World-Splitting Words

“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.” – Muriel Rukeyser

I can already feel the hairline cracks and silent fissures taking form. The perilous quake has begun- my legs shudder beneath me, knees gently knocking, as the ground threatens (promises?) to open up beneath me.

A mere three days ago I took my first leap. For years leading up to that, I had remained relatively silent- peering frantically about, and hoping desperately to find some other woman’s voice to speak for me. I was looking for the companionship of like minds- women who would make me feel less alone, by using their words to express my agony. I longed for women who would name the struggles, expose the lies, ask the difficult (even reckless) questions, and be brave enough to settle in comfortably with radical and unconventional answers. Answers that challenged the prevailing notions about God and humanity, motherhood and marriage, power, prosperity and success. I thought that if I could just find others who had mustered the courage to speak up, if I could watch them walk through the fire and emerge on the other side- stronger and unscarred, then perhaps I could follow in their footsteps, and my own world wouldn’t implode. I was so afraid that if I spoke up myself (and similarly, spoke up for myself), that when I looked out around me, I would find that I was standing all alone. I was literally paralyzed by the fear that I would not only scare off everyone already in my life, but that no one else would show up to stand in the gaps. I suppose that deep down the real fear was that I was unlovable- that my questions were too big, my ideas too startling, and that ,as my friend Ronna would put it, all in all I was just “too much.”

Some of you who know me may be snickering. Others of you may simply be thinking- I’ve never thought of Lauren as someone who lurked in silence. On the contrary, I’ve always heard her speak her mind, have her say, articulate her opinions. And, in a sense, you would be correct. I have always been a passionate person, and will usually let you know my thoughts on a given subject. Sometimes, whether you’ve asked or not. But in the face of opposition, ultimately, I tend to back down. Shut up. Hold my position in private, while smiling agreeably in public. What I’d learned through voicing my truth in the past, was that when I spoke out my convictions, without apology, exception or a slew of accompanying disclaimers, doing so threatened my relationships.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. How we as women are relational beings, down to our very core. And how, so often, relationship is the currency that is used to quiet us down and stifle the sound of our voices.

“What?! You don’t think women were created to submit to a man? Your marriage is on the line!”

“You’re kidding, right?! You think it’s time we started referring to God as “She” and tipping the scales back into balance? You obviously don’t know the one true God, and you’ll be separated from Him for eternity!”

“Are you serious?! You want to work outside of the home, while your child is cared for by someone else? You’re risking the integrity of your relationship with her!”

“You should reconsider!! You want to say out loud, once and for all, what your uncle did to those little boys, so that he never has the access or ability to hurt children again? Why, you’ll tear apart the fabric of your entire family!”

Whether explicitly or implicitly, we are told again and again, day in and day out that if we dare to raise our voice, we risk destroying our relationships. We’ll lose friends. Piss off and push away our families. We’ll be excommunicated from our churches. We’ll separate ourselves from “the one true” God. We’ll end up all alone.

“Step out of line little lady, and you won’t just lose something, you’ll inevitably lose someone.”

But as I’ve set my eyes on the horizon in search of these kindred spirits who would “tell my story,” do you know what I’ve found? A much bigger world than most people wanted me to see. I’ve found a whole chorus of voices that sound like my own. And I’ve subsequently found both the good sense to stop expecting my voice to materialize outside of myself, and the courage to unleash my own truth with tenacity and vigor. I’m not buying the lie anymore. I will not be alone!

Will I lose some “friends” by standing tall and speaking my truth, come what may? Yes. Will my failure to back down, my refusal to slump over so that I’m just small enough to keep the people in my life comfortable, mean that some people will decide that I’m “too much” and abandon me? Yup. There will most certainly be painful relational fractures that threaten to break my heart in half, and leave it with a limp. These are scary and threatening realities that I do not take lightly.

But, ultimately I take comfort. Will new, vital and resilient relationships grow up out of the fertile soil of my authenticity? I can finally say with confidence and conviction- Yes!

photo credit: madebyhank @ Flickr

Will the authentic me attract more substantial and soul-nurturing friendships with staying power? You’d better believe it! Will unleashing my voice set it free to find other women who are struggling in the wilderness, and ultimately help us all to build a healing, vibrant and thriving tribe? HECK YEAH! And it is with those revolutionary certainties tucked inside my pocket, that I can step forward with grace, confidence and the volume turned up on my voice.

