caustic soul madness and deflated balloons.

My heart is on the verge of something great, revolutionary even; To my soul anyway. I'm getting this sense, this feeling. Presumptively I believe it's "the Lord", soberly I believe it's something far more mortal. My resident guerrillas inevitably emerge to hose me with their caustic soul-battering slurs of *Fraud! Fraud! Fraud! You silly little girl with your deflated, subject-to-pooling-where-you-lie-stomach and your shallow mind, and your godforsaken well of so-called knowledge. You'll be found out, you will.*

*Darn.*

The truth is, I've learned to be amused by their banterings, their curses. They've become less consequential, less inducing. Indeed, I've happened upon the God who holds my breath in His hands and owns all my ways. He has captured me fully. I am now undeniably and irrevocably His; always have been. There's something about the written Word of God that just makes things better, simpler, more sound. Oh crap! Here they come. *Seriously, Christie? You've just now figured this out?*

*Silly Satan.*



So yeah, so my stomach looks, in part, like it belongs to an 80 year old. It's been inflated and deflated twice with two glorious, state-of-the-art kids to show for it and my knack for knowledge and wisdom and the like is puny at best. But so what? My Dad is God, ok?

what if I'm not interesting.

So does the fact that I ended a question with a period make me interesting? Or, oh, I've got it, the fact that it thrills my heart incessantly when I get to type in those security checks when you're buying something online or commenting on someone's blog and they read things like "Tuesday Lunatic" or "Panther Cheese". I love the freedom in writing two words together that are haphazard and fortuitous. Happiness.

I want to be like her when I get older.

Or I at least want the freedom to do what she's doing at some point on some random occasion. Like one minute I'm workin' some crossword puzzle in the Reader's Digest and the next I'm like, "Oh hells yes, I need my fuchsia pants NOW, and where are my Kristoff Maduros and my sneakers?" Sometimes you just need that. I guess.

I'm at least wearing Elf socks and flashing 4th of July earrings when the occasion is appropriate and I might not wait 'til I'm 65.

trees in winter.

Void. Grey. Dead, brittle wood stretches, climbs like ambitious businessmen from frozen dirt. Cold and sparse, dense and unorganized, life hibernating for endless miles, as far as the eye can see. Airy in it's entirety, dry, yet somehow still beautiful because I know what is within, what is to come.

I am filled with longing and hope.

Sometimes I see my heart this way. Not always, sometimes. I see my resident condition as this arid but frozen plot of ground. I know life and color are eminent yet elusive in my sense of hope. Maybe that is not hope at all. Maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe it's all a mirage, simply a comforting idea like drinking Hot Chocolate while decorating your Christmas tree when in reality you stuffed yourself at dinner and tasted the cookie dough so much you feel nauseous and weighted. You still drink it though. As if not doing so would render the evening less memorable. I do this all the time.

So maybe if I didn't hope for freedom and a Savior, my life would mean less, have less significance. But then as assuredly as my doubt emerges, my so-called faith rises to meet my thoughts and mind, my heart. This doubting is ludicrous. Haven't I enough evidence, both physical and spiritual to anchor my wandering, unpredictable, freakishly inconsistent heart forever? Indeed I do.

But for today, I remain alien to this world of peace that supposedly transcends our understanding. I remain, for today, a skeptic, possibly a cynic even.

Oh God, if you hear the groanings of your people, hear me now. For I am a wandering child striving desperately to chart my path but observing only brittle tree after tree. Every one looking identical to the others before them, no way to possibly know where I'm going or certainly where I've been. No landmark. No map. I feel lost. Your Word even at times remains confusing, unfathomable. I long for a way out. Not sure if you can help, hoping beyond all hope that you are who you claim to be. Help me with my unbelief. I have resolved to go on, even to wander until I find You. Until You find me.

my awesome Mom and Pops.

So I don't think I've had more fun photographing anyone in my life. My folks are crazy yo. But super cute!

This next one is after telling them to look like they're in love...

And THIS next one is after I told them to look like they're on the cover of "Silver Retirement Cosmopolitan" or something like that...

They actually started acting like their bones were on fire. Holy Mother they're so crazy.


And pre-shoot, I needed to test my light. When my Dad saw that I was taking a picture of him, this is what he did. Seriously dude? I love him. I love her.

the coolest kids ever.

10 years ago I became an aunt to the most special little girl of all time. You see, she and I have a special connection. I'm her 'Bistie'. Still. Before I had kids of my own, I couldn't imagine loving another baby as much as I loved this girl. Kerri, you remain a vital part of my heart.

And meet Aidan. He's a super hero. No, I'm serious. Don't mess.

And Elly Grace... ahhhhh, Elly Grace.

