secret 7 of 100

I am a hermit. 

I know you're rolling your eyes at this secret, but it's true. Kind of.

I think if I'm classifying the type of hermit I am, I would be a bear-like hermit. Because there are times in my life I hibernate and times when I'm out foraging (so to speak). It's not that I'm rubbing my nose on the dirt searching for food or anything, I just go through periods of super social-ness and times when I'm the complete opposite. Like, live in my cave house and don't open the windows type of opposite.

(I like to think that if I really am like a bear, I might be cuddly like this one. Add a Diet Coke.)

When I'm social I like to:
1. Go to the Olive Garden. This is, without a doubt, my favorite restaurant. You may hate it. (Especially if you're a certain hairy friend of mine). But know that I love it. LOVE it!
2. Buy shoes. Anywhere. Anytime. Anywhere. I LOVE me some shoes!
3. Go to the Water Garden Cinema. It may not be your first movie theater choice, but it's mine because there are almost always empty seats, the popcorn is cheap, and everybody knows my name. Maybe they should change the theater name to Cheers. (I'm just kidding about the last line. I don't know if they know my name.)


When I'm hibernating, I like to: 
1. Go to the Pleasant Grove Library. This is one of my favorite places on earth because every one here does know my name...so maybe they should be called Cheers. I love that they order my books. And even when I don't want to go anywhere else, I'll go here to get my book and read.
2. Read. I usually love to do this after I do #1. But I guess that's kind of a "duh" answer.
3. Write. Notice that reading comes first on this list. I think that's because at heart I'm a reader first. But when I'm not reading, I do try to write a little of my own fiction.

Does that make me sound completely crazy? Or do you get what I'm saying?

aerobics, pee, and karma.

I started teaching aerobics when I was 18. Which as you might guess, was in the not so distant past

Snort...fine you haters, stop rolling your eyes. It was awhile ago.

On with my story: 
One day during class, a woman complained of all the jumping jacks and jump rope exercises. She asked if we could do less, or none at all.
Being a huge fan of jump rope and it's body toning benefits, I couldn't figure out why she didn't like the activity. Maybe she was just having a lazy day. I've had a few of those. I could sympathize.
I asked her if she was having a hard time breathing. She said breathing wasn't the problem. It was peeing.
"Peeing?" I asked, unsure if I heard her correctly.
She nodded and explained that since having her last baby, jumping made her feel as if she might pee her pants.
Not having kids of my own, I couldn't figure out why having a baby would make you feel like you might pee. I told her we were almost finished and it was probably just a sensation thing. She should try to continue with the class. No pain no gain, right?
Apparently I was wrong. A minute later she bolted from the room leaving a puddle in her wake.

I felt like the most awful teacher ever.

Flash forward a few years after I had three kids of my own. 

After teaching a exceptionally challenging workout routine I decided to stop by the store on the way home. I pushed the cart up and down the aisles, as my toddler swung his legs, kicking me in the stomach.
"Henry," I stopped in my tracks beside the frozen foods. "Stop kicking me. It hurts Mommy."
He looked at my face, then at where he was kicking...then he looked a little lower. (Side Note: I sweat A LOT!) 

"Momma!" He squealed. "You peed your pants. You peed, you peed, you peed. Georgie look, Momma peed."
I tried to shush him, but he wouldn't stop. That kid chose that exact moment to holler like he'd never hollered before. "Momma peed!" he yelled until every adult in a three aisle range was made aware of my body sweat issue.

I decided right then that it was karma because I made that poor lady jump till she peed. I guess in life sometimes things come back to bite you in the butt. That's all.

(Side note: Oh, and if you're thinking my sweatiness was more than sweat, I'll deny it till I die.)

writing inspiration - one step forward, two steps back

Remember that half-cool, slightly-creepy music video where Paula Abdul danced on the roof tops with an animated cat? Kind of random walk down memory lane, but it's the message of the song that makes my point today. 
Before Paula's gyrating dance with a feline came to mind, I was thinking about my writing style. To this day I've written 5 1/2 books. None of which are published. That fact gets me super frustrated.
I like to write, but my problem is I get stuck in the thick of it. Once I finish writing a book I know it needs to be edited but I'm not sure where to start and what to do. And what if what I change actually makes the book worse?
I worry so much that eventually I put the book down and start on a new one. Hence the 5 1/2 unpublished books. Frustration to the max.

