Dear Apple Cheeks,

 

 

Summer is coming to a close...in fact, we just finished up our annual end-of-summer party (more on that in tomorrow's post!). I thought I would share some of my favorite photos from our beach trips this year. We had so much fun taking our camper to St. George Island and Cape San Blas, and I want the two of you to be able to look back on all of the wonderful moments we shared. So, here you go girls...the story of our two weeks in Florida, documented by a bajillion photos...but it doesn't even come CLOSE to the number that I actually took, haha!!!

 

 

Love,

Mama xo

 

 Peeking in the window at Aunt Ebby's, the ice cream shop we go to every year...



I lace up my Nike's, pull my hair up into a messy bun, and drag the bicycle and tricycle from the garage. It is 7:30 p.m. on the dot, which means it is time to drop everything and do what I do almost every evening at this time...go for a nightly trek of three loops around my neighborhood, followed by a walk around the golf course, just me and my girls...nothing but the sound of feet and wheels on pavement, little girl chatter echoing through the quiet streets. The night is perfect, my very favorite kind of evening....one that threatens rain, but never follows through with it, the air damp but not sticky, cool breeze on the back of my bare neck. We turn right out of our driveway, make another right at the STOP sign, then travel on to the dead end before circling back to walk up the long hill that is our street. My legs burn from the exertion, but I know it will be worth it when I get to the top. And it is. It is always worth the effort when we circle the cul-de-sac at the top, and look back down our street...a bird's eye-view of the beautiful sunset each and every night. Tonight the sunset is particularly majestic...God must be feeling creative ;). Those clouds....the ones that threaten the rain but never bring it..are full to almost bursting, glowing purple under the fiery pink and orange sun. The pure, natural beauty of it steals my breath, makes me stop to stare.

 

We run back down the hill, laughing the whole way, wheels spinning wildly, bicycle brakes held tightly, mama legs trying to keep up with little girl legs. We run until we reach the end, breathless and giggling. We continue on our journey, round and round the neighborhood, soaking in the sunset, the sights, the smells of summer: hotdogs cooking on charcoal grills, freshly cut grass, kids laughing, basketball bouncing on pavement. We turn left onto the golf course trail, and take in the beautiful view...fireflies, hundreds of them lining each side of the trail like runway lights. Lydia pedals ahead, catching lightning bugs in cupped hands, pulling honeysuckle from the vine, picking a flower to put in my hair. And it is magic. THIS NIGHT, THIS SUNSET, THESE FIREFLIES, THIS WHOLE SUMMER.....MAGIC. And I wonder for the millionth time...is there no way for me to bottle up all of this magic??? I want to remember...no, I am DESPERATE to remember...this day, this summer, this life. Because in a few months? These two little girls won't be quite so little. I will pack up the size "2T" clothes, fold the size "7-8" pajamas for the very last time. Their feet will grow into new, bigger sized shoes, and I will marvel at how all this happened right under my very nose...little girls growing up, and I didn't even realize it. Change, change, change. And I have lived enough to know that what we remember of a person is the latest version of them. I know the eight year old Lydia like the back of my hand, but the one year old version? She seems very far away, and I can't quite recall the way she said "mama", or the way her hair smelled after a bath. And the two year old Addison is so familiar to me, but I can't for the life of me remember how her newborn skin felt beneath my fingers. And it breaks me...splits my heart wide open. Because you can't bottle up the sounds, the smells, the MAGIC that make up a life. And so I write...my heart flowing from my pen. And I pick up my camera and watch life around me. Click, click, click; and for a moment, I capture a little piece of the magic. Maybe not the smell of the freshly cut grass, or the beauty of the fireflies lighting our evening walk, or the sound of my daughters' laughter, but MAGIC, still. And these words, and these photographs, they will tell our story, and they will help me remember...when the eight year old Lydia, and the two year old Addison, and the thirty-two year old me are nothing but a distant memory.

