Little Sisters Grow Up

A few weeks ago I blogged over on my photography blog about doing my sister's engagement pictures. It was such a fun day to spend with my sister and her fiance. Well, the big wedding weekend finally came and I realized how bitter sweet seeing your baby sister get married is.

First, I will admit, I was an emotional mess. I won't blame it on Fed Ex (who mis-delivered the engagement picture canvas I did for the reception hall) or on the fact that my fiance and son ended up being late to the wedding because they were tracking down the aforementioned package.

There was just something about seeing my little sis all dolled up and ready to walk down the aisle. It just squeezed my heart and made me so proud of her, and the role I have been able to take in her life.

Megan is 11 years younger than me. I always felt more like her second mom than her sister. I remember getting up early when she started going to school, so that I could help her find something cute to wear and curl her hair (which ironically, she still asks me to do when I happen to be around, ha). Back then I was "Mandy" and I can still hear her squeaky little voice asking me to do one thing or another. Yes, I hear it right now in my head and I am smiling BIG.

I headed off the college when she was only 7 years old (younger than my own daughter is right now) and it was hard on BOTH of us. I missed her sweet smile and cuddles. She missed having someone to get her fixed up every morning. I left her with a teddy bear that she nicknamed "Mandy" and would confuse my mom at bedtime when she would cry "But I need MANDY to go to sleep!" (meaning the bear, not me, but boy did my mom feel frustrated, ha).

We made it through those years and Megan never seemed to go too far from home. She chose a college about 10 minutes away and a boy she had known nearly her whole life. Even now, it doesn't feel like we are losing Megan, just gaining Joe as the brother he's always unofficially been.

The rehearsal was more like a family reunion than anything. Both sides of the family have known each other for years and we all gathered at first the country club to go through the ceremony steps and then off of Campania's in Southlake for some yummy pizza and lots of love and laughter.

jenna & nate (who wasn't real impressed)


my sister misty & jenna before the rehearsal

my parents and megan laughing over something (love this)

nate, me and jenna (a rare picture together)





my mom with the kids (I adore this pic!)


a sweet pic of my girl jenna


one of my faves
they had only been apart for about 30 minutes
but for soon-to-be married, it's eternity


this one makes me giggle
chase is playing with forks
nate looks like he's in trouble
and jenna is giving me a "another pic?!" smile

most handsome nephew EVAH!

Thanks for looking at the pictures. I will share more about the wedding later... off to get some other work done.

Have a blessed day!

Nate's Kindergarten Grad, a late mother's day gift and my sweet nephew

It was a good couple of weeks around here.

Nate graduated from kindergarten, my sister and her little boy came for a visit and I finally got my custom made necklace from the vintage pearl. For yays. Fun!

This is Nate with Melody... his crush he's had all year.



Problem is, his best buddy Joseph ALSO has a crush on her. Ha. Kindergarten love triangle at it's finest.



Ms. Harbster is a first year teacher, and just super adorable. We loved her so much. She was so patient with Nate and helped him overcome ADHD challenges and go from barely recognizing half of his letters at the beginning of the year, to full on reading and writing by the end. So proud of him and just LOVED her!



This is the "lip"... his new maveauver to get me to do his bidding. Here he was wanting me to go sit on the floor next to him.



Walking across "the stage" ha



I love this little guy



So proud



Nate & Mommy (TERRIBLE pic of me BTW)



with some of his classmates





Again with the lip:



And now for my sweet nephew Chase eating mash taters at my mom's house. Garsh I lurv him soooo much!

Say Cheese

We grew up in front of the camera, so it's no wonder we now choose to stand behind it. Me and my sisters are obsessed with taking pictures. I think we have literally documented every major, and not so major, moment of our lives, since the point our parents bought us our first very own 35mm camera (actually I think mine was a 110, do they even make those anymore? What about Advantix... whatever happened to those? Ha).

But I digress.

Picture-taking, documentation, photo albums and finally scrapbooks have encompassed so much of our memory-making, that they have not only chronicled the memories of our lives, they have become a PART of the memory-making.

Somewhere along the line it went from being a hobby to being something I could actually make some money doing (in order to pay for the outrageously expensive equipment I drool at while browsing photog sites online).

And unlike those fiercely loyal photographers, I have no loyalty to brand. I've tried Canon and Nikon, Olympus and Kodak. I have probably tried a version of every camera-making brand in the U.S. at some point. As long as it takes a crisp photo quickly... well I am happy.

So I am excited to break in my early christmas gift from my boyfriend, my Sony Alpha A-200. Already I am impressed with the quality of photos... and what better excuse to harrass my children like celebrity paparazzi, than making them help me break in the new cam.

Jenna was less than thrilled. All the rest of my photographs of her were of the back of her head or her hands in front of her face "Brittany"-style. Sigh. Better luck next time.

Nate on the other hand was a more willing participant. I will spare you the extreme closeups of the taco meat from dinner hanging out of his mouth while he cheesed it up for me... and instead give you the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen (apologies to my blue-eyed boyfriend, but he is a close second).

And then I will leave you with a shot of my boy showing off his battle wounds. He got into an altercation with the swing at school. He swears the swing looks worse, but I am not so sure.