The other day as I was venting to my awesome friend and writing buddy, Peggy Eddleman, I was growing more and more irritated by the moment because in the two years that I've written 5 1/2 books, she's written two. And polished one to perfection. I thought to myself, why the heck can't I do that? Why can't I just polish one of the five?
Near closet to pulling my hair out the epiphany hit: I CAN!
I just need to take a couple steps back. If I'm sick of what I'm working on currently maybe I should take a look at one of the old five books.
That night, I picked one and read the entire thing. I'm not going to lie...some parts weres so bad it made me cringe with embarassment, but other scenes were friggin' awesome. Awesome to the point that I seriously wondered if I'd actually written it.

Now that it's been so long since I cracked that book open, I'm able to look at it with a fresh perspective. I've been editing it and re-writing scenes, and I hope to have it polished in the next month. I can't believe that I had to take a couple steps back to figure out what I need to work on. But it's like Paula Abdul says, sometimes you need to take "one step forward," and then "two steps back," to get where you need to be. 

Thanks Paula for your inspiration...and the creepy can-dancing vid.

remember my doughnut craze?

Here's a mini post for the day...I'll post more later. But I couldn't resist telling you that BEYOND GLAZE (the exact place I posted about three posts ago) is having a sale! You can buy their gift certificates for dang cheap. Just go here: http://dtmr.co/id2g?

Luv me!

secret 6 of 100

When Mark asked me to marry him (for the second time...the first is another story all together) I said yes. Obviously. But my secret is I wasn't entirely sure I should say yes. In fact, I almost wondered if I should say no. His family and my family were gathered around and it was Christmas Eve and I couldn't help but be caught up in the romance of it all. You know I'm such a Love-nut. And I loved him more than anyone or anything.

But the next day when I woke up to stare at that shiny diamond attached to my left ring-finger, I wondered if I made the right choice. It's not that I didn't want to marry the man. I just wondered if he really was "the one". My stomach clenched that I possibly said "yes" a little to hastily. I'd answered before I'd prayed about it...before the earth quaked beneath my feet because he was, indeed, "the one."

If I was wrong, how would I turn around and tell my family that I'd made a mistake? A small greedy part of me wondered if I would have to give back the sparkly diamond? Dang it all.

That morning I rolled out of bed on to my knees and prayed. I prayed so fervently to God that he would let me know Mark was meant for me. And you know what happened? A whole lot of nothing! Days passed, and I prayed and prayed again. I would pray silently while we were together and loudly when we were apart. I loved him so much and I wanted him to be mine. But I also wanted that earth-shattering confirmation that YES he was the one.
Time passed and before I knew it, it was my wedding day. That morning as I put on my make-up and curled my hair, I said one last prayer. I told God that if Mark was the wrong one then he better stop me from going through with the wedding because I loved Mark more than life itself and I wanted him and no one else.

Well, you know what happened? In the middle of the ceremony I got my answer. Mark's gaze met mine and in that moment I could see all the times that I'd received an answer to my prayer. All the times I knew we were perfect for each other. All the times God had really answered my prayers.

He was mine and I was a happy girl...even if I didn't know he was "the one" when I said yes.

 

worst and most epic photography fail ever.

The title of the post should be enough to clue you in on how utterly embarrassing the following story really is. I only share it because my sensor broke years ago. I'm not disillusioned enough to think that the readers of this blog believe I'm anything short of a train wreck. And that's on a good day.
Today, sadly, wasn't so good.
I was scheduled to shoot a wedding in Salt Lake City at 3:00pm. Because my favorite lens is in the shop, I planned just enough time to stop by Pictureline to pick up a replacement lens. (No I didn't snag a doughnut...what with time being of the essence and all that jazz.) Per my usual crazed schedule, I found myself running ten minutes late. I kissed the kids good bye, hopped in the mini (van...not mini-cooper), and headed to Draper to pick up the lens. I rushed in, grabbed the lens, and continued on my way to SLC. When I pulled into the parking garage I was feeling snazzy because I, the amazing photog that I am, was ten minutes early! I wanted the garage attendant to give me a woot woot, but he wasn't feeling it.