Lenten Reflection

"Weeping Nude" by Edvard Munch

Yesterday, I linked to this Lenten Reflection from my Facebook page. Perhaps if I had merely posted the link, and left my ‘commentary’ out of it, it would have been a virtual non-event, quickly and unceremoniously buried in what is the swift-moving stream of the Facebook News Feed. Instead, I prefaced the link with these words: “The only kind of Lent I can conceive of or practice right now…” and thus began a firestorm of sorts. Now, you wouldn’t know it by looking at the comments that followed on my Facebook wall. Less than a handful of friends responded publicly, and those who did were either empathetic or, seemingly, on the same page.

It was the private response my words elicited that planted the seeds that blossomed into this post.

On the one hand, I both understood and appreciated the motive of the people who began addressing me privately. As a culture, we have been trained to protect the ones we love by keeping their personal business private. And for God’s sake, there are still plenty of private details I’d prefer to keep under lock and key, thank you very much. But, I have to admit that I was struck, in this particular instance, by the immediate instinct of others to move the conversation behind closed doors. Perhaps my confusion stems from the fact that I had already willingly posted those words way out in the open, for my nearly 700 Facebook friends to see. Transparency was not exactly something I was running from, if my medium was any indication.

But then it occurred to me. The folks who engaged me outside the realm of Facebook did so using a very particular type of language. They used words like “dark,” “disturbing” and “desperate.” And as I examined the way they addressed me (privately), and the words they used in doing so (words we tend to associate with socially unacceptable emotions), I began to understand their attempts at engaging me via a different forum. I began to imagine that perhaps, in addition to feeling concern for me, they may have also been embarrassed for me. They might have concluded that I’d be less likely to publicly humiliate myself (any further) if they quickly pulled me aside, and offered me a more private audience for my melancholy. Perhaps they felt it safest for me to air my “desperation” (their words, not mine) in a setting more akin to a therapist’s couch, rather than from the much more public podium I’d utilized. I think they may have even hoped to shield me from appearing hysterical. IN. PUBLIC.

And while I can see how my status (and the blog entry that prompted it ), might seem desperate or disturbing to some- neither of those adjectives (nor the associated feelings) were what prompted me to link to the post. Nor were they foremost in my mind as I reflected upon it. You see, I don't believe that post, or the sentiments it contains, to be overwhelmingly depressing or dark. To the contrary, actually.

I think that our feelings- of loneliness, confusion, pain, and isolation, are given the most power to create desperation if and when we bottle them up or try to bear them alone. What Ronna and Anne Lamott are expressing, even advocating, (and that which I found myself drawn to and agreeing with) is the idea that being open and honest- not sugarcoating the hard stuff- is what makes it all bearable. It's what reminds us that we're not alone...that everyone has hurts and battles and scars that mirror our own- it's the universal human condition! And where we find release and relief from those hurts, those agonies, is in sharing them. I don't think it’s so much about issuing ear-shattering cries of desperation for their own sake. But when given an outlet, a voice, they are much more likely to live and die as struggles, perhaps even crises, rather than eating us alive from the inside out, harbored as smoldering secrets, individual shame, and singularly shouldered despair.

The articulation of such ideas is precisely why I've always been drawn to writers like Anne Lamott. (And Mary Karr. Sue Monk Kidd, and now, Ronna Detrick.) Because they're not likely to shy away from talking about the really shitty stuff. And precisely because of that, they seem to be able to get a handle on it. To bear up under it. Even to thrive in spite of it, while also finding the strength to help other people do the same.

I think we most often stay silent in our hurts and struggles and failures, because we are afraid that if we call them out into the world, that we will be shushed, shamed, or silenced. (Especially as women.) But I also think that the power that we (again, especially as women) possess is the tenderness and truthfulness that are necessary in order to carve out safe spaces in which unfiltered real life and gritty true stories can find expression. No matter how heartbreaking, life-altering, or power-structure-shaking they may be. It is precisely in the telling of our tales, the airing of our secrets, and the sharing of our former shame, that these shackles begin to loosen and relinquish their power over our lives. The hurt begins to dissipate, the wounds to heal, the shame to evaporate. And the Phoenix rises out of the ashes.

So, yes, when I posted what I did- I meant it. Wholeheartedly and unapologetically. I have struggles- sometimes it feels like more than my share. Big questions- the kind that overwhelm and, sometimes, even threaten to overtake me. There are days when I'd like to give in- to pound my fists and flail around on the ground throwing a hissy fit worthy of a 2 year old's reputation. (In fact....is it considered bad form to admit that occasionally my behavior is frighteningly similar to the aforementioned scene?)