 

And for my sweet daughters...my Apple Cheeks...I know you will not remember the details of this summer. You may be able to recall bits and pieces, a memory or two...but I want you to know ALL about the summer of 2013: who we were, what we loved, and how we spent our days together. I have put together a couple of posts full of pictures of things I want the two of you to remember. This was the summer.... of a thousand backyard campfires, hotdogs on the grill, too many ice cream cones to count, two weeks at the beach, finding seashells and starfish, family cookouts, picnics on the beach, making homemade Nutella popsicles, trout fishing at the dam, teepee campouts in the backyard, running a 5K, Addison's first pedicure by me, swimming at Nana's, sparklers, birthday parties, and SO much more!!!! I can't wait to tell you all about it when you are older....this has been my favorite summer ever :).

 

Looking for bugs with flashlights...



Well hello there :)!! It has been a beautiful summer, full of family and friends and trips, both big and small. I decided in May to take a little blog/social media/photography business hiatus for awhile and focus on my beautiful life. I have to say that it has been the best decision I have ever made! In fact, I have decided to delete my personal Facebook page permanently, and just blog, Instagram, and Facebook from a business standpoint whenever I return to photography. I am loving the time I now have to spend on what matters most...my family and real life!!! :) I hope you will continue to follow this blog...this is the space that I use for personal stories, and where I share the things I am MOST passionate about...writing and photography!!!! I can't WAIT to start writing again, and fill this little blog with stories for my two girls. Thanks for reading along!!! :)

Dear Apple Cheeks,

It is a rainy Tuesday in July, just another in a long string of dreary days, each one melding together, indistinguishable from the one before it. Gray, cloudy, wet, repeat. It is the kind of week that brews cabin fever, little hands becoming restless, patience wearing a little thin. The walls of our home seem to be just a bit closer than they were a few days ago, and let's face it...at this point, we are all getting on each other's nerves. We need to get out...to feel the sunshine on our faces, the soft grass on our bare feet. But Mother Nature has her own agenda, and she has declared it to be yet another bunker down indoors kind of day.

The rain "tap, tap, taps" against the kitchen window as I pour myself another cup of coffee, drizzling sweet cream into the piping hot liquid. I sigh heavily, disappointment exhaled in a breath. You see, I am a bucket list kind of girl. A soak up life kind of girl. I like to savor every moment of the present season...twinkling lights on every surface, homemade hot cocoa, and cinnamon apple sauce ornaments at Christmas; lemonade stands, homemade popsicles, and picnics in the summer. I know I don't have to tell you girls this...you both know all too well that mama has a holiday freak flag, and she waves it proudly. Which is why all of this rain has me in a bit of a panic...it is mid-July, and my summer bucket list-the one with the neatly handwritten to-do's and the cute little check-boxes, is hidden somewhere on my desk, lost in a pile of junk mail. All of this rain is hindering me from making check-marks, as it is nearly impossible to cross off items such as "pick blueberries", "make a bonfire", or "go fishing" in the pouring rain. But today I am desperate. Things are unraveling here. Summer is wilting away, much like the flowers in my planting bed that were so vibrant and perky just a few weeks ago. Time is running out, and boredom has set in, bringing with it a hefty dose of cabin fever. Arguments have begun to break out between sisters, and I have heard the word "Mama" just one too many times. I have to do something (anything!), and so I begin the search for buried treasure....my misplaced bucket list, and hopefully this rainy day's saving grace. I shuffle through the stacks of papers until I find it, stuck between the water bill and a Pottery Barn catalog. My heart skips a beat at the sight of it....you see, it's not just any list. A bucket list is a bright, shiny promise. A promise of a summer well spent, if I can just manage to fill in the majority of those blank boxes with a "been there-done that" check mark. A bucket list is a simple reminder not to let these precious childhood summers waste away with you girls parked in front of the T.V., watching episodes of SpongeBob Squarepants while your I.Q. slowly diminishes before my very eyes. Seriously, girls, look it up...there is research proving that your I.Q. temporarily decreases after watching the show with the sponge named Bob and the morbidly obese starfish. Don't watch it!! :)

