surrounding me.  Each filled with scrolls with detailed calligraphy.  Lists.  Outlined impeccable lists.  Each a labor of love and mindfulness and desire.  But I simply float.  Still.  As if dead in the water but my eyes are alive and focused.  Set fiercely on the shore.   

I plan out my dream studio.  I schedule out how to volunteer at Lucy's kindergarten class that is over a year away.  I list out every piece of photographic equipment I could possibly ever need with price and priority marked on the sidelines.  I have a literal notebook of compiled Better Homes and Gardens tear outs and Crate and Barrel catalog pictures for my house.  I spend hours with my to~do list everyday, terrified I might forget something urgent, but mostly paralyzed by the list of things I "should" get done.  My planner is always with me, trumped only when my camera is in hand.  I waste so much time this way, lost in my own head.  Swimming in dreamland, planning, thinking, painting perfection with my mind's paintbrush.  It is the reason I am not DOING more. 

Last week I wrote a short to~do list on the same paper as my grocery list. 
I lost it at Kroger and went back into the store with my kids to go aisle by aisle to find it.  The relief I felt when the soft, thinned, wrinkly, lined paper pressed firmly in my fingertips was palpable.  What was so important you ask?   Here it is:

Laundry
Sallie Mae Bill
Call Discover Card for lower rate
Deliver Girl Scout cookies
Take vitamin
clean out basement

That's it.  So what if I lost it right?  It seems a simple list of any kind makes a direct correlation to my level of anxiety.  

If I can't buy a new dress, write down "new dress" 

 I'll feel better about it.  That at least I will remember someday that I wanted one.  Right? 

This is CRAZY. 

So to further relieve my new anxiety that I am CRAZY, I ponder other women's strategies to reduce anxiety. 
One friend just does it all.  She never says no, she never stops moving.  She feels less anxiety when she is disappointing no one, so she simply never rests. 
Another asks for help often without guilt (this is a complete mystery to me) and manages her anxiety with a helpful community of neighbors friends and husband (this is remarkably healthy and yet somewhat bizarre to me)
Others exercise.  Food for thought. 
I know someone who will surely read this who shops.  OFTEN.  
Some women eat. 

 We've all got something, right?

                 What do you do? 

I once had a supervisor make this statement in my annual employment review, "I know anxiety is just part of your personality, but..." I have no idea what else she said i was so struck by her accusation (that's how I heard it then).  I had never considered myself to be anxious.  I was downright insulted.  Funny what we can learn about ourselves with age. 

So other than listing, I find pulling out my silver penny brings me out of my task focused head and into my spiritual heart.  Spending time in fairy land with you and photographing the magic of the first years of life, the bubble years. 

Here's a moment in time for you to forget your worries, stresses, or menial chore lists.  I hope your dreams stay big and your worries stay small.  Enjoy.

 

I had such an amazing morning playing with Mallory and her Mommy & Daddy.  I can just see her beautiful face in my mind's eye as she grows. 

Mallory is already crawling!  Mom and I talked about how she'll be walking soon.  It all goes too fast. 

Insomniac

Bare feet padding

down a carpeted hallway

she calls me

her tiny voice

comes to stand in the doorway

plump fingers

pull on fat pig tails

rub widening eyes

round belly pokes out of cotton nightie

toes on cold linoleum,

she considers thirst

uncloseted monsters

or watery nightmares

the best excuse

for being up this late

lips pout

she could always make me smile

so I,

hold out my arms

& she comes tumbling in.

~Esperanza Cintron from a Mother's Treasury

My neighbor said something terrifying yesterday. 


Her son started shaving.

I stood there, watching my 2 year old son dig in the winter dirt of our summer garden, as she continued.  She said without moving,

"He has hairy legs." 

I tried to imagine Finley this way.
"I sit next to him on the couch", she said, "and I feel like I'm sitting next to a man." 

This has seriously disturbed me. 

Cut to 4:15 am and my baby boy has woken up wanting to snuggle and I can't get back to sleep.  So here we sit.  With his perfect smooth cheek pressed against my shoulder.  His drooling lips glisten in the light of my laptop. 

And I am terrified. 

How is it possible that this soft, big eyed, chubby~legged, mama~loving angel could become a MAN?  A hairy, stinky, deodorant wearing man? 

I must find a spell or magic elixir to stop this madness.  Who's with me? 

I can't stop staring at him.  His eyelashes, his toes, his little bottom when he takes his diaper off.  (Okay the last part is kinda annoying as he has been a little messy with the diaper taking off business lately~see previous post).

It is so easy to get caught up in the getting thru the day parts of the day or the phases to address...potty training, getting him to sleep all night in his own bed, eating vegetables.  I am stunned by the realization that I am training a MAN.  I know, how did I not see this coming?  Isn't this kinda logical?  I can't answer that...it just never hit me until now. 

With my neighbor's voice in my head and my silent house with my little snuggler in my lap.  I hope desperately that I'm doing it right.  I hope he's a good man like his daddy.  I hope he has love and humor, integrity and loyalty.  All the best parts of me and my KISA without our flaws. 