I opened the side door of my van to take out my gear. Right then, the woot woot rushed out of me. And I wanted to cry. I, the not-so-amazing-photog-that-I-am, realized with a sudden sickening gut-twist that I had left my camera at home.
Yes, my freaking camera! As in, the very tool I need to actually be a photographer. As in, my life!
Brilliant, Erin. Way to rock that wedding. And not only had I left my camera at home, but I also left the lens that I use during 90% of wedding day.


So after a minor heart-attack, I realized not all was lost. I had randomly shoved a second camera body in the bottom of my camera bag. Until Karly, my awesome-life-saving-super-fly-assistant, brought my camera and lens, I used the back-up and made due with the lenses I had. In the end, the day turned out to be amazing. And oddly enough, I think that today I snagged some of my most favorite wedding pictures ever! Even it today was also one of my most embarrassing days ever.

doughnut craze.

I've never been a doughnut lover. But every time I go to Pictureline in Draper, I'm strangely tempted by the doughnut shop that sits just around the corner. The shop, Beyond Glaze, suits its name perfectly. They sell glazed doughnut creations that could be considered art. Each tempting delight in the store will make your mouth water...except for maybe the "maple and bacon" signature doughnut. I'm adventurous when it comes to sampling doughnuts, but not insane. And in case you're wondering, yes the maple bacon doughnut has actual bits of bacon on it's maple frosted top. Moving past that doughnut, I broke down and bought a half-dozen others. It was such a hard choice. Which only means next time I'm at Pictureline, you can be sure I'll go to Beyond Glaze too.
These yummy treats are a little on the pricey side, but totally worth it. I bit each one of my half-dozen and couldn't decide which was my favorite. And no, I didn't get any weird looks when I brought home a box of bite-marked doughnuts. That's kind of how my family rolls. And consider this post fair warning that if you stop by my house and there's a treat out, there may or may not be a bite out of it.

If you haven't been to Beyond Glaze, you should make a trek over soon. I'm certain you'll become an instant fan. My kids were. And they've been bothering non-stop to go back and buy more.

Question of the Day:
For all you Writers out there, what's your favorite writing treat to eat while you're tapping away on those keys? Mine is usually M&Ms and Diet Coke, but I might trade it out for a doughnut from Beyond Glaze.

agent stalking.

I go to a handful of conferences every year. Sometimes I get lucky (git yer mind outta the gutter)...I meant sometimes I'm lucky because I get to be the conference photographer. Which is a position that's not without perks. For example:

Perk #1 People hate me. When I turn my big lens on someone they look away or make a face. That makes me feel awesome. I love it when people avoid me at all costs. (Cue Nacho Libre voice) It is the best!

Perk #2 I flash people...and not just with my camera. My camera hangs from a fashionable neck strap that rubs across my side and front when I sling my camera around. It's a common everyday thing that I never think about much. That is, until last year at this conference. I brought a whole new approach to really understanding the genre. (The genre being romance. Think: heaving bosoms and bodice rippers. No, that's not exactly what I like to write...but maybe after what happened last year I should re-think it.) You can read about that here. 

Perk #3  I stalk people. And when I say people, I really mean agents. The thing is, being the photographer is like having an all access pass. Kind of. Usually the conference board that I'm working for wants me to take lots of pics of the VIP guests, like agents and editors. In the event they are not offended by the camera or my style of flashing, I usually get to spend some time talking with them. And when I say talking, I really mean stalking.


Basically it's an ok gig all around.