The sound of little feet slapping against kitchen tile breaks my train of thought, and I turn from my desk to see the source of all the "pitter-pattering". It is you, Lydia, hair mussed from a restful night, sleepy smile on your face. I start the mental count-down..."one, two, three"...I won't make it to "30" before your sister wakes up. The two of you have an uncanny ability to wake up at the exact same time. I make it to "26" before I hear the first "Mama" of the morning, a little cry coming from the crib down the hall. It is you, Addison, calling for me to come and rescue you from the confines of your bed. I walk quickly down the hall, a woman on a mission, muttering something under my breath about "thumbing my nose at Mother Nature", and "Take that! Bucket List!!!". Little hands reach for me, and I giggle as little lips mumble incoherent remnants from last night's dreams. In case you were wondering, two year olds dream about bears eating sticks :). We make our way to the kitchen, the three of us, and I grab the paper from the desk, holding it high above my head as I declare it to be a bucket list kind of day, despite what Mother Nature may say.

But first things first. Empty bellies must be fed. I decide to forego the usual cold cereal or frozen pancake routine, and make a "fancy" breakfast. I have learned, girls, that any meal can be made "fancy" if you add candles and special dishes :). After a quick inventory of the pantry, I decide on homemade cinnamon rolls....the special, made-from-scratch recipe with the secret ingredient(it's vanilla....shhhh....don't tell anyone), and scrambled cheese eggs. I turn the music on...an old Alabama album, tie a cute apron on, and dance around the kitchen, a wooden spoon my microphone as I sing the lyrics, "Why Lady Why". The two of you giggle, watching your mama spin around and around. I cook the eggs the way they are meant to be cooked...on low and slow, and we sing and sway as I run the rubber spatula through the eggs, sprinkle in the cheese. I let the two of you drizzle the cream cheese icing over the hot cinnamon rolls, and try to ignore the drips that land on the floor, the countertop, the fingers. Soap and water will clean the mess away, but these memories? They will remain. I pour "coffee" for the two of you...a spoonful of the bitter liquid, mixed with sweet, cold cream in tiny espresso cups. Everything is perfect...fancy dishes heaped with cheese eggs and warm, sweet rolls; taper candles glowing, wax spilling down the sides into the glass holders; coffee in tiny cups with tiny spoons, waiting for tiny lips to come and taste.

We prance around the kitchen one last time and I sweep you into my arms, Addison, holding you like a baby, dancing to the music. We giggle, and I spin around to see a little girl with tear-soaked eyes and a shy smile. It is you, my sweet Lydia, and you whisper the words my mother heart needs to hear. "We are gonna remember this, Mama", you say. The words are spoken softly, but shoot through me like a bullet, splitting my heart wide open, and I see the moment for what it is: extraordinary masked in the ordinary. It is what I preach, what I believe to be one-hundred percent true, and what I sometimes so easily forget. Life doesn't just happen on the bucket list days...the vacations, the holidays, the planned activities and outings. Sometimes the most beautiful memories are made on the ugliest of days...the little in-between moments of life.

And so I lay my bucket list on the table beside me as I take a big bite of warm cinnamon roll. I watch you girls lick sticky-sweet icing from your little fingers, eyes shining bright with happiness, and I run to grab a pen, scrawling the words hurriedly across the top of my bucket list. "What does it say, Mama?", you ask. I smile contentedly as I read the words aloud and place a little check-mark beside them. "Make beautiful memories on ugly days".

It is a day and a moment I will never forget. Thank you girls for making life beautiful, even on the yucky, "in-between" kind of days. I love you more than cinnamon rolls :).

