Happy Birthday, Dad.

A photo of my dad - taken 12 years ago today.

It never gets easier. The hole is always there, waiting to be opened up again. It's all at the surface - or just below - waiting for me to trip across some memory. Waiting for me to remember how many days, weeks, months, years it's all been since we last held hands...since you last called me "Love."

Years. How can it be years?

It is though....long days yield their way to short years. And it still all feels so fresh.

But today - today we celebrate. Because if it wasn't for you, none of us would be here. Not these babies you held in your lap so proudly. Not me. Not my sweet house on a quiet street with the light fixture we wrestled with that hot afternoon that still hangs over the table - just a little dustier now. The memories wouldn't be here of swims in the warm, southern ocean or grilled fish in the evening sunlight in the sweet house by the sea.

Without you, I wouldn't care about golf or tennis. I wouldn't have memories of roller coasters or road trips. I wouldn't know about puzzles or checkers or cards or counting change from the dryer. Toasting bread in the fire on those long, northern winter nights never would have happened. And I never would have learned how to sled or shovel snow or cuss like a sailor when I stubbed my big toe.

Who would have taught me to ride a bike or swim or sing silly songs in the late afternoon light. Who would have tucked me in safe to bed each night when I was always wanting to stay up just a few more minutes. And who ever would I have loved as much as all the stars in the sky and grains of sand in the ocean?

So today, I rejoice in you, Dad. I remember the good and not the bad. I remember the joyful and the sad. We had such great times together - so much time I am grateful for.  I only wish we could have carried on that party a little bit longer, just a little bit later into the night...just a few more minutes.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I miss you ever so much.

Part of my reality

It's funny to me how social media has changed our perspectives on reality. And I fall for it every time... "Why does their life look so amazing?" "Why am I not doing that?" "I need to step up my photography/life game." "They are SO lucky." Thoughts of an inadequate life rush into my head. Doubt begins to trump confidence and I stand on shaky ground.

Ironically, when I look back through my own Facebook photos and Instagram feed, I look like one of those people I seem to be wishing my life emulated. How can this be? What am I missing that I feel like my life doesn't look like this?

I think perhaps the reality of Life happens in between these delicious moments and take over the share of our brain. Laundry, grocery lists, and errands become front and center rather than these sweet spaces in between the shadows.

I know most of my life tends to look like a vacation according to Facebook. My Instagram account looks like a dream. And my Steller account make me appear to be the globe trotter I wish to become one day. But the reality is, that's only part of my reality. It just happens to be the parts I want to remember. I don't want my life to be a story of laundry and errands. I would much rather remember the lingering moments of joy that connect the rest.

Memory

Yesterday we went for a ride. It wasn't long. Or significant. It was just...different. We don't have a great neighborhood for biking and exploring. It's rather small and bordered by some busy streets which makes it hard for us to explore the rest of the surrounding areas. So I love getting out of here and doing something a little new. So yesterday, I decided we needed to ride bikes through the local county park for a change of scenery.

I haven't been doing nearly enough of this over the course of this summer...or even my life. And the older He gets, the more out of reach it all feels. But these days are fleeting. I have realized that more this summer than ever before. I can feel it coming like a summer storm over the horizon. He is getting older. Changing daily. He is becoming more and more weary of my company - as teenagers do. But I persist and demand...because I can. After all, this is part of the growing process, isn't it?

So while I struggled to push the pedals around on my rental with low tires, I watched him glide effortlessly in front of me, pointing to flora and fauna, asking questions, remarking on things, and speaking of things 13 year-old boys speak of. And I watched and listened and responded when I could. And struggled along behind, trying to keep up with him - as I feel will be the theme over the next 5 years. 

So now, the memory is there. It's permanent and locked away in my heart. Nothing can take it away. I may not remember the details surrounding it all. But I will remember the feeling I have today - happy I had a few more moments to steal. Happy to spend time with the one I love the most. Happy to be forever his momma - no matter what path life takes us down.