In October I'm going to attend the Utah Romance Writers of America-Heart of the West Conference. Man, that's a mouth full. The conference is going to be awesome because some pretty amazing agents are coming. Agents that I'll be stalking with my big massive camera and heaving bosoms. Want to come too? If you do, go to this link. Mention that I sent you over and they may waive the late fee! And then if you go you can come and stalk and flash and be hated just like me.

if they don't get together it ain't a romance.

At one of the first writing conferences I attended I heard Lynn Kurland speak about Romance in Fiction. To this day, it was the very best conference address I've heard on the subject. And believe me, I've been to quite a few writing conferences and heard more than I ever wanted on the subject. Lynn knew what she was talking about...after all, she is the queen bee when it comes to writing epically amazing love stories. Basically she said that a romance isn't a romance unless the boy and the girl end up together. If they don't then it's a tragedy.
Simple as that.
Frankly, I agree. If I pick a book up off the library shelf and it's labeled a romance, I expect that by the end of the novel the little lady will end up with her big strapping man. (ha ha...oh wait, I meant if I pick up the harlequin. Snort. That's really not my type of book, but you get my point.)
The story should play out as such: girl meets boy, girl and boy have issues that keep them apart, and then at the end girl and boy get together.
Yes, there should be some kissing.
And yes, their romance should be something that makes my heart jump in my chest. 
If the story follows the same pattern but at the end has some dramatic event like girl gets hit by a truck and dies, then the story is a TRAGEDY!
Which means, I don't want to see it, or read about it.

Which means, last night when my good friend Tracey dragged me to see One Day, I expected a romance.
But what I got was TRAGEDY!

And that, sums up why today I'm so stinking angry I could spit.

secret 5 of 100

I once gave a student an A on an assignment because I was embarrassed.

For a brief stint I taught high school English. (Yeah yeah, I'm the worst speller. I put commas all over the place, and my grammar smacks...exactly why I don't teach English any longer.)
When I was pregnant, I taught senior English in Hawaii and I happened to have a drool problem. You would think these two facts don't necessarily go hand in hand, but you'll soon see that you are wrong.
When I was preggers with Ted-O, I would wake up in a puddle (or lake) of drool. I drooled when I ate, and spat when I talked. Frankly, it was gross.
One afternoon my students were completing a worksheet. I walked through the classroom glancing over their shoulders and monitoring their work like a good teacher. When I came to Bob (not his actual name, but for privacy reasons I have to censor something now and then) I leaned over his shoulder to look at his work. I could see he was struggling with a problem half way down the page. I pointed at the question and explained it in further detail. As I was finishing up my expert explanation, showing my prowess as a high school teacher, a massive glob of saliva-tinged loogie plopped down and landed right in the middle of his paper.
He jerked back, his face screwed into a sickened expression.
Frozen in my own horrified stupor, it took me a moment to process that the gooey yellowish blob on his assignment just came from my mouth. My own freaking mouth!
"Eww, Miss," Bob started to say.
I snatched his paper away faster than I could spit again. "You just earned an A."
He blinked at me and back to the spot where his marred paper no longer lay. "Right on. You can spit on me any day."
"Keep quiet Bob," I hissed, "Or I just might."

Keeping my word, I marked an A in my grade book. And Bob never brought up the loogie-attack ever again. But now you know that I'm the type of teacher that spits on students' work!

writing inspiration - something about a ring.

I love LOVE. I love reading about Love and though I'm not published (yet...one day, one day) I love writing about Love. Frankly, if there isn't a romance plot line in a novel you have to prod me to read it. As the saying goes, Love makes the world go round.
I suppose this is why I'm so drawn to shooting weddings. The euphoria that surrounds a couple madly-in-love, about to take the plunge and vow their lives together is an addictive feeling. Though my feet are usually beat when I return home from a wedding, I have a smile plastered on my face and I'm often in the mood to pull out LoLa (my laptop) and go at it for awhile.
In fact, since I started really shooting weddings four years ago, I've written six novels. All with a strong romance plot line. And since I spend all day editing photos, sometimes just seeing a photo will inspire me to write.
I shot this photo at a wedding a week ago. Every time I look at it, my fingers start itching to get LoLa back from the Mac store where she's receiving a needed face lift. There's something about this ring that makes my heart fall in love again and again. As soon as LoLa returns I'm off to writer-land again where I can polish the chapters of my latest novel.