Love,

Mama

 

 

The cold February wind whips her ponytail, sending strands of gold swirling around her face as she races ahead of me into the distance. She lowers her body close to the handlebars, legs and feet pedaling hard, carrying her farther away from me....a little dot in the distance. I pick up my pace, break into a run, trying to catch up. "Slow down!", I call breathlessly into the space between us. My heart pounds, blood pumping adrenaline, as I watch her turn around, bicycle teetering on the edge of meeting concrete. She laughs, hops off her bike, and walks it back to meet me. Her ponytail swishes...back and forth, back and forth, like a prancing pony.

 

And I stand stock still, breath caught in throat.

 

Hadn't my mother said those same words to me only yesterday? "You look like a prancing pony, swishing your tail back and forth when you walk", she had said, laughter in her eyes. My cheeks had blushed red as she gathered me into a hug, assuring me that being like a pony was a good thing. Only that wasn't yesterday, was it? No, that was twenty-seven years ago, and where did the time go? Tears spring to my eyes, then spill over as I think about the morning phone call:news of my mother's best friend, laying in a hospital bed, fighting the last battle she would ever face. A woman who had watched me grow up, loved me, prayed for me. How can this be? My thoughts spin, bumping into one another...present-reality and memories colliding, and this can't be right...shouldn't I be eight, and riding my bicycle, my mother in her 30's, watching her baby pedal into the distance, ponytail flying, and calling for me to "just slow down"?

 

But I am NOT eight, and my mother? She will never be thirty again. I think about life, and cycles, and how it all feels so cruel in this moment. My grandmother, in the ground. My mother, taking my grandmother's place, me taking my mother's, Lydia taking mine. Time marches on. What were those last words my mother's friend had spoken to me, a mere two weeks ago? "Time goes by so quickly, and children, they grow up so fast", she had said. I can hardly breathe.

 

She trots toward me, pushing her bike, then hops onto the seat, a whir of gears and wind racing past me. I reach my hand out, touch a strand of that wild, wind-tangled hair, gold like honey, as she pedals by. "Slow down", I whisper into the space between us. "Slow down".

 

I walk after her, watching the brave jumps and turns of a little girl unafraid of getting hurt. My feet thump the pavement, and all the while, my heart thumps the thought to my brain: One chance. One chance. ONE. CHANCE. Fear grips my heart like a vice, and I pray. I only get one chance to teach these girls, and how do I tell them, show them, when to say "no", when to be quiet and walk away, when to say "yes, yes, absolutely yes"??? One chance. One chance. ONE. CHANCE. I only have one chance to do what God has called me to do, and do I even know what that thing is??? I pray as I walk, chasing after the big girl, the little girl in the stroller below me. I pray...pray....pray. For direction. For clairty and purpose. A thought: two simple words, strung together in my mind. Light stand. I remember this is from scripture, but can't place the words, and wonder why I have thought of this now. I pray...pray...pray.

 

It is later on, in the quiet of the evening, while the washer spins and dinner bakes up, warm and brown in the oven, that I search for the scripture. I find it: Matthew 5:13-16. I read it again and again, trace my fingers over the words written for me. Why am I always surprised when He speaks to me? He is a father, MY father, after all.

 

Matthew 5:13-16 (from the Message Bible)

Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of the earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage. Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand-shine! Keep open house, be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in Heaven.

 

The answer to my prayers, in black and white. I am a light on a stand. YOU are a light on a stand. Shining in our homes, in our families, our communities. The ways in which we shine, in which we open ourselves and God up to others, is unique. We all have special talents, and I am not sure in what ways God wants to use me, but I DO know this: I can shine in little ways, in little places, each and every day. I do not want to hide my light under a bucket. We only have ONE CHANCE to shine for God, to fulfill our purpose, to impact one another's lives for the better. Now you know what your purpose is, as do I :). My prayer is that each and every person that reads this will realize the impact that their life can have...in big ways, and in small, tiny ways, adding up to something bigger than they could ever imagine. The choices we make. The words spilling from our mouths, our pens, our keyboards. Our actions and our reactions. It ALL matters, and it can ALL have an effect on the kingdom of Heaven, whether good or bad. We have a purpose....to be a light on a stand, a city on a hill. I pray that God will reveal to you, to me, the ways in which He would have us shine. ONE. CHANCE. What will you do with yours???