I often wonder if casting my gaze downward, putting one foot in front of the other, and settling for contentment in the stead of joy isn't the most practical and reasonable concession I can make. There are hardships and hurts that I haven't finished grieving- and I certainly sense that the world's position on that is that I ought to gloss it over and just get on with it.

So I guess that my point in posting what I did, is to begin to free myself (and in the process, other people) to unleash our voices. To legitimize our collective hurts, as well as the pain that is uniquely ours, and in doing so to watch them begin to diminsh. (Although truth be told, I don’t believe that there’s a whole heckuva lot of unique pain out there. Take comfort, friends!)

I want to empower myself, my friends, and even complete strangers to ignore the societal pressures and protocols that tell us to shut up, get over ourselves, and file pain and heartache away as private matters. A one-woman load. I want to loudly challenge (and ultimately, convert) the voices that tell us we'd better stop being so messy in the public square. That we need to quiet down and fall into line. I want other women to quit trying to conform to the patriarchal constructs that insist that the deep throbbing language of our hearts, and the loud, prophetic echoes of our individual and collective voice are sentimental or silly.

Because I believe that the more often we say these difficult things out loud- these big, scary words and world-shifting ideas that challenge the prevailing notion of what is socially acceptable to 'put out there', the more likely we are to find truer paths to healing. To kindness and goodness. Toward community and compassion. In the direction of peace on earth, good will toward all women (and men).

Home Sweet Home(bound)

Through her eyes:

It's hard to believe that we're now in our third day at home- school cancelled again, and the three of us bouncing around like pinballs inside these walls. Don't get me wrong...there's been plenty of outside time- including 3 trips to the school for sledding on the aptly named Shouting Hill. A little ironic, is it not, that while the school is closed for hazardous road conditions, each day of the closure finds a whole host of families on campus, taking advantage of the sledding hill? (Which, I might add, is just one of the thrills that a 400+ acre campus affords us.)







Last night, in one of my many attempts to ward off the 'stir crazies' that threaten to descend and take hold at any moment, I set Ella loose around the house with our Canon point-n-shoot. If her current obsession with the camera is any indication of things to come, she may end up making her living as a photographer, just like mama!

I enjoyed viewing our cozy little home through her eyes last night, and tend to think we could all benefit from trying to view things through our children's eyes and perspective more often than we do. Anyway, I thought I'd share the view around our little "igloo" as it looks from 3 feet 7 1/2 inches high:

Chalkboard Art:


Daddy's Inbox: (please disregard all the dust!)


Coat Closet:


Bits & Baubles:


Snuggle Spot:


Birds of Prey:


What's for dinner?


Look Up, Look Down:


Look All Around:


Laundry:


Greenery:


These last two are my favorites.

Not only did she catch her feet inadvertently in this picture, but in doing so she composed a shot reminiscent of some of my favorites out there on the web: (thanks, Stine!)


It took me awhile to figure out just what this one was. But ultimately, that's what I like most about it- it's dreamy, indecipherable "under water" quality.


Thanks for taking a peek! How about you? Any budding little artists running around your home? Care to share their most recent projects? How are you keeping the kids occupied inside during this record-breaking snowfall? (And if you're outside the reach of these crazy blizzards and icy roads, please, I beg of you, don't tell me! ::inserting fingers into ears:: )

Snow Day

Right now I'm dancing (meditating?) to Alanis Morissette, painting the mantel, and looking out my (home) office window at this:



And this:


A bit of a departure from my header, no? Speaking of my header...any idea how to adjust things so that it is centered at the top there? I am admittedly not a techno/web-guru, but sure would like to invoke some of that genius now again ;)

So, yeah, I've been glaringly absent. And while there are about 57 good (or at the very least, valid) reasons for it, I'll spare you the sob story. Instead I'm just going to try much, much harder to make my best intentions line up with my daily routines and actions, with consistency. Also, I'll attempt to let go of the paralyzing perfectionism that often keeps me from posting- the whole, if I can't do it "right" than why do it at all? It's silly, and ultimately, its isolating. So I'm giving it up, one post at a time, folks. And we will see, I suppose, how that develops... But if you're willing to hang with me, I'll be willing to let a little more of the real me 'hang out', and in the process give you a little more pay-off for showing up ;)