Love in a Roadside Stand

One of the things I love most about rural America is good roadside stand. In California, I stumbled upon this crusty Russian gentleman selling all things nuts and dried fruits (and a few cold drinks out of coolers for weary summer hikers). He was passionate about his products and let us taste anything we wanted to. He had pride in his work and was excited to tell us about his locally sourced products the most. 

I love to see passionate people. The ones who are so passionate about their product, they will risk the elements to sell their wares. They are often the best you will find anywhere around...most likely because they put all they have into this one small thing to make it perfectly like no other. They find the best resources, put the most love into it and know all the secrets to make what they are selling the best around - be it the most prolific pecan tree or the best fishing hole around. They know their products.

That quality, passion and attention to detail are what can set whatever you are working on apart from the rest of the world. Whether you are a mom or a marketing genius, a farmer or a photographer...it's the love, pride and attention of what you are producing is what makes the final outcome something the rest of us can believe in.

So that, to me, boils down to one thing - love. That's it. Pour your heart in and get something great in return. It's as simple as that.

It's in the details.

If you ask me, I think it's the details that make any photoshoot where I am telling a story complete. But this is particularly true at a wedding. Those small shots. The close ups. The tiny sidebars that tell fill in the details on the bigger picture. I always felt like they were the most interesting part. They are adjectives in the stories and the subtle punctuation at the end of each sentence you tell as you recount the day.

Other parts come into play as well...candid shots and final edits really make it complete and set a tone. But those details make you remember what the day felt like, and most importantly - how you felt in it.

I approach much of my photography like this: How will I tell this story in a photograph? Often, the job is to capture the story in one shot, one portrait. So then, a detail shot just isn't the thing. But I still try to make sure - no matter what to story I am telling - that you come away with a feeling.

Maybe then, the details are in the feeling you get from a photograph. The feeling is the theme, the adjectives and the punctuation. The feelings are hidden in the cake toppers and the colors, the little hands holding the rings and the crazy groomsmen busting a move on the dance floor. The details are hidden in the smiles and the eyes of everyone I photograph...just waiting to tell their own story.

Learning to fly

I recently posted this photo of my boy on my personal Facebook page. It got some unusual attention from friends and family alike - not because it's a particularly good photograph, but perhaps because of the caption I wrote with it:

"My heart. Just roaming this planet. All exposed to the elements and the cruelty and the joys of life. With no protective gear. Just some love from his momma. I do love him ever so much."

I think this resonates with all of us, doesn't it.

To me, parenting is a lot like watching my heart roam naked around the planet. All the vulnerability we have is exposed to the elements - joy, pain, fear, frustration, love -  walking around with nothing to protect them. That's how it feels to be this person's mother.

When they are little it's easier. They stay closer. And the problems are more clear cut: I'm hungry. I'm tired. I'm wet. I'm frustrated. But as they grow and learn and start to spread their wings and fly, the issues life deals them aren't so black and white. Problems become more complicated. The topography of life changes - the dips in the road, the twists and turns, the mountains to climb...they are all there. And all you can do for them is sit and watch and hope you have done a good job at giving them a half-way decent road map to all of it.

As my son ages, the complexity of parenthood becomes more and more apparent. Gone are the days of kissing boo boos away, wiping the tears and giving him a Popsicle to forget his troubles. There are no more easy distractions from frustrations, pain or hurt. He is just there. Exposed to it all.

And learning to fly on his own.

Support Staff

Our cat, Fez (or Mrs. Fezziwig if we are being formal) has taken up residence on my desk for her daytime naps now (mmmhmmmm...it's super convenient). I am not gonna lie. I feel a little hijacked by her constant watch and grooming schedule. She keeps one eye and 2 ears on me all day - sleeping while I type, napping while I design, watching while I edit photos or write. If I get up, she is very aware of my movements. She seems intent on being close, which make me wonder what is happening in that tiny body. Is it her advanced age that makes her need to be near me? Is it her way of making peace with me for peeing on my curtains? Or is it her way of making sure no food opportunity gets by her? Regardless, she is staying uncomfortably close these days.

