Blisters Won't Let Me Type

I apparently used up the writing section of my brain for yesterday's post, which, it seems, has been rather popular. I imagine it's bothering people...getting them all upset and confused. Oh well.

Meanwhile, I have nothing to write about today. It's Friday. I have about three burn blisters on the very tips of my fingers (which makes it rather painful to type). is an inspirational meme for the social activist.


Dear Christians, Your Pro-Life Vote Is Not Pro-Life

As Christians who vote, we absolutely cannot continue to be led to believe that a vote for the Republican party is a vote for life.

It is not.

In fact, it’s a lie. It’s a pretty lie that political powers use to keep a clenched fist on the Evangelical vote. Why? Because they know good and well what to say and how to spin it in such a way that eases our conscience. They also know that many of us will not research or study, and will only listen to media sources that are right-wing talking heads.

But then there is ME!

And I like research.

So here we go. I will try my best to lay out my case as to why a Christian should not automatically vote Republican for the sake of their pro-life moral grounds.

First up:
The Republican party WILL NOT ban abortions. Period. It won’t happen. So, right off the bat, our pro-life vote is lost. More on this later on in the article.

The Republican Nominee:

Donald Trump was on record as being pro-choice for most of his adult life. He said he “has evolved on the issue much like Ronald Reagan.” That’s fine. After all, I’ve evolved on LOTS of issues. However, Trump's stance on abortion only began to change when he launched his campaign for president. Donald Trump has no plans to ban abortions or really adjust any of the laws currently in practice. He says here that he will limit late term abortions, allowing them to take place in cases of incest, rape, and health and life of the mother. The only thing he has said that might be different is that Planned Parenthood should not be federally funded if it performs abortions. Here’s the kicker though: Planned Parenthood is not the only place American women can have an abortion done. So, defunding them does little for pro-lifers. For a second here, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that Donald Trump has been a huge donor to Planned Parenthood, which is strange, because I didn’t know what he actually donated funds, but instead accepted funds (Gia, don’t get catty). Taking away funds from Planned Parenthood simply hurts the low-income women that use if for much more than abortion. And one more thing, here Trump tells Tim Russet that he will uphold partial birth abortions.

The Democratic Nominee:

In 2008, Clinton went on record as saying, “I think abortion should remain legal, but it needs to be safe and rare. And I have spent many years now, as a private citizen, and as First Lady, and now a senator, trying to make it rare, trying to create the conditions where women had other choices. I have supported adoption, foster care. I helped create the campaign against teen pregnancy and completed our goal ten years ago.”

When asked if she believed in life beginning at conception, she says, “I believe that the potential for life begins at conception. I am a Methodist, as you know. My church has struggled with this issue.”

I want to pause and point out that Hillary Clinton is able to actually tell the public that she is part of a church. Any church. Trump has not been able to do that.

Where does she stand on late term abortion? Despite those political memes that people love to circulate on social networks, she has a more conservative view and identical view as Donald Trump. Read more about that here.

Has Hillary been a long-time supporter of women’s rights to choose? Absolutely, but she has been consistent and never once changed her stance depending on if she was running for president or not. Will she always fight for women’s right to choose? Yes, she will. She will also fight for social programs and healthcare. She will fight for social security for out elders and make sure that we continue on a path similar to the one we've been on for nearly two decades.

I suppose you're in a pickle now...

So What To Do?
It’s very important to understand that your vote matters. But you must not give it to a man who does not mean what he says, and is easily swayed in his ideas thinking it will end abortion. You must not give your vote to a party believing that it’s the moral right or the the vote of the church. Whatever that means. Since the 1970’s, the Republican party as been looking for die-hard voters, and they found them in the “values voters” of Evangelicals. It was never about your values, but always about your votes. They know it's easier to focus on the unknown babies that have not yet been born. It's easier to love the vague possibility of human life that is cute and adorable and tiny. It is not as easy to actually love the human life that is standing right in front of you--the poor, the destitute, the homosexual, the dying old man or the refugee. That takes actual work, relationship, money in the form of tax dollars. No one has time for that. But we have all the time for the possibility of life.