 

Big Hugs,

Julie

It is early. My alarm clock rings, the sound of little girl cries echoing down the hallway. I squint into the early morning light, pull the covers tightly around me, and sigh deeply. The heavy weight of exhaustion, one too many late nights spent working, falls heavily on my body, pinning me to the bed, and the only thing I want to do is roll over and fall back to sleep. The cries ring out again, this time a little louder. Sadness overcomes me as I stumble out of bed. I don't want to feel this way, I think to myself. I want to feel rested, happy to get up and start my day with that sweet little toddler. I think on this as I walk to her room. I picture my life as a scale, my family and myself on one side, my career, goals, and dreams on the other. I cringe, envisioning the weight that each side carries. If all of my focus and energy is on my business, what happens to the rest?

 

 

I grab my camera as I walk to her room, put a smile on my face, pretend that I am not tired. She is there in her crib, blanket and stuffed animals in little arms, ready to be picked up and loved. I sing her a good morning song, scoop her up and carry her to the couch for cartoons and apple juice. I make little pancakes for little hands to eat...just her size, with just enough butter and syrup. Morning rituals...the ordinary, everyday routine. Or is it ordinary? I think about this as I clear the breakfast dishes, wipe the sticky syrup from tiny fingers, clean the counters. Isn't the ordinary , the everyday...well, EVERYTHING??? All these moments stacking up into a life...writing the story of who we are. I wonder what she will remember of these days? Will she remember a mother glued to a computer screen, constantly working? I flinch. Tears sting the back of my eyelids, salt to wound. We sit on the floor and play, lay together and snuggle on the couch. I watch her...study her little features...her furrowed brow as she studies a Max and Ruby book; her tangled mess of curls splayed against the back of the couch; a tiny button nose, a scrunchy-faced smile. All these moments, all this life already lived. Have I done it right? I am unsure.

 

Evening comes. I watch the sun set through the trees. Another day, come and gone. I think about success....have been thinking about it for days now, and how it can have so many different definitions. Do I want it? Yes, I want to be successful, but there are other things I want more in this life. I am madly, passionately in love with photography, but you might question that if you heard my recent prayers. You see, I asked God to take photography away from me if it was not what He wanted for me. A scary, brave, gut-wrenching prayer but a cry to God to show me what He wants for my life. My business has boomed bigger than ever before since that prayer. But God has given me big choices to make. I can say "yes" to having clients every day of the week, say "yes" to every opportunity that arises, but if I say "no" to time with my children, I have failed. If I say "yes" to more appointments and more clients, but say "no" to going to church or spending time in God's Word, then I am a failure. No amount of success in business will cover the sins of neglecting the family God has given me or a relationship with Him. The impact of choices weigh heavy on a life. All of my "yes-es", all of my "no's"...they are my values reflected in a single syllable. What we say "yes" to BECOMES our life. I decide on a personal definition of success: being able to run my business on a schedule that would allow me to give more "yes-es" to my family and to God. Less focus on selfish goals, and more time focused on raising little souls. A prayerful seeking of God's direction for my business and my life. Peace fills my heart. It's all about balance, priorities.

 

Night falls. I tuck her in, kiss her goodnight. I lay in bed but can't fall asleep. I think about that little girl down the hall, and how much she needs me. All of me...a fully present mother. I go to her, kneel beside her bed and pray. "God, if you let anything I desire slip through my fingers, don't let it be this. Please, not this. Not the love and happiness of my innocent children. Not their sweet souls that you have entrusted me to care for. Let it be me, Lord. If I lose anything in this life, let it be of my own selfish desires."