I am fascinated by what brings creatures the comfort they seek. As I type, my Golden Retriever sits a yard away. The cat is sleeping peacefully by my left hand. Our black mix dog, Sasha, sits by my right foot. None of the spots look particularly comfortable. But they are all within immediate view of me. I am their person. I bring them food, water, access to the Great Outdoors, adventure, treats and everything in between. They seem to love being as close as possible at most times of the day.

I supposed I get the same comfort from them, too. I listen to them sigh, pat them on the head as I walk by them, and offer them words of kindness and praise when I can. Maybe, in a way, I am offering this to myself as much as anyone. Could it be that it's me who is getting the comfort from them while they diligently do their jobs keeping watch? Perhaps they know my needs more than I really do.

So I guess it's not so bad after all having a napper at my left and two on my right throughout the long days at my desk. It's probably what I needed all this time to get through these longer days - a little extra encouragement and a little more love to make it through editing, designing, writing and facebooking  with a little extra support by my side.

Tiny Squares

A recent snapshot from my Instagram feed.

In many ways, this is what my Spring has looked like. And at the very same time, this is also not at all how my Spring has looked. Sure, I have seen my fair share of new life, beautiful landscapes and miles of gorgeous green. But there are a lot of gaps that are here that you can't see at all. There have been spaces filled with heartbreak and hard times. Love and loss. And moments where tears filled my eyes and my days. But these moments were in there too. These were the snapshots of my days that I clung to in between those other - and often unbearable - times.

My reason for posting this is not to tell you I have had a hard spring. Nor is it to tell you I had an easy spring (which I did not). It wasn't written to share all too intimate and unnecessary details of my life (keeping things professional here). It's actually to remind us of something important.

We all know that Instagram and Facebook make everyone's lives look envious at best. But those are simply moments - snapshots in between the other parts. Everyone is carrying their burdens. Lots of people have laundry and chores and days filled with nothing but work and computers. Some people have crosses to bear that most often we cannot see - heartbreak, stress, struggles that don't appear in those tiny squares next to their napping cat or the pie theu just made from scratch. But we fill their gaps with a story that we are telling about them. We are filling the gaps with our story. However, that's not our job. Our job is to tell our story.

Whatever your story is on the inside is okay. Whatever story you are telling on the outside is okay too. It's all okay. Because it's your story. Some people want to only hear the good. And others want to hear the real parts - the meat and the details. (Those are special people. Keep them close. They will support you through the details.)  Just remember, you have to keep telling your story however you want to remember it, not how the rest of the world wants to see it. It is your story after all.

If I told you my story over the past 10 years - mostly it's been good. It has looked like this photo in my heart. But truthfully, I could tell you they have been the most formative and difficult 10 years of my life. I lost 2 parents. I said goodbye to countless aunts and uncles. And I even buried one of my sisters. I have raised a boy from toddlerhood to a blossoming teenager and bought a house. I took myself half way around the world, been on some fantastic trips, and loved many people. I have even shifted careers. But what I will most remember about these years is not the trial and tribulation. It's moments like the ones you see here...these snapshots of my life. They represent it all - new and old, big and small, bold and fragile, cloudy and bright.

It's all there looking back at me in those tiny squares. 

Girls

From my shoot yesterday at Ashley Hall School.

Look at you girls.

Confident. Strong. Able. Smart. Believing in yourselves. You seem joyful and full of heart.

My wish for you is this: remember this moment. When I captured you, you didn't seem worried about your hair. You weren't thinking about your thighs. You were happy and free and light. You were using your bodies to run and jump and stretch. You were using your minds to think and solve and create. You were using your hands to touch and make and feel.