Speaking of ditching perfection, in deference to real life...I recently stumbled upon the blog of Sarah Rust Sampedro (via a favorite of mine), who is another in a long line of mothers asking questions about how to be accomplished and intentional, creative and committed to both the work of raising children and the work of being an artist- consecutively. I mean, really, let's be honest- sometimes it's hard to do anything else at all (you know, use the bathroom, make a phone call, entertain one uninterrupted thought!) while balancing a babe on your hip, diffusing a toddler's tantrum, or trying to actively and effectively discipline your five year old. (Sunny and serene?!? Who are they KIDDING?!? Cue maniacal mama laughter.) So then how (and out of what reserve) does a mother summon the energy and focus required to make great art? This can be a truly heart-wrenching dilemma for those of us who feel the pull of a creative calling, but are also being pulled, pulled at and pulled on by the tiny, chubby, persistent hands of the little ones we love the most. Sarah is inspiring to me because she's biting the bullet. She's not allowing herself to be swallowed up in the question- she's just doing what she can, when she can, with what she's got. In her own words:

I am a person who, among many other things, happens to be both a photographer and a mother. I want to be successful at both without waiting until I’m fifty, have an empty nest and find myself at a community ed class saying “I used to really like photography and now I’d like to get back into it.”

I will make and post a photograph every day throughout 2010. If, for some reason, I travel somewhere that makes posting impossible, I will still make a daily photograph and post when I am able. This is a practice for me: a practice in creativity, a practice in discipline and a practice of commitment.

So, because I share her question and her longing, I'm hoping to also muster up the strength to mirror her discipline and commitment, as I stretch my own creative muscles, and work to write and photograph and create with intention and consistency.

See you back here (and here) soon...

Practice Makes Perfect (Or, Gratitude Breeds Contentment)

This past week was a long one! Change is nearly always accompanied by some degree of stress, and in addition to taking on a new job back at the beginning of this month, and launching the website for Red Dirt Girl Photography, I've spent the past 2 weeks in my new position preparing for a big and important event that finally took place on Saturday. AND I've been planning our move, slated for exactly one month from today! To say I've felt stressed would be a bit of an understatement ;)

And yet, although stressed, I am grateful. Grateful for this job that allows me to work half the amount of time that I was working previously, but for the same pay. Grateful that my pay enables us to afford (even if just barely!) Ella's tuition. Grateful for the school community we've joined that we feel is worth every penny of said tuition. Grateful that my job is on the campus of Ella's school, and allows me to fuse my passion for Waldorf education with my natural proclivity for meeting new people and planting seeds of excitement inside of them for novel ideas and worthwhile endeavors. Grateful for the ways in which we already see Ella flourishing in her new environment, exhibiting more creativity, asking more thoughtful questions, and growing in her wonder at the world.

So, with all of this gratitude floating about, I thought I'd take the opportunity to share a daily touchstone that I find invaluable- my gratitude practice.

Did you know that people who describe themselves as being grateful tend to have more vitality and optimism, suffer less stress, and experience fewer episodes of clinical depression than the population as a whole? Not to mention, you just end up being a whole lot nicer to be around when you're dwelling on what's good, rather than harping on all that is not. So, in my own attempts to both be a more pleasant person and stave off depression and illness ;) I started a gratitude journal. This was no more complicated than picking up a 3-pack of Moleskine Kraft Brown Notebooks at Barnes & Noble and inking the front with a rubber stamp featuring an inspirational quote about gratitude. No, the starting was not difficult at all...it's the persisting that proves a challenge. But persist I do.

Up until now my gratitude practice has consisted of logging 3 "thanks-givings" in my notebook throughout each day. It really is surprising how such a small act can change the entire trajectory of my day. So, I thought I would expand that practice a bit, by sharing some of my thankfulness via the blog. My hope is that in doing so, perhaps I can help to improve the trajectory of someone else's day.

So, please- post a comment. Tell me about your own gratitude practice- one you've undertaken recently, one that's been part of your daily life for as long as you can remember, or perhaps one that grows out of the seeds planted by reading this blog post. Share a story of how gratitude has changed your day, or how you've observed it changing someone else's life. And come back often, as I hope to make my gratitude practice a permanent feature on the blog...

Gratitude of the day for Wednesday, October 28th:



I am grateful for the privilege of being part of a school community where a friendly home visit from the kindergarten teacher, who comes bearing fresh-picked flowers bound with a finger-knitted ribbon, is par for the course.

The Sun

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

~ by Mary Oliver~

C'mon over to the other blog, for a glimpse into our recent family vacation:

Wait a second...