What....? That's doesn't make sense.

Political powerhouses and president nominees of the past have often dubbed the debate on abortion as the “dead-end debate” because they know that Roe vs Wade simply will not be overturned, nor do the political parties even want to overturn it. In truth, it’s really used to secure Evangelical voters, which is a huge fraction of the Republican party supporters. As late as July 2016, Trump was said to have secured 78% of the Evangelical vote, more than Mitt Romney had when he was as the Republican nominee. But why? He isn’t actually pro-life. He is lying to you and pulling at your morality card. And what will he do for humans once they are born? What promises does he make to help them achieve a long, healthy, successful life? Not a whole lot if you happen to come our of the womb with a vagina.

Both candidates will allow babies to be aborted.

That’s the truth.

When we decide to vote pro-life, let’s also allow that vote to encompass life after birth. Which candidate is truly pro-life for all people, in the womb and outside the womb? Because we cannot pretend to be pro-life when we are speaking only about darling babies. We must also be pro-life for the humans born that might become gay, that might be mentally ill and need access to care, who might be homeless not he street and need food, who might be a woman that can only afford a cervical cancer screening in a free clinic, or the immigrant that’s fleeing the slaughter on their homeland and needs a safe haven.

Pro-life is more than unborn babies.

Swallow that. Devour it’s truth. And decide what it actually means to you.

If you want to vote for Trump, that's okay, but don't do it believing he is pro-life. He's lying to you and so is the media.


My Feminist Rant. Sorry. Sorta. Maybe Not.

I’m going to have a little rant here. Just take it, leave it, walk away, or get angry with me. Whatever the case, I’m not happy.

Listen, I think that we need to understand that we live in the year 2016. We should not be boxing women up into ridiculous packages anymore. For far too long, the woman has been a pretty thing that can do the pretty things. She can keep the house neat and tidy, decorate it attractively, and cook good meals that also happen to look appetizing.


Also, women are more prone to the leisure arts, or so history says.

What the heck?!?!

LEISURE ARTS!!!???!!!??? Are you for real? History, do you understand what year this is???

*Gia’s eye flame up and she begins to froth at the mouth in a rage*

Gia can paint and draw. She can sketch pretty portraits. Gia is capable of following complex crochet patterns and crochet delicate doilies with painfully small stitches. Gia can stand in the craft isle and stare at the rows of wool and pick and choose which combination will result is something beautiful. She can arrange flowers nicely in a vase and use coffee artistically. (Actually, I can’t arrange flowers nicely in a vase…)

These are leisure arts. So “they” say. I don’t know who “they” are, but they’re dumb.

Bull. Freaking. Crap. 

For centuries, women of high class have been taught “leisure arts” that set her atop a pedestal of endless free time in which she needs to occupy her idle, dull little brain. It suggests that the wealth handed to her gives her empty time in which she needs to busy her hands and channel her creativity. After all, if you leave her to sit too long and not have an outlet for her passions, she might begin to thing about…*gasp* *whisper*…sex.

The horror!

Yet, poor women have always managed to pretty their homes and create beautiful pieces of art, too. The poor woman living in a country home sews nice clothes for herself and her children. She makes her own crocheted doilies to spruce up her sparse surroundings. When she is able to sit down for a time, she might doodle sketches in the margins of her shopping list. She doesn’t have “free” time, yet she has creativity and passions as well.

Creativity is not something we have when we have extra time.

Creativity is not something that is a privilege to the upper classes.

Creativity is not bound by class or wealth.

And here is the underlined part that I must have you understand. I’ve taken the widest-tipped red sharpie and drawn massive circles around it for you:

We must not shrug these skills off as mere leisure arts.

Goodness, freaking sakes!

