she's all her.

The questions about "who does she look like?" and "who is she like?" come up from time to time. Watching her at the fair last month, I just kept thinking about how she is such her own person. So brave. So ready for adventure. So ready to laugh as she spins and dances and twirls in this world. So ready to say how she feels and what she wants and what she doesn't like. So ready to just be herself.

Jon and I are more of the "let's sit down and read or just be quiet" kind of people. Well, I'm more of the "let's sit down and solve the world problems and laught a lot" kind. Neither one of us has ever been much for climbing and spinning and sliding down the tallest slides ever. Nope. And we both have histories of keeping our wants inside, not wanting to rock the boat.

And then there's Ellie. 

She is teaching us every day with her wild, stubborn, brave, light-filled ways. 

She is awesome.

(And I finally caught them both with their dimples. Yep. In that photo she looks like her daddy.)

this is...

This is not a post about how I haven't been to Paris yet.

This is not a post about how sad I am that I didn't have professional photos taken while I was pregnant or right after Ellie was born.

This is not a post about how I'm still thinking about the food Persephone made at the Feast Retreat (and how I need to make some in my kitchen).

This is not a post about why I (still) watch Grey's Anatomy.

This is not a post about Millie's chronic ear infection and how she's moved on to the needing to see a specialist phase and how intense, sad, and expensive it is.

This is not a post about how I want to teach more workshops around the country and how I'm wondering how to make that happen.

This is not a post about how much I really want to start an art journal practice.

This is not a post about me sharing how I really feel when someone says, "Soak up every minute. They just grow up so fast. You will miss this."

This is not a post about the incredible number of words Ellie says in a day or an hour and how much that sound delights every corner of my being.

This is not a post about how much I really want to be invited to a party where I can wear my never-been-worn favorite party dress.

This is not a post about how much I still love my hair cut.

This is not a post about how much I miss you.

This is not a post about the quiet moments when doubt sneaks in.

This is not a post about the exquisite taste of fig jam + goat cheese + prosciutto.

No.

This is a post about one family taking a walk in their neighborhood on a Sunday evening and finding the most incredible evidence of a Pacific Northwest Spring along the edges of the sidewalk. Walking, running, naming every color and every shade of every color, telling me which flowers to photograph, and chatting the entire time. 

This is a post about getting back into nature in the simplest ways to clear one's head of all that chatter.

Yes, this.

(These colors inspired several of the new soul mantra necklaces in the shop.)

seeking evidence in a well-lived home

succulents in the family room

Every now and then when I look around my home, I get overwhelmed by what I think other people's expectations are for a home. How neat, how "company ready," how "clean it should be so you can hire a cleaning lady" kind of expectations.

peek at the beginnings of our nature table

Last week, I almost got bogged down in that overwhelm again as I looked at the tall stack of random clean laundry on the dryer, the "never can get it white" grout in between the blue tiles of the kitchen counter, the paper that never finds the right spot to land.

where her shoes land before bath each night

To clear my head, I turned to my camera as a way to seek evidence of how we are really living in this home.

a new jewelry collection in progress

the two Mickeys she insisted Grandma sleep with while she was visiting

bathtime/bathroom time needs

left behind after the last breakfast tea party with grandma

And I kept finding these beautiful pieces of us. The bits of clutter and real that reveal who we are in our beautiful, often messy, lived-in, little home. 

Sometimes you need the close-up lens of the camera to push you back to seeing what you actually know.

a favorite happy bowl

An invitation

Use your camera lens to capture the evidence of a life well lived in your home. Notice the little details beyond the surface. This would be an awesome Project Life prompt (especially if you don't have a lot of photos one week). 

***

In Inner Excavation, there is an entire chapter about what we gather to us. The book invites you to dive deeply into noticing your world, noticing you through self-portraits in photography, poetry, and mixed media.

Order your own copy signed by me here.

this is not...

this is not a post about how not being enough is tugging on me today.

this is not a post about how sometimes i think about how small ellie jane's heart was inside her nine-pound body when she had surgery and the way that thought almost pushes me into a ball in the corner but then she will run into the room and laugh and insist on putting on her sparkle shoes so she can run outside and i find my breath again.

this is not a post about how the labels that float across the universe and into my mind feel like leaden balloons that won't let me dance the way my heart and legs long to dance.

this is not a post about how i almost forgot to pay attention because i was so wrapped up in the old story of feeling forgotten.

this is not a post about how i've had two horrible nightmares in the last two weeks that i still can't shake since they seemed so real.

this is not a post about how much i'm looking forward to staying at the ACE hotel in Portland next weekend and how i am slowly realizing i have an entire day to myself on monday with nothing on the agenda until the evening.

this is not a post about how i'm having first day of school jitters about the world domination summit.

this is not a post about how much i can't wait to show you the photographs vivienne took at the your story retreat.

this is not a post about how i might be the only person excited that it hasn't been hot this summer (yet).

this is not a post about how much i love my new haircut.

this is not a post about how much iced tea i plan to drink from my huge starbucks cup this summer.

this is not a post about how sometimes i talk about simple silly things because all i really want to talk about is grief.

this is not a post about how much i wish you would remember. 

this is a post about how important it is to do things together, just the two of us. even if one of us is working on her half of the table. even if we are annoying each other. even if the restaurant is so loud we can't have a conversation. even if i might get more "done" alone. even if he would have rather gone to a movie. yes. this is a post to remind me to create more space for two people who need to see one another.

scenes from an evening

*****

last evening, i closed the laptop and didn't open it again until this morning. the to do list is long and varied over here, but if i don't give myself permission to take a break, the truth is, the joy simply gets lost and seems to hang out with the dog fur under the couch.

this path is hard at times. this taking care of ellie and working from home each day. yesterday was a day when her health "stuff" was more front and center, and this adds a layer of emotion that is hard to explain. i keep trying to come up with a metaphor to help the people in my life understand, and all i can come up with is that having a child with specific health issues causes a family to feel a bit fractured...disjointed. the days are unpredictable. we get into the groove similar to what i imagine most parents of an eight-month old are in, and then i suddenly notice her heart beating faster than it should. i push myself not to panic but out comes the stethoscope and i listen, hoping. our days revolve around three doses of medication that must be refrigerated. i carry certain things in her diaper bag that other mamas probably don't because i know what it is like to be told that you have to go to the ICU. right. now. 

so when she finally fell asleep yesterday afternoon, and i was in a place where i was trusting she is going to be okay until i can talk to the cardiologist today, i decided to play with fabric for a change. pushing all my beads and lockets and list of custom orders to one side of the kitchen table, i began to sew something just for me. i probably should have napped (as the days and nights have been intense this week with a tooth finally popping through), but i just needed the rhythm of that sewing machine and the joy of patchworked colors side by side.

when jon got home, i closed the laptop and tried to just be right here in the moment with my little family. my heart felt bigger and more like it was at home as i simply took it all in...

i love that snapping just a few photos from this evening will always remind me of these truths.