In a few years, you will compare yourselves to the others around you. You will look at people and think they have it made. You will wonder why you never measure up. You will look at yourself in the mirror and question if you are enough for this big, scary, crazy, judgmental world.

STOP.

Don't do this.

Remember your shining face. Look at how gleeful you are. Beautiful, open, and full of heart.

That's where your value is. This is your happy place.

So go out there. Run. Play. Think. Create. Feel. Because on the inside, this is who you will always be. A carefree spirit with walls that have yet to be built. Only a foundation of strength and courage.

Window Dressing

Charleston is full of gorgeous, well-maintained, overflowing, colorful window boxes. They dress the city in picture perfect color and texture, leaving the viewer to only imagine what's on the inside - a plentiful life filled with joy, warm meals, and loving hearts.

But as we all know, sometimes what's on the outside does not always reflect what is on the inside. We package ourselves neatly up to the world because the world doesn't always want to hear the ugly truth. We dress up all fancy - jewels and all - showing the world that the outside is what really counts. That way, meandering passers-by can feel good as they fantasize about our imaginary, perfectly curated lives that we present.

I have found that people don't always want to hear the big stuff. "How are you?" usually means "Tell me you are fine and we can both get on with our lives." But sometimes we want to show our real selves to the world - the scars and the pain we lug around every day are real and big. The battle we are fighting is huge. It's okay to need help with that. It's okay to look for solidarity in the eyes of a neighbor, a friend or a passer-by. Chances are they are just waiting to share their struggles too.

While I think some occasions call for keeping your cards close to you (the whole world doesn't always have to know your dirty laundry), I also think it's okay to share your pain on some levels. Because in that vulnerable, confusing space, we may just find the comfort of accepting ourselves just as we are - with or without that window dressing. 

Inner peas.

I have often talked about the joys of my simple attempts at starting a garden. They go far beyond nutrition and digging in the dirt. They seem almost spiritual and tie my love of all things food and farms into my own little homegrown version of gratitude. Each moment around my little raised bed yields some peace in my heart. And I have been aware for most of my life that I wanted some form of massive garden and to work with my hand in the dirt. I was always messy. I was always wandering around my friend's back yard gardens. But lately, the pull has been much greater.

When I harvest my little pea crop from the vines elegantly curling and reaching up to the sky, I am always reminded at the joy of simply growing something you can eat every day right in your own backyard. With pretty minimal effort and not much time, I am yielding a handful of peas to enhance our humble home cooked meals. This is my first experience with peas, but I  already know these little green guys are going to be put into a regular crop rotation. These peas are full and plump and as sweet as the sunshine that helped them grow. They taste like Mother Nature's candy. And the reward of picking them straight from the vine in my yard is beyond measure for me.

So for now, I will plan on my next crop of peas or carrots or beets or Spinach. I will work with a bigger plan to expand what I am currently growing in my humble backyard raised bed. Maybe I'll even plan on a few chickens to wander around back here. whatever the path, I am excited to get my hands dirty again doing it all.  And I am happy to find a little inner peace through peas.

Just as it should be

Just two 12 year old boys, doing 12 year old boy things.

I think we put a lot of pressure on kids these days. It seems to come from all directions too. There is pressure to get good grades, be great athletes, have loads of interests beyond the ordinary kids things, and be responsibly on their path to adulthood. It seems like we expect a great deal from them and leave little wiggle room for error from these learning, growing bodies and minds. They are expected to know so much at the young age of 12 and be able to self-regulate more than I ever remember doing at that age.

I have a very easy going boy who hasn't been hard to parent over these past 12 years. He hasn't needed much punishment. He follows most rules (I mean...he's 12...so, we are bound to break a few). And for the most part, he does what he is supposed to do.