So I demand that state fairs all across our vast nation begin to change the vernacular in which they associate the more “feminine” arts and stop gender-labeling any kind of art. Let the women do art. Period. It takes time. It takes skill. It takes creativity.

Pfft. I’d like to see YOU try to follow a vintage doily pattern. 

And one more thing!

Women do these awesome, beautiful things WHILE taking care of a home, raising children, and occasionally menstruating.



Islam and Feminism

Muslim women express their sportsmanship as well as their religious freedom, and that's awesome.

There are boxes that feminist get put into. We do it here in the west, sometimes putting religious feminist in their own box and secular feminists in theirs. But the labeling, the separating, doesn’t stop there. We have western feminism and we have feminism in the middle east, which many here in the States see as a dichotomy of sorts. Can a Muslim woman in a hijab or burqa even be a feminist? No, some say, sadly shaking their head. Her very choice of dress, in our western eyes, is the very sign of her oppression and bondage not only to men, but to religion that walks on the backs of their women.

What a shame. We shouldn’t cast such a wide net over a culture, a religion, and a group of women we do not fully understand. Islam has long history of feminism that spans farther that what we in the west could ever hope for. Before the Puritans were even a thing—before they could sew up their scarlet A’s—the Muslim men and women of Prophet Muhammad’s day were teaching about the importance of sexual pleasure and gratification, not just for men, but for women as well. There is even one famous story of how a woman approached the prophet and complained that her husband was too busy with prayer and had stopped paying her attention in the bedroom. The prophet admonished the husband and told him that he needed to not give all his attention to religious duties, but also to his wife’s sexual needs. To Prophet Muhammad, men and woman were equal and had the same duties in all matter of life, relationship and family. This is what he taught and did his best to live by.

Today, while western women fight for reproduction rights and “Free The Nipple” campaigns, Muslim women are leading the way and declaring what it is they want in the bedroom. For Muslim women, it is they who are leading their men towards sexual freedom and satisfaction. This sexual revolution is radically shifting the way Muslim men and women are relating to one another in the context of personal and sexual relationships. It isn’t solely about owning one’s body, but sharing it with another in such a way that  is gratifying and balanced. Now imagine how feminism and relationships right change here in the west if we also cared about healthy and pleasurable sexual experiences rather than simply who “owned” our womb? (

Why, then, do we look at a Muslim woman in hajib, niqab or burqa and assume that she is not free, that she cannot be a feminist? When in fact, there is a large number of Muslim women world-wide that define themselves as a feminist. Many of them claim that political leaders within their nations and religious elites have manipulated the qiwama, which is the sharia principal of the males authority over women. They claim that these leaders have twisted the teaching to back their own agendas for religious and political power, distorting what their relationship between a man and woman was ever meant to be. Do we not have the same struggle here in the west? Political and religious men using scripture and legislation to control their women?

In the Middle East, Islamic feminist are able to fight for equality because of their faith. They do not feel the need to put religion aside in order to be a whole and complete person standing beside a man. They can still adhere to their faith and practices while having self-worth and vocally demanding change in legal legislation that fuels the widening gender gap.

So, is it us? Is our western version of feminism akin, somewhat, to white privilege? Are we capable of knocking our Muslim sisters off their feminist’s platforms because we do not view their movement as authentic? Are we robbing them of their own choices and rights as individual women by refusing to look past their veils and faith? Is our critical judgment making us their passive oppressors?

And if so, are we actually even feminist?

Maybe we should get rid of the feminist boxes and vague, insignificant labels? If we did, if we were able to get out of each others way, we would be able to support all women, despite race, religion, and social class, and see women across the globe become more and more empowered.

So let’s try it. Shall we?


Happy Birthday, Theodore Clash

 Eight years ago...

I shared a post yesterday from eight years ago--about how I was excited about the doctor's appointment the next day. I had been contracting for well over a month and was miserable. The following day, I went in for a stress test and laid back in a leather, comfy chair and drank juice and ate crackers while my stomach liked to squeeze the breath out of me. "Okay!" The nurse said, popping her head into the room. "You get to have a baby today!"

