I was barely five years old and the brick steps in her garage were high. The railing was of little help to my short arms as I balanced from step to step behind my mother. As soon as we entered the kitchen the warm smell of a boiling chicken in a pot on the stove…
The golden hours of photography are in the morning and evening when the sun meets the earth in a warm hug. No matter the subject the light engulfing it is magical. Rory calls this golden light “pixy dust” and tries to catch it in her hands. I wholeheartedly agree. It is the time of wonder…
Cold gray rain is falling outside. The leaves are clinging to the trees for one last ride before they float to the ground to end their season. I am right where I want to be, in my warm home with a Cody-man on my lap, curled in his colorful blanket of reds, golds, and blues.…
His soft cheeks were puffed with air while his eyes were squinting behind fogged plastic. The plastic strap was digging into his red hair as he kicked farther down, reaching for the rubber toy dancing on the pool’s bottom depths. Ryder came up triumphantly with the rubber torpedo in hand. A broad smile stretched across…
There have been many perks to marrying into Chris’ family. High up there is his mom’s cooking. As I’ve mentioned before, I took the “This isn’t how my mom’s tasted…” comments early in our marriage in stride. Primarily because I was trying to achieve exactly that – her recipes – because they taste so good.…