When he has a misstep, I usually become overly frustrated with him. It's so out of character that I tend to probably react beyond what I should. I think this is in part to his easy nature coupled with the fact that he is physically larger than most children his age (he looks me eye to eye now and we haven't even started the real growing yet). I am always quick to assume he is beyond his years because of this, and as a result, typically forget in the moment that he is, after all, still just 12.

Twelve is a precarious age. His body is growing faster that you can say "GROWTH SPURT." But his mind is often still stuck in that little boy age - the age of nerf wars and yu-gi-oh card games. This age is a walking contradiction. The moodiness and boundary pushing are all part of the net result of the contrast between their growing bodies and their still underdeveloped little minds. Sure, hormones play a role in this, but I think this contrast and internal struggle are as much to blame for those epic moods I have been seeing these days.

While I am so excited to see what the world has to offer Graham and what Graham has to offer the world, I really still enjoy these moments that he is just a regular, ordinary, twelve year old boy - playing video games, making little inventions and having nerf wars with his buddies in the neighborhood.  I treasure this sweet time with him and never take these small moments for granted. There is a whole lifetime ahead of him to meet deadlines and worry about the future that I am happy to take that burden away from him for a little while. Don't get me wrong...I still am helping him become a responsible person - we meet school deadlines and requirements, have a black belt in karate and chores he tends to around the house. I just think for a while that he needs to just be here in this space.

Homegrown

Each week, my share from Compost in my Shoe comes and I am always floored. The beauty. The care. The love that goes into these plants... it's remarkable. I have talked tirelessly about it recently. Shamelessly and tirelessly.

While I am a huge advocate from getting your food locally from people you know, I am also a huge advocate for growing your own stuff. This is not only good for you, it's good for the planet too! Pretty much everybody wins.

This is part of the share from this week. It smells DIVINE. I pull off this stock of herbs all week - putting them on fresh fish, in veggies, and in salad dressings. What doesn't get used up there gets tossed in a pot and turned into fresh juice or stock - vegetable or chicken. It turns into something we can use later. But it never, ever gets wasted.

I can't stress enough how happy I am that this is part of our life : fresh food, straight from the earth. If we get it from someone or if we get it from our yard. It's homegrown...with love...with purpose...with a mission.

He is back.

He's back.

Gone for 5 days and what felt like an eternity on a school trip to Washington D.C., my little man is back - safe and sound. Sleeping well and just as ornery and surly as he ever was.

I wouldn't trade it for the world. The sass. The drama. The tween attitude. I really wouldn't. I am so happy for all of it here at home...sleeping soundly in bed with heavy covers over him and a battle of the wills from the moment he wakes up these days. He is safe. And he is home. And he is with me. And I couldn't ask for more.

You see, just before this trip, Graham lost a classmate unexpectedly. She was only 13 years old - far too soon to be gone. Far too soon for her parents to bury her in the ground already. We are all mourning this loss and her absence. It is a tragedy I cannot even imagine...a parent's worst nightmare altogether.

So when I say I don't mind the sass and the drama - I am not kidding. I am thinking of Lucy - her parents and her family and her classmates. I don't care about laundry or stinky feet or someone climbing in bed with me at 3 AM because they don't feel good. I don't care about the hardships that come with tweens or the struggles ahead with teenage drinking or bad grades or whatever our story may be. I don't really care about anything but this foot in my bed - safe, happy, loved, here.

So I am glad. He is back. He is here with us today. And that is something I will never take for granted.

Grateful for what is....

I have been missing a little of the light lately. I am busy at my desk with too much to do and not enough time to do it.

I have been feeling depleted. Too many things have been pulling at me and I haven't had the will to work them all out. I feel the need to put the brakes on and stop everything. I feel the need to take care of me.

Sometimes, though, moments like this happen. Even when you are in a hurry running from appointment to commitment, life pulls you in and begs you to stop and stare. I really almost don't remember taking this photo, but I am glad I did. Because every time I see it as I have scrolled through the photos on my phone this week, I breathe a deep sigh of relief and become grateful for what is instead of what isn't.