That's always a surreal thing--knowing that by the day's end, you will be holding the life that's been inside you. You will hold that life in your arms and feel it's skin against your own. You will feel it's breath on your cheek and be able to finally look into those eyes you've been wondering about for so long. It's always surprise--the feel of the soft body and heavenly smell on the top of their head.

Giving birth is magical.


 I remember having Roger look up when the nearest Arby's would be closing and deciding that I had to have Teddy pushed out by then because I was starving. Guess what? He did not cooperate. It was at about 11:40pm that he was finally born. The first thing I saw was a wide arc of urine that streamed up and into the doctor's face. That boy yelled and screamed louder than any of my babies. My aunt and brother in the waiting room said they could hear him. He was red-faced...and had a head full of RED HAIR!

Of all the things I had been anticipating, red hair had never been a blip on my radar.  He was feisty and screamed and wanted food immediately.

Theodore Clash Cooper.

Your children are never quite like you imagined. Ever. They come out into this world as their own person with their own personality and their own ideas. You can pretend and plan and carefully study on parenting and mothering and raising daughters or sons...

But then you get this tiny bundle that has red hair and screams like a banshee...yet who calms at the warmth of his mother's arms. 

Teddy is a my little warrior between a sensitive artist and a warrior in training--London's eyes always on her big brother and arms and legs ready to mimic his every move. He wants to walk in his daddy's footsteps, but only so far. After a while, Teddy decides to do his own thing. Like music. When it comes to music, Teddy (for now) just wants to stand by his daddy and strum his guitar and lead the other band boys like daddy. But he doesn't want to sing because it gives him "stage fear". He has a list of strange OCD quirks that like to drive his daddy nuts. He cannot move quickly unless he wants to. Once he gets focused on something, it's hell or high water that will tear him away and nothing else. He is highly creative, wildly imaginative, and likes to talk...slooooooowly. You can see the wheels always turning behind his grey-blue eyes.

Today, I want to take a moment and thank my heavenly Father for blessing me abundantly. I cried and begged for my children--the children I once thought I would never have. He blessed me with a light, a gift, and a vision.

I am their mother.

And today, the 26th of September, I am the woman that became forever and always Theodore Clash's mother. I couldn't be more honored.


I Can Breathe Now

Today is Sunday.

Half way through it, I started to feel guilt. I thought back on how long it has been since we were in church. Technically, it's been since April. Yet, I feel free. There was an old Gia that would scoff and say that I only felt freedom because I was living in the world and had fallen away from The Lord.

Is that even true?


I mean, I can't pretend to say that I know for sure much of anything. I've allowed myself to openly say that I don't have all the answers, nor do I feel compelled to have all the answers.

But I can breathe. I can ask questions and think deeply and speak out on important issues without fear. The more I think deeply and ask questions, the farther I feel I get from religion. Again, I get worried and waves of anxiety start to wash over me again.

Then the new Gia yells:

Jesus didn't come to start a new religion! He didn't. He came to reveal Himself and the Father to the people whom He loves unconditionally.

Now, I don't believe in hell. At least, not in the way I was raised to believe.

I don't.

I am falling so far from the woman I was.

It scares me.

But I don't care.

I look at my children interacting with their father. There is nothing they could do or become that would ever cause Him to force them into eternal punishment of pain and torture. There is no way that Roger is a better father than God. God is our creator. He is our father. His love is great and mysterious and I simply will not try to fit it into a personal narrative anymore.

"But, Gia...the Bible says!"

All I can do is shrug. I've read the Bible. I know what people think it says and I know what I think it says, but it still doesn't resonate with the truth I've found in my spirit. So, was there more to the mere words on the page? Is there mystery we have not yet solved? And is it possible that God is bigger and grander and full of more love than mere English words can sum up on the page?

Lord, I certainly hope so.