And selfishly, I hope he will still snuggle me forever. 

I'm not gonna give up on that magic though.  I do have a silver penny...

Grace.

May the love we share with family and friends renew us in spirit.  May the spirit of hope, joy, peace, and love dwell within our hearts this day and forever.  ~Amen.

About a year after I had my first child I felt a little lost.  Like the things that made me me were gone or different somehow. 

I looked for religion, motherhood, womanhood...something to warm the chill in my spirit.

Ultimately,  I just made a simple list. 

This isn't surprising to some of you.  I am a list maker in every compulsive way possible.  If I spent half the time I spent listing things actually doing things, I would be uber productive.  It would impress you.

Anywayz... I listed it all; what I like, what I want, what I think people would say when they described me.  Just whatever came to mind first.  Free~form.  Don't over think it.  Here's what I came up with:

Photography, coffee, wine, cooking, books, music, art, poetry, fairies, dancing, retro, relaxing, talking, therapy, travel, hiking, painting, candles, ice skating, yoga, freshly painted nails, warm drinks, good hugs, and sisterhood girlfriend connections. 

Here's my "be me" mission statement. 

 I am an optimist, dangerously sentimental and I believe that the heart of life is good. 

This simple list stayed in my purse (still does and it is dirty and torn).  Every once in a while, when I felt like my identity was gone, and I was just mom; diaper changer & chocolate milk fetcher, I would pull out this list. 

I would check, just to see if I was being true to myself, was I doing these things?  Was I doing Brittney? 

It kinda worked. 

So here's your homework. 
Make your list.  This can't be about your family (it can include them) but consider who you were before you were married.  Who were you in high school?  Are there parts of that person still there?  Is your career or being a mother the defining parts of you?  Good.  If not, Good.  You are You and there will only be one of you for ALL time.  Fearlessly be yourself. 

Find the best parts of who you have always been, since the beginning, and make them shine.
 It is never too late to be who you might have been. 
And that's my motivational speech for the day.

 C-YA

I want to buy the world a coke...

Childhood. 
When fairies are real and all you need to find joy and magic and belief is a silver penny. 

Grace for Light.

My soul goes clad in gorgeous things,

Scarlet and gold and blue,

And a here shoulder sudden wings

Like long flames flicker through.

And she is swallow-fleet, and free

From mortal bonds and bars.

She laughs, because Eternity

Blossoms for her with stars!

~Fannie Stearns Davis from Silver Pennies by Blanche Jennings Thompson

funny.

I believe someone is listening to my thoughts.

Last time I wrote here I was thinking, "these posts are kinda serious. I need something funny to write about."

Be careful what you ask for.

Here we go.

Last night the hubs and I were are sitting in our family room, just catching up on our day. The girls were in bed sleeping, but due to a super nap, our son was still up playing with knights and horses.

Then, he was coming, slowly, up the basement stairs. The way we were sitting, I could see the door and the child and my KISA (knight in shining armor) couldn't. I suddenly became boneless. My jaw was on the floor and strange noises were coming out of me like "Ack. Uhhhh. OOOO."

Husband looks at me strangely. "what?" he asks. I still can't talk. I can't move. Finally, the adrenaline kicks in and I leap up to stop the kid from moving any further.

My first thought was pudding. Ruby did this once. But then the smell.  Wafting, pungent it surrounds us and then he knows. My KISA and I spring into action half laughing half gagging. My child was covered. Like the way I protect him with sunscreen, in POOP.

It was crusted between is toes, lathered up his legs like lotion, under his fingernails, a little behind his ears and his arms were straight up brown.

IT WAS DISGUSTING.

As we throw him into the kitchen sink and scrub him with a dish towel we would later throw away, our minds turn to the carpet in the basement.

Oh my.

He had rubbed it into the carpet like he was working grout between tiles. The smell was ghastly. Overwhelming. As I attempt to clean the floor, my husband laughs. He begins to move the furniture and toys aside, rolls up the carpet and drags it out the front door. He later tells me it was so heavy he couldn't get it all the way into the dumpster he chose to shove it into...oops.

I go to my child's side. He is now playing with bubbles in our deep white kitchen sink. He smells sweet and clean and his face is delightful.

And I am suddenly deeply regretful.

In the moment and in reaction I had missed it. No one will believe how hilarious this was. How repulsive, how utterly ridiculous.

I didn't take a picture.

Sometimes, I guess, the memory will have to be enough.

Happy Tuesday everyone.

Britt

"What do you mean I'm ridiculous?"

Style...

It's winter and I'm hibernating.  Letting my kids watch hours of educational TV (Scooby Do) and reading, learning, obsessing with my best friends out there on the Internet.