#knowyourfarmer

Mr. Lettuce - getting his bath.

Today, I got to spend a little time on my friend Jim's farm. We are working on a project together and it makes my soul sing for many reasons that I won't go into here. I have always loved a bit of gardening. But the fantasy of having my very own small scale farm is something I have dreamed about ever since I transplanted various seedlings in the forest behind my house growing up.

I have spent some time with Jim before. Documenting him, his plantings, and parts of his life in his new venture. But, today I really got it. I mean - it clicked on a level I can't express in words. The care he has for his plants and the love he has for this craft is no joke. I can assure you that every single seed is planted with care. Every crop harvested is done meticulously by hand. Every plant is processed with love. There are no pesticides. There are no chemicals in site. Just a few guinea fowl and a lot of mushroom compost and mulch.

To give you and example, each of the farm shares he has are harvested by hand. They are then INDIVIDUALLY bathed in a gentle water bath and precariously placed in coolers until delivery - which is typically the next day. This is not done for just the lettuce, but the bok choy, the carrots, the early garlic, the herbs, the potatoes, the kale, the onions, the spinach and the rest of the share. Each share is packaged immaculately and delivered TO YOUR DOORSTEP each week.

Not only is it remarkable that they grow delicious, fresh, wholesome produce from seed and deliver it to your doorstep each week. But the process of harvesting and packaging each item is done with such care you actually can tell the difference. I promise - you can taste it in the butter lettuce and the Russian River Kale. Each bite is a unique experience that takes you beyond the refrigerated aisles of your local Publix.

So next time you reach for that bag of packaged spinach - think again. Where did it come from? Who has handled it? Was it loved? Was it treated with gentle care? Who grew it? Do they really love this food? Do they actually care about what is going into this?

Get to know that farmer. I promise, it'll be the best thing you ever did.

Happy 10 Years.

Today has been 10 years that I have been in this home. Ten whole years. It's the longest I have lived in one home since I have been on my own.

When I originally stumbled across this place 10 years ago, I fell in love. But like many of the homes at the bubble of the housing boom in America, it had already had an offer on it. I came into the house feeling completely defeated and worn out. Because this place FELT like home to me. The huge, grassy yard. The quaint, white picket fences. The sweet, cottage feel. It suited everything about me at that time. Nothing needed any real work. A few light fixtures and perhaps a new coat of paint. That was all I really wanted. And it was right here, waiting for me.

Obviously, it all worked out in my favor. The other offer fell through. I eventually came up with a figure they could live with and we were finally on our way to a settled life rooted down in a great city.

I haven't changed much about these 2100 square feet all in the 10 years I have lived here. My furniture still sits in virtually the same spots as when I moved here 10 years ago. My kitchen is still painted the same sage color with the same Lowe's cabinets as the day I signed the paperwork declaring that this place was mine. But even though this place and it's contents haven't changed much, there has been a lot of changes around me. My mother, who we swiftly pulled up the 2 steps into my home in her cumbersome wheelchair, is now gone. So is my father, who helped me hang the dining room light fixture and slept in my guest room for a few months after my mother passed away. My sister – who visited me for a few weeks after my father passed away - just died last year. I have a few grey hairs and some more pounds to speak of. And my sweet little boy has grown from a little toddler to a full blown teenager - sass and all.

I suppose I haven't changed much about my home for this very reason. So much else has changed...that the sweet, calming, grounding sense I get from my home is perfect for me. I love coming home to the predictability of my outdated kitchen, my comfortable furniture and my familiarly hued walls.

I feel the need to thank my humble home for it's support and love over the years. It has comforted me and calmed me after long days and sad events. It's has supported me and protected me from harsh weather and storms. It has cradled me to sleep and held me through some tough economic times as a self-employed single mom who is just trying to make her way in this world.

I often have said "I just want to keep us in our home." Instead, what I realize is this home has been keeping me all these years.