...aren't I, your mom supposed to be the child of the eighties, little Miss Side-Ponytailed-Shirt-Off-One-Shoulder-Sassmeister?!?



All you need now are some legwarmers, a t-shirt clip, anda plastic charm necklace , and your repertoire will be complete ;)



Hi there, blogging world! Just in case you missed me (and lets be honest, how can I really expect anyone to miss me, when I post here so sporadically), I've been very busy getting ready to launch the brand, spanking new website for my on-location portrait photography business, and in the meantime, blogging over at: www.reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com. I apologize for letting this site sit barren for so long. If you're interested in seeing what I've been up to, be sure to visit my business blog for Red Dirt Girl Photography, and let me give you a little glimpse of how I'm trying to use my work to "add to the beauty"...

Groans that words cannot express

In high school, as a "typical, non-denominational, evangelical" teenager, I really had no framework or sense of appreciation for liturgical prayer. At the time, it seemed unforgivably impersonal, in a Christian climate where "personal relationship" was the litmus test for faith, and "personal experience" was the barometer by which that faith was measured and legitimized. In my arrogance and naivete I assumed that people who prayed "that way" were just haphazardly and inattentively rattling off an obligatory script. That their empty faith forced them to borrow other's prayers, rather than converse with God themselves. Oh, the foibles of my youth.

Now, on the verge of thirty, I think that liturgy resonates with me more deeply than just about anything else in my Christian tradition. The more brokenness I encounter, both in this world and inside of myself, the more I find myself at a loss for words.

At a loss for words to communicate the pangs of longing I feel internally, living in this tension that we call the now-but-not-yet.

At a loss for words that can possibly reconcile the unspeakable beauty of creation with the unspeakable horrors that play out inside it's borders, both of which take my breath away.

At a loss for words that can paint a tidy picture of what it means to live inside these moments and hours and days that are bursting at the seams with equal parts deep-seated faith and unshakeable doubt.

In the book of Romans I'm told that the Spirit of God intercedes for me in groans that my own words cannot express. "Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans." (Romans 8:26, The Message)

And these days I find similar comfort in the notion that generations of saints and sinners who walked this road before me, can give words to the groaning of my heart, when I simply cannot muster up the strength or the faith or the language necessary to do so myself. (Which I freely admit, these days, is more often than not.)

Several days back, when my friend Nate posted this Lenten prayer on his blog, I latched right on, and haven't loosened my grip since. I guess my hope in posting it here, is that someone else might hear the cries of their own heart echoed back to them in its words. That someone else might find comfort in knowing that their own private pangs and longings, sins and struggles, are universal. And that maybe, this particular set of phrases, cobbled together by a fellow disciple, can help catapult them from the posture of painful groaning to one of meaningful praying.

Catch me in my anxious scurrying, Lord,
and hold me in this Lenten season:
hold my feet to the fire of your grace
and make me
attentive to my mortality
that I may begin to die now
to those things that keep me
from living with you
and with my neighbors on this earth;
to grudges and indifference,
to certainties that smother possibilities,
to my fascination with false securities,
to my addiction to sweatless dreams,
to my arrogant insistence on how it has to be.
to my corrosive fear of dying someday
which eats away the wonder of living this day,
and the adventure of losing my life
in order to find it in you.

Catch me in my aimless scurrying, Lord,
and hold me in this Lenten season:
hold my heart to the beat of your grace
and create in me a resting place,
a kneeling place,
a tip-toe place
where I can recover from the dis-ease of my grandiosities
which fill my mind and calendar with busy self-importance,
that I may become vulnerable enough
to dare intimacy with the familiar,
to listen cup-eared for your summons,
and to watch squint-eyed for your crooked finger
in the crying of a child,
in the hunger of street people, in the fear of the contagion of terrorism in all people.
in the rage of those oppressed because of sex or race,
in the smoldering resentments of exploited third world nations,
in the sullen apathy of the poor and ghetto-strangled people,
in my lonely doubt and limping ambivalence;
and somehow,
during this season of sacrifice,
enable me to sacrifice time,
and possessions,
and securities,
to do something…
something about what I see,
something to turn the water of my words
into the wine of will and risk,
into the bread of blood and blisters,
into the blessedness of deed,
of a cross picked up,
a savior followed.