Abby & Chris' Rockstar Romance Session - [Hampton Roads Couples Photographer]

So if there ever was a couple who were completely natural and ushy gushy in front of the camera it was these two. They describe themselves as an old Italian couple. I saw none of that going on, just lots a lovin'. This gorgeous couple was a freakin' BLAST to photograph. What an awesome evening! These are some of my faves.

The Sibs - [Hampton Roads Family Photographer]

I was seriously honored to have spent some time with these fabulous siblings! The love and attentiveness they showed one another, not to mention their hysterical banterings made them a blast to be around. Thanks guys for letting me glimpse your family for the afternoon! These precious peeps gave the gift of photography to their Mom for Christmas. Here are some snaps from the day. Booya.

"If They Could Just Stay Little"

It's on the cover of Jersey's Baby book. I debated. How silly. You can't wish them tiny forever, can you? Selfish. Unhealthy.

Here I am, sometimes dreaming back the days of Jersey as my warm, squishy baby girl, tied to "Sah-Buh" and passy and me. And now my Zion. Willing him to stay a baby, but alas he grows. Barely hanging on to his "Ba-Ba" and utterly passy addicted. That part, I secretly love.

Yes, I'm a Mama of young-ins. I can't imagine life with them big, independent. For now, our favorite part of each day, yes all of us, is snuggled up on the couch reading books, warmed by Christmas lights and Jesus blankets and we're happy. So gosh, what's the harm. They'll grow, I'll adjust, and life will be as it should. And right now, life is as it should. I love my life, yes, sometimes mourning yesterday's passing but filled with hope for all of tomorrow.

But come on, look at him. You can't deny the appeal.

simple and in love.

Dear my Dearest Hubby ever,

First of all I must say that I'm stealing this idea from a fellow photog blogger, the idea of writing to you about the little things we may forget... that I may forget. Because they're simple and nothing especially noteworthy. Just the pure lovliness that is my life with you. I'm such a sucker for these kinds of sentiments. Such a sap. ** I'm seeing you do that half head-cocked laugh and the slight roll of your eyes that isn't quite rude, just a little playful mixed with the YES, we've been married for 7 years and 364 days and not afraid to show it a little.**

Anyway, this is what makes my heart happy today and everyday.

Last night while ironing your shirts, hating it but loving that your shirts radiate that smell that is only you. I love that smell. It makes me feel at home and happy. And remember my birthday? Wasn't it perfect? You made it perfect. Thank you. My roses are still amazing. I love that you gave me the 'we've been married for like 50 years card that says, "For my Wife" in that fancy cursive font with the music notes floating in the background. Oh, and I loved laughing with you last night. You actually laughed at one of my jokes. You NEVER laugh and my jokes. I love keeping you awake when you so desperately want to go to sleep, talking a mile a minute and you not hating me for it.

My favorite part of today was seeing our daughter run to you as you were leaving the house for your special goodbye ritual. Kisses and big hugs and hopes of your return. Oh yes, and it made me happy when you asked yesterday why there wasn't coffee brewing. Can't explain it. Just made me feel all warm and cozy.... or is it cosy? I've seen it both ways. And no, it wasn't by a 3rd grader.

I like reading with you, walking with you... that is, JUST you. :) Haven't done that in a while. I like playing Warlords and drinking coffee and talking about Micro-Economics and your genius theory of Certainty. I love your mind. It completely fascinates me. I love that when I bring up my parents dog you say weird things like, "What your Mom needs to do is weigh the benefit of having a dog with the opportunity costs she is blah, blah, blah...." See? I'm not even saying it right. Ughhhhh!

Anyway, you are the craziest, most intelligent, hottest man in the world and I'm glad I get to spend normal everyday days with you.

what I'm looking forward to the most.

I turn 30 in 5 days. WHAT?!?!?! Where does life go?

Well, in light of my birthday fast approaching my awesome hubby brought up the subject at dinner last night. My 3 year old, Jersey pipes in,

Her: "Mommy, what do you want to do for your birthday?"
Me: "Hmmmmmm"
Her: "Like, wif each uhver"
(before I could answer...)
Her: "I could get out my baby doll stuff. Do you want to play baby dolls wif each uhver?"
Me: "Are you kidding? YES!!! That is exactly what I want to do on my birthday!!!"

Seriously? She makes me smile and makes each day sweeter. What I'm looking forward to the most about turning 30 is starting the year off with my favorite thing to do. Playing baby dolls with my daughter on the floor beside her bed. And even though AS SOON as I meticulously dress, wrap, and feed MY baby doll, she ALWAYS, asks to "trade". AS SOON as I get my baby doll just the way I want her... she asks to trade. Let it go, Christine, you're turning 30.

Here she is. Isn't she lovely...