 

I feel it in my bones as I sit before her bed, kneeling at the throne-room of God. My greatest, God-given desire is to be the mother He created me to be. I won't take this one life I've been given for granted. I won't waste a childhood glued to a computer screen, or chasing meaningless things. I will reach my personal goals and dreams a little at a time, while building a beautiful life for my family.

 

I gather her warm, sleeping body in my arms and carry her to my bed. I snuggle her close, smile as I watch her dream. I touch the soft fleece of her favorite nightgown...the one with the pink and brown ponies; I bury my face in her messy curls. I breathe in the smell of her shampoo, sweet like honey, and trace fingertips across rosebud lips. Beauty in the mundane. Extraordinary in the ordinary. An entire life built in these small moments. The seconds ticking by, building into minutes, then hours, days, years, a lifetime. What I do with this time is a choice...Lord, please give me the wisdom to always make the right one.

 

 

Big hugs,

Julie

I married adventure. Tom Sawyer in a grown man's body...always on the search for woods or water, a place to fish, to explore, a new path to travel down, a different way of doing things. We are like night and day, he and I. Type A in love with Type B. Right brain married to left brain. He, the adventurous, yet calculated, organized one, always with a method to his madness. Me, the spontaneous, restless, creative one, forever dreaming and leaping before I look. Somehow it is a wonderful mix ;). If we didn't have the personalities we have, there would probably never be any sneaking onto private property in the middle of the night to go fishing; no getting up in the middle of the night to share icecream from the same bowl; no pulling over on the side of the road to explore the woods; and no wrestling in the floor until somebody gets hurt(oh, who am I kidding...it's always me ;)). And what kind of life would that be? He holds my hand in church every Sunday, sneaks back into our daughter's rooms in the middle of the night with me to watch them sleep, and makes me laugh at the dumbest things ;). It just works, and that is all that matters.

 

The day we met, I scared him. I like to tell the story...I was jogging one way, he the other when I stopped him to ask a question. I don't even know why I did it. I didn't really have a question...I just made something up ;). He ripped his headphones off like he was scared that something was wrong. He later told me that he thought I must have been being chased by a dog or something if I was talking to him, haha! Little did we know that was the beginning of a beautiful love story. Page 1: jog past the love of your life on a walking trail :). The rest is history. I fell inlove with the man through text messages. He wrote to me in the most sincere, heartfelt way, and my thirsty heart soaked it in like a sponge. He told me I was the most special, wonderful, beautiful girl on the planet...and my heart believed him :). I told my sister within one week of meeting him that I was pretty sure he was the most wonderful human being I had ever met. Luckily, he felt the same about me :). I remember our phone conversations in the wee hours of the morning, lasting so late I would fall asleep with the phone in my hand. I remember the first time we kissed, the first time he told me that he loved me, the day he proposed, and his face as I walked down the aisle. I remember our laughter over the (+) sign on the pregnancy test, the way he held me tight when we thought we might lose our precious baby, and the love in his eyes when he held that beautiful girl in his arms just moments after she was born.

 

I think on these things tonight as I sit and work at my desk. The sheer beauty of it all...the answered prayer of a man that was everything my wounded heart needed, and I sigh. I don't give this man enough credit. I don't. How many times have I nagged about something petty, or taken something out on him that he didn't deserve? Probably too many, I am afraid. I am so blessed, and still so in love. I make up my mind....resolve to be the wife that he deserves. He deserves a "run and jump" hug when he comes home from work. He deserves to be told that he is amazing, and that I am proud of him. He deserves the best I can give. 

 

It is late when I finally stumble into bed. He is there...deep, even breaths of peaceful slumber. I sneak quietly into bed beside him, try not to wake him. I tuck my cold, bare feet underneath his legs to warm them, just as I do every night, and snuggle in close to rest my head on his chest. He stirs, rolls over, half-asleep, and he whispers my name. "Julie?" "What is it?", I ask. "You're my favorite.", he says softly in my ear. I smile into the darkness, tears filling my eyes, and I fall in love all over again as he sleeps soundly next to me.

 

 

 Julie