Catch me in my mindless scurrying, Lord,
and hold me in this Lenten season:
hold my spirit to the beacon of your grace
and grant me light enough to walk boldly,
to feel passionately,
to love aggressively;
Grant me peace enough to want more,
to work for more
and to submit to nothing less,
and to fear only you…
only you!
Bequeath me not becalmed seas,
slack sails and premature benedictions,
but breathe into me a torment,
storm enough to make within myself
and from myself,
something…

something new,
something saving,
something true,
a gladness of heart,
a pitch for a song in the storm,
a word of praise lived,
a gratitude shared,
a cross dared,
a joy received.

(excerpted from Guerillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle, by Ted Loder )

Well, lookee there!

A few months ago I stumbled upon a new blog, and was hooked instantly. As someone who is easily overwhelmed by the animosity and me-first mentality that often seem to prevail in the world, I am always on the lookout for stories of kindness- both small and extraordinary. I drive around town with a 'Practice Random Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty' bumper sticker plastered to the back of my car, and keep a 'Happy File' where I stick kind notes and encouraging emails from friends, to help lift my spirits when they start to sag.

So, when I found out about Melissa, and her project Operation Nice, I added her to my Bloglines feed reader, and started devouring the accounts of kindness that she chronicles for the masses, while simultaneously taking her challenge to complete 'Nice Assignments.' What a great way to remind us of how powerful our words and actions are in the world, and to inspire us to wield them carefully and lovingly. Did I mention that Melissa is also local, lovely, talented *and* married to a Robert, just like me??? It makes me just a little bit giddy knowing that there are other people in my little corner of the world endeavoring to add to the beauty in their everyday interactions.

And whaddya know? Today, I made it onto Melissa's site!!

So, wander on over to Operation Nice, and say hi to Melissa for me! Submit your own story of kindness, and yours may be the next smiling mug featured on her blog ;) Add her to your blogroll, subscribe to her RSS feed, and start planting the seeds of kindness in your community!

(Oh, and if you came to my blog today by way of Melissa, thanks for stopping in! I hope you'll comment so I know you were here, and stop by often to dialogue with me about life, art, parenthood, community, and of course, kindness!)

YOU are Beautiful!

We live in a time in which the proliferation of beauty products is at an all-time high. And yet, we also live in a time in which you'd be hard pressed to find a woman who feels beautiful, consistently and without qualification ("I love my eyes, but if only my [insert body part here] weren't so [big, small, flat, round, saggy, etc.]...). Instead of appreciating our unique attributes, we curse them as oddities. Instead of looking for what we love about ourselves (inside and out), we pick apart each minor blemish and imperfection, and end up hating our bodies and spending inordinate amounts of time trying to alter them to meet an invisible and ever-changing standard. Teenage girls who weigh 100 lbs. soaking wet call themselves fat, and truly believe their proclamations.

We long for the flawless skin of the model on the magazine, failing to recognize that her flawless skin belongs to Photoshop, and not to her at all. As I enter into the world of portrait photography, it is not lost on me that I will be bumping up against this ethical dilemma on a daily basis. Even as "natural light, lifestyle photographers" (a group I aspire to become part of) tout a style of photographic art that captures "real life in motion," "individual personality uncensored," and "candid moments captured," there is still a heavy reliance on editing photos to remove imperfections, while injecting smoother skin, brighter eyes and greater 'polish.'

Just the other day I watched a demo on a photography website in which a bride's skin was transformed, turning her normal and natural (if slightly blemished) rosy skin into plasticized peachy-cream perfection. The tone, the texture- all utterly transformed. And I couldn't help but think that if I were that bride, I don't imagine I would look at those photos and think, "Gosh, I looked gorgeous on my wedding day." Instead, I'd be thinking, "Gosh, my photographer must have thought I have awful skin, what with the way he/she 'fixed' it in every single photograph." Photoshopping my skin until it resembles a magazine model more than it does *me* would not increase my confidence. Instead, it would tend to make me even more hypercritical of my perceived flaws, and possibly reveal to me new 'imperfections' I had never before considered...

Anyway, I digress...

As a card-carrying member of the sisterhood of women worldwide, I have felt a compulsion in recent years to remind women of their beauty, even as popular media seems to do little other than undermine it. Not 'women' as some sort of generalized group, but real, individual women. (And more often than not, women I don't know from Eve.) It's a little embarrassing at times, I'll admit, and I don't always muster the courage to make it happen, but I do try.