Ah, love true love...

panning.

Panning is a photographic technique that refers to the movement of the camera as it captures the image of a subject. While a subject is in motion (this can be anything from a car, to a person, or an animal) the camera follows that motion while snapping a shot. The exposure of the image is set at a long enough time to show the movement of the camera in the foreground or background of the image, but not necessarily on the subject.

If that sounds a little like photog mumbo jumbo to you, then here's the simple explanation. Basically you take a picture of something moving. And instead of holding still while taking the picture, you track the target of your picture with your camera. That way, everything else in the image should look blurry and your target should look sharp...or pretty close to it.

So what I'm saying is, this panning technique can be pretty tricky.

Some tips for panning:
1. Shoot in a manual setting so your shutter speed can be a little slower. (1/60-1/125) This will add even more blur to your movement...thus making your picture even awesomer. (It's a word, peeps. Trust me.)

2. Take a lot of photos. A Pulitzer prize winning photographer once told me, "If you want one great picture, then throw away 999." That pretty much sums up my style of shooting. Shoot lots, then throw away the crap.

3. Try a panning shot on a faster moving subject to get even better blur.

Here's a panning shot I took in Hawaii. The couple were spinning in a circle, so as they came around toward me I arced the camera as I took the picture. I love the blur in her limbs and hair!

school picture idea.

I don't like school photos. No. That's not quite it.
I loathe, detest, abhor, shudder-at-the-thought-of, completely-gag-when-I-look-at, HATE school photos. They're bland. They lack personality. And sometimes...if you're lucky, there's a mirror and a nicely posed child with a fist under his chin. Blech.

So this year I was inspired by a little photo I saw on Pinterest. If you're unsure what that is, email me and I'll fill you in. Basically Pinterest = best time suck ever!
This year I let the kids decide what they wanted in their picture. A favorite toy. A back pack. It was up to them. Then after the shoot, I mcjiggered a little somethin' somethin' in Photoshop. And voila! School pictures with personality and pizazz. (Can you tell I'm big on alliteration?)

It's an easy project.
1. Snap the picture.
2. Load the picture in Photoshop or another photo editing software that allows you to place text on the image.
3. Using varying fonts, type info about your kid at that age.
4. Flatten your image (if you used layers) and save a new copy so as not to save over the original file.
5. Print. If you live in Utah County go to Pro Digital Photos. They're great and I use them for a lot of my family pictures.

Here are a few samples of what I made:

bread butt.

The other day while I was making the typical PB&J lunch for my two youngest kids, I found myself out of bread. Luckily I keep a back-up loaf in the freezer. I pulled it out and thawed the first four pieces. When I started spreading the PB on the butt of the loaf, Teddy said, "I don't want that piece."
That was new. Up until that very moment I thought Teddy loved the end piece. He didn't protest the day before, or the day before that.
"I thought you liked the butt piece," I said.
"Not anymore. I don't like the butt."
I sighed. This new opinion of his had recently outed tomatoes and cucumbers too. I worried for a brief moment that he might become as fickle an eater as one of my friend's kids that will only eat toast and salmon. 
Ruby pulled herself up on the stool beside him and said very matter-of-factly, "I like butt."

And right then all my worries were washed away with laughter. 

procrastination.

I am guilty of procrastinating. Everything. Basically if I have something to do I'll wait until the very last minute to do it. Having said that, you'd think I didn't ever get anything done. Right?
Not so. See I have a theory. It is the theory of over-procrastination equals mass-production.

When I have a lot to do and I'm down to the last minute, I usually work faster and more efficiently. I get a lot more done. For example, when I have seven shoots to edit in less than a week, a chapter to write for my writing group, kids' appointments to attend, and a filthy house to clean; I actually end the week with a five of the seven shoots completed, a half-chapter written, an extra book read (because I cracked under the pressure and I de-stress by reading), only one appointment forgotten for the kids, and a semi-clean house.