Blackberries & Big Wheels

We use to pick blackberries together, her and I. I didn't like blackberries, but it was fun picking them along the railroad tracks beside our apartment complex. Our fingers would be stained deep purple, her tongue and lips would match. I still like rasberries better.

She had chubby cheeks and the sweetest smile. Made even sweeter by the silver caps in the front. You never see kids with silver caps anymore... I guess they use something else now? We weren't suppose to walk by the railroad tracks, but my mom didn't seem to be around much during the day when we were out playing. As long as we were home by the time the street lights came on, we were free to play at our own pleasure. (Not something we as parents have the luxury of doing today).

"Mandy, you want to play Barbies with me?"

Sigh.

Faintly I was tempted to go play my favorite game with my little sister, but then again, I was 10 now. I was too old for Barbies.

"Let's play Flashdance instead"

"No, you always hog the living room floor"

We would bicker back and forth like this all the time. We didn't really have anyone else to play with, but with five years age difference between us, there was little choice. We were stuck together. Most of the time I was annoyed by her constant presence. Sometimes I was grateful to not be alone.

Especially late at night. In the dark.

Or when I came home from school and my mom was crying in a corner. Overwhelmed by life and betrayal. I'd take my sister's hand and we would go outside into a world of make believe. Where we could be anything we wanted and go wherever our imaginations could take us. Far away from being poor and sad.

I use to hold her down, pinning her arms under my knees, straddling her and tickling her until she nearly peed her pants. She would squeal. I loved the feeling of power and dominance I had. Sad, but oh so true. Little did I know she would grow up to be about 5 inches taller than me. I wouldn't attempt that trick now, I assure you.
But I was fiercly loyal and protective as well. One day, two little nieghborhood girls yanked my sweet little sister from her big wheel bike by the hair of her head. I was sitting on the top of the stairs playing when I witnessed this. I ran down them two at a time and yanked one of the little girls off the bike by her pigtails and grabbed the other one by the hand and told them to never touch my sister or her things again or I'd make them very very sorry they did.

They ran away crying. Straight to their mom. About 15 minutes later, a very large woman with over-bleached blond hair and blood-red finger nails grabbed me by the arm and started yelling at me about being a role model and not bullying little babies (ha, her "babies" were the biggest bullies in our apartment complex). I christened her "Bleachy Mama."

She had the intended effect though. She scared the crap outta me. I ran home and told my mother what happened.

The next chain of events will be forever carved into my memory. My 95 pound (if that) mom grabbed a baseball bat from our toy box and stomped down our stairs towards Bleachy Mama's apartment, with me and my sister following at her tail.

Banging on the door with the bat (nice one Mom!) she had the fiercest look in her eye (don't mess with a Mama Bear's cubs). I don't remember my mother's exact words to Bleachy Mama, but it was somewhere along the lines of "don't touch or talk to my daughters again or I'll kick your fat ass". Actually I am pretty sure those were her exact words.

The two little girls stood behind there mama with wide eyes. I am sure we had a similiar look on our faces as this all transpired. Then Bleachy slammed the door in my mom's face and we went home.

Funny thing is, about 3 months later... we were all best friends, picking blackberries together by the railroad tracks. I ended up teaching one of those little girls how to dance to my Cyndi Lauper tape I dubbed off the radio. They never asked to ride my sister's big wheel and I don't ever remember seeing Bleachy Mama again.

The Heart of Home

Growing up, my favorite room of any home was the kitchen. It was big and bright and shiny. Just made you want to step in the picture, sit down at the counter over a cup of coffee and 'shoot the shit' as my mom use to say.

My love for the kitchen started when I was a child. That is the first place we headed after school every day. Me and my sister would grab a snack and sit at the counter, kicking our shoes to the floor, laughing and giggling over girlish secrets. Mom would be at the sink doing dishes, or pealing potatoes, or drinking some coffee. She'd ask us questions and make us feel important with her genuine interest in our day.

And I wasn't the only one that loved my mother's kitchen. Inevitibly at a party, family gathering or social event in our home, everyone would end up in the kitchen... snacking, drinking, laughing and sharing. That room was always warm and inviting and full of the smells of food and coffee and sweetness.

Some of my favorite stories my mother ever shared with us was while she cooked dinner and we sat at the counter listening to her and asking questions. I remember my one main chore was to unload the dishwasher everyday... I did the dishes and my sister did the silverware (she was 5 years younger than I).

That was me and my mom's time to chat. Many a confession was made in that kitchen. She found my first hickey on my neck at 15, when I was leaning in the sink washing my hair. Oops. Ha. And that's usually where the report card was presented for review and usually praise, but sometimes a stern lecture.

It's where I told my mom I lost my virginity and where I smeared mayonaise on my sister one day as a joke and we had a full on fight with the whole jar (not recommended... mayo smells really gross when it makes contact with skin). It's where I read my acceptance letter to college, introduced my parents to my future husband and also where he asked them for their blessing to marry me. I learned to cook under the watchful gaze of my mother. It's where I told my mom she was going to be a grandmother. And where I hugged my mom and sisters right after we found out their father (the man who raised me) died.

Candles have been blown out, tears have been shed and wiped, songs have been sang, kisses and hugs have been shared and secrets have been told... all sitting in the kitchen.

It's no wonder it's my favorite room of the house.