It all started about 2 years ago, when I walked into a little cafe' here on the Main Line. I'd ordered a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and as I stood at the counter waiting for my bacon, egg and cheese goodness to come off the grill, one of the girls behind the counter turned to me and said, "You have such beautiful skin." Five simple words, and yet they amounted to a grand kindness. I think I blushed, and I probably stuttered a little in thanking her. But obviously, it made an impression. It made my day, and it has since come back into my mind from time-to-time, and helped to rescue me from bouts of self scrutiny and my relentless insecurities.

So it is, in light of that experience, that I try to make a habit of telling random women that they are beautiful. The cashier at Whole Foods with the genuine and unrestrained smile, and dimples that are to-die-for. The woman with the dark and mesmerizing eyes who gives me a pedicure. The girl at the drive-through with the stunning red hair. And of course, my dearest friends, who will probably never fully grasp their own beauty, inside or out. I like to hope that in some small way, my words to them make a difference, an impression. That they recall the sister-stranger who told them they were beautiful, and feel emboldened in this unforgiving "nip-and-tuck" nation of Photoshopped faces and narrow, singular standards of beauty that exclude so many.

Yesterday, I was walking the streets of my friend's urban, river-front neighborhood, in search of photo opportunities for a class project. As I entered the park, an SUV that was exiting slowed to a stop. The woman inside rolled down her window and yelled out to me, "You look so pretty today. Have a beautiful day!" Thank you, Sister-Stranger. I am certain that I will never forget you, or your bold kindness to me. The world and its women need more of us, and more of these reminders.

a little "something glorious" for my vegan friends...

photo courtesy of www.wholeliving.com

...and all you veggies, health nuts, and people who just love a delicious, light and meat-free meal now and again. (you could even serve it as a side dish, although i'll warn you now- it will steal all the glory from your main course!!)

we had this for dinner last night, and can i just say YUMMMMMMM-EE! seriously...i ripped it from the pages of body + soul magazine, and it is destined to become an MVP in the gauthier kitchen.

bulgur salad with cherries

ingredients:
1 cup bulgur wheat
sea salt and freshly ground pepper
2 tbsp walnut oil
3 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 shallot, minced
1/2 lb fresh sweet cherries, halved and pitted
1/2 cup of chopped fresh tarragon, chives & parsley
1/4 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

take a medium saucepan with a tight fitting lid, and bring 2 cups of water to a boil.
stir in the bulgur wheat and about 1/4 tsp sea salt.
cover, reduce heat to low, and simmer until water is absorbed and bulgur is tender. (about 15 mins)
while the bulgur cooks: whisk together walnut oil, lemon juice and shallot in a medium bowl, and season it with salt and pepper.
add cooked bulgur, toss to combine, and refrigerate uncovered until cool. (about 10 minutes)
remove bulgur mix from fridge and add cherries, chopped herbs and walnuts. toss to combine.
season again with salt and pepper and serve.
(you can also serve it over mixed greens for a nice touch, and some added nutritional value.)

there are 275 calories; 7 g protein; 12 g fat; 39 g carbs and 9 g fiber per serving.
ENJOY!!!

before and after

so i promised some interesting before and after shots, didn't i? these are admittedly bound to be more interesting to me than to any of you, dear readers...and yet, i feel compelled to share! in addition, i am in full-on priming/painting mode today, so i will no doubt have some additional before and afters to share soon. today i am on a particular quest to 'neutralize' the wall colors in our house, to make it more market friendly, and also in hopes that the lighter color walls = bigger rooms philosophy will prove true.** seriously, NONE of our 4 bedrooms are small (particularly for a bungalow from the early 1900's!, but even for a more modern abode), and yet, we have gotten feedback about 'too small' bedrooms, so i am pulling out all the stops and trying to find *SOMETHING* up my sleeve that will SELL. THIS. HOUSE. there ya go.

**it is worth adding that i am also a fan of the more subtle tones i've selected. in the overzealous excitement of first time home ownership (and no more apartment-white walls!) i may have gone a *bit* overboard with bold color the first time around. and yeah, i am just now correcting that. YOU try painting with a 3 year old at your heels!!!

so, the most notable before and after moments in the past 2 weeks have included a transformation from a blue slipcovered sofa set to a chocolate brown one!