If I compare that to any other normal non-stress week, I'd say my completed total isn't too shabby. I may have not finished everything I needed, but at least I did more than I usually would.

And so what I'm saying is procrastination creates an environment where you can be more productive than if you were sitting at home doing nothing. Therefore, I deem this the week of procrastinating!

Go Forth and Procrastinate.


...um, am I way off base here, or do you procrastinate too?

Secret 4 of 100

My first grade my teacher, Mrs. Vial, a horribly old woman with wretched, decaying breath and hair that resembled a white mushroom, hated me. She hated my wiggly body and constant chatter. She hated me so much she gave me recess detention. While all the other kids frolicked and played out on the school grounds I was stuck in her stuffy classroom, inhaling her horrid, dragon breath.
Towards the end of the play period, Mrs. Vial told me to stay inside while she gathered the class. Then she left. I remained in my seat until I couldn't take it any longer. I'm not sure what possessed me to go to the back of the room where all the students' brown lunch bags were lined up and clearly named. But I found myself back there, right in front of Lila McCormnack's bag. Maybe it was because she gloated that her mother had packed a massive bag of Skittles in her lunch. My mom only packed healthy gross things like a whole wheat sandwich, a banana, and carrot sticks. Bleh. For all I knew, Lila could've been Mrs. Vial's offspring because she was an equally detestable girl. But there I was, thinking about Lila's Skittles.
I knew at any moment the class would be returning. No doubt Lila, the first-grade cow that she was, would say something snide about my recess banishment. So in a moment of needing to rebel and fight back, I tore open Lila's lunch sack, ripped open the Skittles bag, and shoved my hand in to withdraw as many little sweets my fingers could possibly hold. With the same fervor, I munched and chomped and chewed those  skittles with guilty glee as I returned to my seat.

Moments later, the class returned. No one noticed the torn lunch bag, or the skittle dribble on my cheek. And when the folly was discovered at lunch, I promptly denied having any part of the Skittle snatching. Though I'm sure Mrs. Vial didn't believe me because I received detention after school and at recess for the next week. But to this day, I never admitted my guilt.

But I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm no longer stealing Skittles from first graders....(disclaimer: this doesn't apply to my own kids during the month of October). There you have it. My secret is I was a Skittle thief.

jump jump.

I've decided that the jump is my signature move. Well not mine, but it's the move I like to make other people do when I'm shooting their wedding. Why? Because it's friggin' cool. If you don't like it, then please don't ask me to shoot your wedding. If I shoot, you jump. That's all there is too it.

Now the question is, can you jump with style?

(This image was taken today by my second photographer, Brekke Felt. She agreed to come along and snag all my wide angle shots because my beloved wide angle (Nikkor 14-24 2.8) is sadly in the shop. So I asked Brekke to lay down and snap up, and she did it!)

egg-actly what i'm talking about.

Did you know that regular store eggs come out brown and are bleached white?

I'm ashamed to admit my ignorance, but I didn't know that until Doug, my step-father-in-law-once-removed, handed me a dozen eggs from his chickens (that live in his back yard) and told me just that. He said, "Did you know they bleach store bought eggs white?" I said, "Really? That's weird. Why don't they just keep them brown."
"I dunno," he said. "Probably because people like the look of it."

Well, I thought about that. Not for too long or anything. It's not like I'm sitting around pondering the color of the almighty egg for days on end. It just struck me as odd. Why can't brown eggs stay brown? I can't say I ever gave it much thought...here I go with the thinking about it all again...and what I came to think about it is this:

I think brown eggs look mighty fine and real purty. Maybe if we all though that then we'd have speckly brown eggs instead of bleached white eggs. There. I done said it. I like brown better than white. Call me an egg-cist.

Holla' ya'll for the brown egg. 

Now don't them eggs look nice?

ruby and the giant peach.