If someone asked me to write a book that encompassed the love I feel for my husband and the children we made together...

It would fall so short of what I actually feel.

I'm not God, I know this. God can do anything. He can make what He wants known to us and can withhold whatever in the world He wants...

All I'm that my freedom has brought me truth I couldn't find within church walls. My freedom has come outside of printed words. My freedom has come by simply believing without proof, without answers, and without fear.

I'm not afraid of hell.

I'm not afraid of God's wrath.

I am free.

I can breathe.

I am deeply loved--so loved that I cannot measure it.

He has me. He saved me. I'm good.

I'm good. 

And I don't ever want to fall into that spiritual bondage ever again.

Does this mean I will never enter a church again?

I don't know.

Maybe I will build something different?

Or maybe I will just become the church without walls?

But right now, I don't need to know.

I'm okay with that.

And today was an excellent Sunday. 


Lousy Internet Ruining My Lousy Post

Here we are again...

It's late.

There are a few things that I check off the "night-time" list:

1. Take my medicine.
2. Scoop the little box.
3. Feed the cats.
4. All those lovely things like brushing teeth and washing face and rubbing in Old Lady Cream

And, yet, here we are. I forgot to blog, and I don't even have anything to write about.


It was a pretty nice Saturday. Roger had to work, but the house was calm and the kids played well together. Not only that, but we woke up to a fall "feel" in the air--morning fog that took a while to burn off, and a slight chill.

It was my plan to share photos of interesting things from the day: art completed, the weird spot I found London asleep after I panicked and ran through the house in a fright because I couldn't find her, the blanket I started to crochet...


The internet isn't working so great at the moment and it won't let me upload any images.

What a lousy blog post, eh?

Maybe tomorrow will be better.



Because Pictures Are All I Have To Offer Tonight

I have been working so much this week, that finding time to write inspiring words has been difficult. So, to celebrate finishing the edits on another client file, I wanted to share some of my steamy-ish portraits from last weekend's engagement session. It was a pleasure to work with this couple in our beautiful city. I might just have to shoot downtown more often.

P.S.: I always enjoy nailing a "near kiss" portrait. They are one of the most marketable images for romance. Just ask Nicolas Sparks.


“It wasn't that long, and it certainly wasn't the kind of kiss you see in movies these days, but it was wonderful in its own way, and all I can remember about the moment is that when our lips touched, I knew the memory would last forever.” 


Seizures, Medication, Meltdowns? Sure. We Got This.

When we took Lucy to the neurologist at Riley, we didn’t have the best experience, as many of you have read. I tried to explain to the resident that I truly felt that Lucy’s meltdown were part of a cycle with her seizures, but she wouldn’t hear me.

Last week, I wrote about a particularly bad day where Lucy had an extremely bad meltdown. It wasn’t the worst, but it was the first one she had in weeks since starting her new medication. It took me off guard and broke my heart. Lucy hadn’t had a single seizure since she started the new medication and I feared that everything I thought about the seizures correlation to the meltdowns was unfounded…

Every night this week, Lucy has had multiple seizure episodes in her sleep that result with her waking up in soaking wet sheets and being forced awake multiple times a night. This morning, she could barely hold her head up when we started school. Her face was pale and she had purple circles under her eyes. She looked beyond exhausted. She simply wanted to lay under the covers and hide and sleep and finally get some rest.

Now, looking back, I can understand that the meltdown was a precursor to an uptick in seizure activities—a forewarning, of sorts.

I wasn’t crazy.

I’m not crazy.

I know my daughter.

I cannot make sense of how this all works, most especially if those within the medical field do not want to listen to me because they haven’t got more than twenty minutes to deal with my daughter’s thick file.

But I’m not crazy.

I’m not.

And I am going to make sure this girl of mine gets the help and medication she needs.

Now I will leave you with some random shots from this morning as I prepped my camera to put away from last night's session.

Because these were just chilling out with me. 
That look on her face drips with mischief. She's also not being very wise...
Yep. Pure mischief. 