Happy 10 years, Little Home. I can't wait to see what the next 10 bring us.

The Rebirth of Spring.

By now, you may have figured out some of my favorite things are A) spring; B) flowers; C) all things spring; D) and some food.

It's true. And this time of year, I am quite shameless about my posts of flowers and sprouts and sunshine and weather.

I can't stop myself from feeling inspired at this time of year. And I usually ride the wave. While I do love winter and all it's bleak, sleepy, cocooning glory, I seem to embrace the energy of spring the most. The possibilities seem endless and inspiration is everywhere.

We are approaching my most favorite week of all - Easter week. While we are getting ready for an egg hunt - complete with plastic eggs and far too much chocolate- Spring awaits. The concept of Spring and Rebirth is embodied in this very holiday. The chance of refreshing and renewing one's life lies in every bloom, in every egg, in every little new life emerging right now. It seems to beg for us to rewrite those New Year's Resolutions into something we REALLY feel passion for.

Spring makes me feel rebirth is possible on every front. It makes me ready to embrace change once again. It makes me want to push through all the blocks and set my dreams free - like chicks from the egg...ready to fly away at any moment.

Props

Today I was shooting a product here at my house that was screaming for these delicate babies  as props.

I have been shooting more and more propped, staged shots recently and I am LOVING it. I love setting a bit of a scene without making the shot appear to have been staged. I always want anything I shoot to look like someone just dropped the items in the photos as they appear. Those excellent photos you see in magazines - never like that. Those shots take multiple professionals and hours of labor to make the photographs appear the way they do.

The trick in the world of commercial (and often personal) photography is to make it all look like it just happened naturally and without effort. The real truth is it all takes work. So even though it all looks effortlessly perfect, the good looking stuff stuff always happens with a lot of work and elbow grease.

Isn't that really true about everything though? Haven't we been taught that the real stuff takes work and props and hours of preparation? So why do we still ruminate on other peoples lovely Facebook photos and their well-curated lives? Why is it that we feel the need to compete with something that has been staged and propped beyond comprehension? Those friends of yours at Disney World in their matching outfits....that just didn't happen magically. Take your filters off. There is a lot you may not be seeing. Tantrums. Threats. Bribery. A mom with PMS and a dad with a hangover. It all looks good in the photograph. But it's all propped the same as my commercial shoots always are. Outfits are bought ahead of time. Tickets were purchased well in advance. Travel plans coordinated months prior to the posting of the photo. And that photo - they knew exactly where they wanted it taken. It wasn't a happy accident. It rarely ever is.

So my advice is this: Take the lenses off. Remove the props. Things are the same on the other side of the screen for all of us. The struggle for perfection can be real for some people. But don't buy in. Because the real stuff is where you get to the juicy center part. That's where life is lived.

And those props...they are just there to soften those hard edges. 

The fight against Time.

These days are limited...these days of innocence and youth and wonder. We are on the precipice of something huge for this boy. He has literally (and I do mean literally) grown over and inch in a month. It's a matter of days on the calendar that I will be looking up at that sweet round face and those gorgeous green eyes. It's a matter of days that I will be worrying more than I ever could have imagined possible.

But days where playing card games is cool are coming to an all too brief ending. And as excited as I am for him, I have to say that I am equally as heartbroken that Time has to be so cruel. She has already stolen so much from me: My age. My baby. My parents. She steals the innocence of a pure heart...full of wonder, hope and possibility.

I will fight Time and her jaded ways. I will battle her every step of the way. Not because I don't want to age or grow wiser, but because I don't want it all to be over so darn fast. I want to linger here for a while, savoring a few things a little longer. The past 13 years have slipped through my fingers. Trying to stop it was like trying to hold ice on a sultry South Carolina summer day. It just happened despite my best efforts.

So I guess that's it. I will fight the process, even though it's bound to happen regardless. It doesn't mean I have to like it....even if I know it's coming.