Across the street from where I live is a half acre lot filled with peach trees. For the last three summers in a row I've been blessed with a crate of the most delectable, mouth-watering peaches from the small orchard. My kids and I have made peach fruit leather, peach jam, peach syrup and smoothies of all design. But what I've found is I like a peach best when I can sink my teeth into one fresh picked off the tree.

As soon as I brought in the bowl, my little girl was asking for one. She likes them just like me. Enjoy the photo spew...she was too cute to stop snapping pictures.

She's my little sweet peach.

Secret 3 of 100

3:100 thumbs up

I hitch-hiked on the North Shore of Hawaii. It was an unpleasant experience and not one that I would suggest anyone try. First, you never know who's going to stop. It could be a total stinker of a person...and then what? You have to share a small vehicular space with someone that smells so bad your nose hairs singe. Pee-You! I'm not saying that happened to me. It was the opposite in fact. A super nice man picked up me and my friends, and then drove us to where we were going...somewhere he actually worked. He took us right back to BYU-Hawaii. He told us that we should be safer and just pay the .75 cents to ride the bus. (Yeah, I'm cheap.) But he also explained to us the dangers. And he said enough to scare me witless. So no more thumbing a ride for me.

But that never stopped me from using a buddy pass.

Mark and I used a buddy pass to head over to Hawaii for my Grandma's funeral and an awesome wedding shoot. Unfortunately last night when we went to the airport and saw the backed up system of people trying to fly standby, we realized we couldn't buddy pass it back to Utah. So with a lot of prayer we were able to find an affordable one-way ticket home. So good bye Hawaii...we'll see when we venture into the buddy pass world again.

Aloha, erin

sisters sisters.

"...and I'm Julene."

Unsure about that reference? Click on this LINK.

While we were visiting the Big Island, Rachel and I stopped at Ross. While scanning the clearance rack (because that's how I roll), we found a ruffly red shirt for only $3.99. I bought it and brought it back to my Auntie's house. Then, once all my sisters saw it and my cousin, they ran out to the Ross and bought the same one because it was such a great deal.
Then while we were dressing for church, Leslie put on the new red Ross shirt. I thought it would be funny if we all wore it. So after a little persuasion, we all went to Rachel's (my sis that lives in Hawaii) church wearing the same shirt...and looking quite Lawrence Welk-ish.

So of course, we had to stop by the Laie LDS temple and snap some matchy-matchy sister photos. See below. But could you also not mention this matchy-matchy-ness to any prospective clients because I usually heckle anyone who would wear the exact same shirt as their sibling.

 Those were the nice sister poses...and now for the real "sisters sisters" photos.

So now don't ya'll go run out and buy the exact same shirt for each person in your family...unless you want awesome awkward photos like the ones above.
luv, erin

mariko's cupcakes.

Have you noticed how long it's been since I've posted? Yeah, sorry about that. I had a wee bit of an emo-mental break down caused by frantic editing leading up to a whirlwind trip to the motherland (a.k.a. Hawaii). All of which caused a serious blockage in my brain. For the last two weeks I've been mumbling nonsense and downing Diet Coke like it's the new water. Um...it is the new water, right?
Regardless, it all boils down to no pictures or posts for you.

But now I'm back. And back in sweet style.

Today I was at church. I saw a girl. Not just any girl, but one that I've secretly loathed because of my insane jealousy issues. She is smart, funny, pretty, and uber-talented in the food blogging world. Oh, and she's a mom of two perfectly amazing children. Grrr...just thinking of her makes my blood boil.
What was this post about again? I'm having a hard time seeing through the red haze.
Oh right, Mariko's cupcakes.

So I saw this girl. Mariko is her name. And she said to me, "Hey, show me how to shoot some sweet-as food." (She didn't really say those exact words, but I can't be bothered to write the truth right now because it's tedious and lengthy. I'm sure it went more like, "How are you, Erin?" And I responded with, "Fine. Just fine. How's your friggin' awesome kids?...Oh, perfect as always...Yeah, and you're still smart...great. That's really great...".)
After a short chat she asked if I would come demonstrate how I shoot food. And frankly I was jumping for joy inside. Is there really something I can show her? Holla' ya'll. I said, "Sure. Make some cupcakes and I'll come over." (I'm pretty sure that's what I really did say.) And voila! She made them. I went over. And I shot her.