Low Key Racism. It's a Real Thing and I Have It.

I am white.

I didn’t ask to be white, but I am.

I have privilege.

Yes, I’m not rich and daily life is a struggle. I have pain and heartache and sometimes immense depression.

But I have privilege too.

I have racist ideas.

Listen, every single white person has some racist ideas. We’re all guilty of this. Period. If you’re not a full on white supremacist, you have low key racism that you have to daily work to rid yourself of. I’m guilty. You’re guilty. It is a problem we all deal with. Or don’t deal with. It’s up to you.

Does that make me a wretched human being?

No. If I am looking out for where low key racism slips into my life and I work to get rid of it, then that’s good news.

However, when does it become a real life problem? Here are some ways:


1. You refuse to agree along with me that we all have some racist ideology.
2. Colin Kaepernick’s protest offends you. Listen, it’s true. If you get up in arms about a black man protesting, then you have seeds of racism growing in your heart. If you keep saying "there is a better way to protest" then you have low key racist ideas.
3. You wanna talk about black-on-black crime more than you want to listen about police brutality against African American men and women.
4. You quickly use #alllivesmatter in response to someone’s pro #blacklivesmatter tweet.
5. Hearing about the rioting and protesting in the streets gets more of a reaction from you than the actual deaths of innocent black men and women.
6. You talk about “reverse racism” like it’s a real thing, or even remotely comparable to actual racism against people of color.
7. You use the phrase, “I don’t see color” or “I love people of all colors”…because you still don’t want to talk specifically about what is happening to individual peoples of color.
8. You truly believe that racism is a thing of the past and tell people not to pull the “race card.”
9. You somewhat resent the black community for their scholarships that you can’t apply for, causing you to believe they have it easier, or don’t have to work as hard as you because of the color of their skin.
10. And here’s the biggest key to the idea you suffer from low key racism (like me, because we ALL do!!): YOU GOT VERY ANGRY AT ME FOR WRITING THIS POST.

Friends, don’t let low key racism control you. There are ways to work on it and rid yourself of this quickly spreading disease that, if left untreated, can become full blown racism.

Listen to people of color. Hear them. Let them be angry. Consider what they are saying without offering a rebuttal. Stop trying to justify injustice. Stop telling people to simply follow the rules and obey the laws. Put yourself in their shoes and consider the scope and breadth of their pain and grief. If you can’t do that because the circle of real life humans around you are white, then get out into the world. Find people of color: meet them, know them, hear them, follow them, support them…

But don’t shrug this off. Low key racism is as destructive as full blown racism, and we’re all suffering from it. We can do better. We must do better. Unless you want to keep passing on our brokenness from one generation to the next.


Having Coffee First Is My White Privilege, And I Know That

Yesterday, I was elbow deep in motherhood, home school, and my own personal work. I wasn’t just busy, but my heart was feeling wounded, my mind was overwhelmed and my spirit felt crushed. Roger was taking another job on top of his already busy full-time position. Medical bills are piling up and people keep calling to ask if perhaps we would like to pay them today. I worry about if the kids are happy and if I’m good enough to do all of this on my own…

I blogged about how it was a good Monday, though, didn’t I? And it was, considering.

When I had a a moment to peruse my phone, I noticed my husband had tweeted something that led me to believe yet another black man had been murdered by police.

I turned my phone off. I didn’t want to to read. I didn’t want to investigate and see what was happening.

There was too much. My own life had too much going on. The world was just this painful, heavy boulder that wanted to rest on my shoulders too, and I wasn’t having any of it.

My heart was already so overwhelmed and hurting and broken…

And I closed my eyes. I would wait until the next morning when I’d had some sleep.

This, friends, is privilege.

Though I might advocate and stand with person’s of color, people of non-Christian faith, and the LGBQT community, I know that I can stand and shout and fight for them—with them—on my own time. I have the privilege of sleeping first. Having coffee first. Finishing school with my kids first.
Is my life easy?