BEFORE:


and AFTER:




now, the new brown tone is presenting some 'design challenges' of it's own. however, in my opinion, it is quite an improvement over the outdated (and fairly faded) 'denim blue' of yesteryear, and is worth the shuffling and re-imagining that will now need to happen in my living room!

the other before and after i have for you today is another one of my many haircuts- LOL! i think i am *finally* finding peace with the fact that i am much more suited to short hair, despite the occasional longing for thick, lustrous, flowing locks in the tradition of christine or kierstin. so, here you go....the most recent incarnation:

BEFORE (did i mention that my sweetheart graduated with his masters on may 10th?? swoon):


and AFTER (yes, i have noticed how much 'puffier' my face looks with 'longer' hair. yikes.):


so, there you have it. some of the humdrum happenings at my house as of late. :) may you be inspired in your own home improvement efforts and grooming endeavors. LOL.

Tickle

Ella: "Mom, does Nashy have armpits?"

Me: "Well, no...not like we do."

Ella: "Oh. She has dogpits."

I have several posts brewing- before and after shots of all sorts, amazing free stuff to show off, a few requests for design input....etc., but for the moment, the goofy kid conversation will have to suffice ;)

Singing in the Rain

After a fairly nice weekend weather-wise (and life-in-general-wise too: Robert graduated from his Masters program on Saturday!!!), today has been all gray and rain and gloom. And as content as I would be to curl up on the couch (of which I must post before and after pictures, being that I dyed it this past week!) with coffee and a novel while the rain slides down the panes of my living room windows, my daughter does *not* deem that appropriate rainy weather behavior. For what she does deem acceptable, see exhibit A:



And since I am a mama who believes quite zealously in the ideas espoused by folks such as author, Richard Louv , I quickly abandoned my comfie couch-curling aspirations, in favor of pulling on our rain boots, bundling up in coats fit for snow (it was cooooold!), and splashing in the puddles for over an hour. As much as I was dreading the departure from the warmth of my cozy home, I have to admit that I think I had as much fun as Ella did: spinning and dancing and frolicking in the wet, wonderful weather!




We marched and sang and giggled. We picked up pieces of litter, and collected bits of nature. (I even found some bundled white flowers and funky, fuzzy green globes, grounded from their perches in trees and bushes by the persistence of the rain, that will make wonderful, natural design elements once I commit them to vases and other vessels! Score!)

When we came in our fingers felt like icicles, wet curls framed our rosy faces, and Ella's rain boots were 3/4 of the way filled with rainwater. She quickly de-robed and climbed into a steamy bubble bath, while I brewed hot vanilla tea. And finally, toweled off and tea-d up, we settled in under blankets and books, BEHIND those wet windows...

And now, Mary Oliver on the rain:

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again

in a new way
on the earth!
That's what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches

and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain -
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.

"Mom. You're beautiful."

Spoken by a freshly-bathed, towel-wrapped little one on the couch, who is grinning ear-to-ear as she speaks the words.

And THAT is what makes motherhood the most heartwarming experience known to man.

(For the record, motherhood is simultaneously the most heart-wrenching experience know to man. I'm just sayin'....)

4:24 am...

...and here I sit awake.

It has become apparent in the past 2 weeks that Ella suffers BADLY from outdoor allergies. The poor child looks as if she is chronically ill, dark circles like bruises beneath her red, itchy eyes. She complains frequently, "My nose doesn't work! I can't smell things!" And every room of my house seems to be littered with wadded up tissues. She doesn't really blow her nose though, just sort of crumples tissues up and dabs at her nostrils while making pathetic little purring sounds meant to evoke sympathy for her plight. Melodrama is her forte.

The other side effect of these blasted allergies is that my child, the one who has slept beautifully since birth, is up all throughout the night. She wants snuggles and tissues and water, but most of all, she wants mommy and daddy to "make her nose work." The best we can do is to prop her up with a leaning tower of pillows, slather her little chest with Vick's Vaporub, and shoot some lovely saline spray up her nose, which you know she adores ;)

Tonight she roused at about 1:30 am, and couldn't be coaxed back to sleep until after 2:30. She is now dreaming peacefully and breathing LOUDLY (almost a snore) next to her Daddy. I, however, could not fall back to sleep. So, after nearly 2 hours of tossing and turning, here I sit at my dining room table, casting jealous glances at the dog, who is conked out in the corner. I'm sipping some 'Calm the Mind' lemon wintergreen tea, and hoping that it will do its job, and that I might sneak in 2-3 hours of sleep before my lovely girl wakes for the day...

My Turn....

....with the crazy Japanese photo editor







Thanks for the tip, ....Keely!

Fresh Squeezed

She winds up....


And hurls the peel...

She scores!





Deeeee-lish!