I have been immersing myself in tutorials and photography education. I even had a personal skype conversation with the great Jasmine Star (very famous wedding photographer)(and it was really just a YouTube video I clicked on if you must know). I continue to grow and learn with the focus on "being myself" and finding my voice as a photographer and writer (I feel like I'm trying out both those titles out for size).  
I vow to never replicate or copy an other's vision. So, I'm trying to pinpoint my own style. I guess the best way to do this is to examine my personal style in general. My home, my clothes, music, and the things I'm drawn to.

It would be outrageously boring for you to just read about me...so answer these questions for yourself as we go. It'll be fun like a 7th grade sleepover with a Cosmo quiz about boys...okay, maybe not quite as fun...

1. What's your home like?

My home is cozy & casual. Neutral. I love lots of white and clean and simple. I've always loved a white kitchen with a big window above the sink.   I like warm black and honeyish wood accents. Some brown leather and baskets. I like warm yellowish beige walls. VERY casual. I don't own formal china or a formal dining table. Your kid could run completely wild in my house with absolutely no fear of breaking or dirtying anything.  I don't have rules like you can't play in there, or no shoes on the carpet, or the like.  I like everyone to feel like a backdoor~no need to knock~friend.
While, I love other people's bright and bold photos and I love the "modern vintage" look of antropoligie or the styled look of photographers who use lots of props, I am not that photographer.   I like lots of negative space, earth tones and ethereal finishes.  I hope after a photo session with me you feel like a friend.  A special, real, no need to knock friend.

2. What do you wear?

Clothes, well I Love style. But you wouldn't know it by looking. I wear 6 year old uggs everyday in winter and flip flops in summer. I wear plain tees almost everyday, again lots of white and green. And jeans always. I like to be comfortable. I haven't ironed or been to the dry cleaner in over 5 years, for real!  If money were no object I might own more things from acacia or lululemon yoga wear, or bohemian skirts with tons of jewelry (picture Barbara Streisand in Meet the Faulkers) but I don't. I love big earrings and scarves to make things interesting and convince myself I have "dressed up".
My pictures are equally casual.  No forced poses or fake smiles.  No stress photo sessions.

3.  What kind of music do you like? 

I LOVE music.  The only thing I don't like is hard rock or heavy metal. (forgive me for being unAmerican, but I don't like Green Day, Neil diamond, or Bruce Springsteen either) But my favorites are calming, tender, Van Morrison, Sara Barialles, Ben folds, Kina Grannis, Jack Johnson, Eric Hutchinson, Cold Play, Marie Digby, John Mayor, Brooke Fraser, Counting Crows, old school Lilith Fair fare, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Big Head Todd and the Monsters, Motown oldies, the Beatles Abby Road album, Elizabeth Mitchell, okay, moving on.

You get the gist.  I hope my photos make you hear soft, sentimental music in your head. 

My dream is that in 15 years you look at the photo and don't say "oh, she looks cute there".  Instead feel something.  Feel the memory of your baby's childhood.  Feel her skin on your cheek, smell the strawberry shampoo you used to use in the bathtub when she was 4.  Really remember "that's how it truly was for us then.  In the magic fleeting moments of childhood captured in time." 

4. What are you drawn to? What gives you warm fuzzies or a sense of being alive or comforted?

I am drawn to windows with light POURING in and white fluffy, sad-faced dogs. (love my dog) I love the idea of taking a nap in that spot on the floor where the window light is warm. Pajamas. Comfort foods and warm drinks to calm my-ever-chasing anxiety  (I am drinking tea and coffee all the time). Books. I love happy books. I am inspired by children's books~especially poetry.  Books about relationships. Childhood. Dreamy creamy simple sweet fairy filled  hot cocoa magic. I like Cotton candy, long slow walks on summer days with my children, sunsets, my kids skin, and the moment when you drive out of the rain.  My favorite images are the ones where it seems you can feel the soul of the person permeating thru their eyes. Big crystal clear eyes with creamy dreamy oil painting backgrounds and the more bokah (that is a fancy photo word with roots in Japan for the out of focus or blurry background) the better.

Here's my favorites that I have taken that I think represent my style.



Do you have favorites of my work? How would you describe it? Help me out here...

Now, do your homework.
necessarily, but you wear clothes right?  (If not, contact me we need to talk.)  What you wear says a lot about you and you should know yourself. Are you a big hoop earrings and bun girl with a flowy skirt? Or are you all Brooks Brothers?  Do you iron your jeans?  Do you wear the same black yoga pants everyday with no intention of practicing yoga?   It's part of living a full life to surround yourself in what you love. No judgements, no pretense.  Tell me your style in a few words on facebook or in the comments section. I'll help if you want. Let's make it a hibernation project. So that next time you're considering a piece of art, a sweater, a couch, a photographer perhaps...you will..consider this. What is your style? Find it and be it.  It will make you happier.
Love,

Britt

P.S. It occurs to me you may be taking note of my poor grammar,  run on sentences, and tangential partial statements.  I write how I talk in my head and I want you to read it that way.  Like we are sharing coffee time on your couch.  But I do apologize to you show-offy English types.  I love your perfectionism.