Hell no.

But it is still drenched in privilege compared to my disenfranchised counterparts.

This morning, I came out swinging and ready to stand with and defend my friends of color. Admittedly, I don’t even have very many friends of color to stand with, but I’m working on that. I don’t have many Muslim friends to fight for, but I am working on that, too. I don’t have many gay and lesbian friends or family, but that’s also something I am working on.

There are some important keys to becoming “woke” as a white person in America. I’m certainly not an expert, but these are the keys I discovered on my own journey and I will gladly let you borrow them:

1. Realize you’ve been asleep and open your damn eyes.
2. Understand that despite your own personal struggles, you still have privilege.
3.  Start having real life conversations with real life friends and family about these stories.
4. Use whatever meager platform you have to voice your outrage.
5. Take a knee. No, I’m not just talking about the anthem. I’m speaking about honoring the grieving and the wounded and oppressed. Take a knee for them. Then rise up, take their hand, and fight beside them.

Is it ever okay to turn off the phone and crawl under the blankets sometimes?

Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. Because if you go crazy and lose your mind and wreck your heart, you’re no good for anybody. Self care is important too. But understand that it’s a privilege you have and some people do not. I’m not telling you to feel guilty about it, I am just asking that you recognize it.

In the meantime, tease out that lion’s mane. It’s time to jump into the fray. 

*image is from*


A Dream Catcher Monday

This is/was a good Monday.

There was only a little poop involved. As London screamed, "It hurts, mama! It hurts!" I carried her arms length in a sprint to the toilet. Almost made it. Not so bad. There was a moment in the afternoon when something brown was smeared down my thigh. It was chocolate. I even tasted it...AFTER I smelled it.

School was completed with minor growling from my wolf children. Teddy seems to think he's the leader of the pack, but I always set him right. The boy is learning that mama's growl is the worst.

Lucy managed to not cover every surface with fingernail polish while waiting between lessons. She didn't use an entire roll of toilet paper to remove globs of mascara she tried to sneak on. She only used a tiny amount of toilet paper, didn't leave it in the floor, and did a decent job sneaking the mascara on.

Not too bad.

Two dream catchers were made. Laundry was washed and now sits in piles on my bedroom floor, waiting to be folded (why isn't there a machine for THAT yet???) and at least one cup of coffee was enjoyed while it was still semi-hot.

Friends, it was a good Monday. It was a decent Monday. It was not-so-bad Monday.

I shall take it.

And here is a round of new dream catchers located over on the Etsy site. ENJOY!


Greg and Dakota :: She Said Yes

Tonight, I shot my second (I think) city session for this precious couple engaged to be wed next year. Y'all, I was pretty nervous because I had to constantly check my white balance and ISO settings as we moved around through the shade and shadows and sunlight. BUT!!! I think the three of us nailed this session.

Well, mostly Greg and Dakota. I mean, look at them!

Enjoy this sneak peek of the soon-to-be newlyweds. 

“Maybe that's what love is. Having someone who guides you through different experiences, coaxes you to try news things but still makes you feel safe.” ~Wally Lamb, We Are Water


Are You Difficult? Too Much? Too Mouthy? Good.

I get deleted a lot on social media. Usually by men. Usually by men I actually know and counted as friends. Today, I finally realized who deleted me this week when I posted about feminism and the DAPL.


Dang. He was a pretty rad dude.

But here's the thing. This is my tough time. This is my extremely difficult time. And not just for me, but for our nation. I have the opportunity to try to speak out and change things. Something. Anything. Nothing at all. I don't know. But what good does it do to be silent?

I don't intend to be quiet on issues that matter.

I will not suddenly decide to be silent and submissive.

I will be a lion.

Goodness sakes.

There are a few times when I pause and consider the embarassment I might be in other people's eyes--how they shake their head and sadly say, "Poor, poor Roger."

Oh well.

My funeral will at least be interesting.