I mean, I shot her cupcakes.

Here's Mariko's yummy cupcakes coming straight to you from the motherland of Hawaii!

Aloha, erin.

Tutu.

Tonight my Grandma (the only Grandmother I've ever known) passed away. My boys lovingly referred to her as Tutu and tomorrow when they wake up, I'll share with them the somewhat unexpected news. But now that it's so early in the morning and I'm still awake, I can't help but feel a deep ache of loss, regret, and sadness over her passing. I usually keep this blog light hearted, but right now my heart feels full and somewhat broken. I know her passing is for the best and she's finally reunited with the love of her life. But still, I can't help but miss this wonderful woman that I named my one and only daughter after.

Dear Grandma,

Two years ago I took you to see one of your most beloved friends, Auntie Abby.

After a wonderful chocolate pie and turkey lunch, I drove the old saddle road to get back to Kona. I never counted on the cops being around, or them clocking me at 87 in a 45. I wondered what you would say when the cop approached the window and I rolled it down. You just looked at me and let out a slight chuckle. "See I told you to slow down," you said without a trace of anger. "But you go and catch the crook."
I laughed at your reference to my speed, tried to talk myself out of that ticket, and failed. The rest of the evening we told our ticket story over and over again to everyone at Uncle Aley's home. I thought the ticket was unjust, but your comment was so funny. Since you never learned to drive, Grandpa drove you every where. I have handfuls of memories of you telling Grandpa, "Eh Daddy, catch the crook." I'm just so happy I finally have my own crook story to share.

Since Grandpa died, you haven't been the same. And I'm sure now you are so happy to be with him once again. And I want you to know even though I broke down at the Walmart tonight when I heard that you passed away, I'm happy for you too.

My one regret is that I didn't listen to the small voice that spoke to me over the last few days, telling me to call. For that I'll be sorry until the day we meet again. You have been a force in my life. I love you always. Erin

hold out your hand so i can spit on it.

When I was younger my cousin Amy spit on me. For real. Alright, her act of spitting may have been perpetuated by my spitting on her first, but still it was gross. And frankly I don't entirely recall spitting on her, so in my mind she's the spitter and I'm just the innocent child bystander. Now that I'm older and wiser, I don't spit on my cousins or anyone else for that matter. And they don't spit on me. Why? Because I still think it's gross. 

So when my four year old boy spits on the window in the car, I think it's gross. And I tell him not to do it again. 

When he spits on his seat, I think it's disgusting. And I snap at him not to do it again...or else.

When he spits on my newly mopped kitchen floor, I think it's down right horrific. And I yell, "Don't do that again. Now go to time out!" (Then I throw my hands in the air. Serenity Now!)

But, when he spits on his baby sister, (just before losing any shred of parenting sanity) I think, somebody needs to teach this kid a lesson about spitting. And then I do the only thing that comes to mind. 

"Teddy," I say. "Hold out your hand."

He spreads those trembling four-year-old fingers. "Uh, why Momma."

I don't answer. Using the spitting ability once cultivated in my youth, I hawk the biggest loogie I can and spit it in the palm of his hand, making sure that it doesn't drip off the side and further the spit problem in my home. 

"Hold that," I say in Mommy Death-Con 5 Commander mode voice. "Keep that spit in your hand until you think it's gross enough that you will never ever again spit on your sister, your brother, the house, or the car. Do you understand?"

His chin trembles and his big brown eyes grow to the size of moons. "Yes Momma." 

I look at him, tempted to swipe the saliva off his palm and send him on his way. But I resist his innocent charm. It's an act, I tell myself half-crazed with spit abhorrence. Spitting is gross! Four minutes later I decide maybe the punishment was a little harsh, but I doubt my little guy will be spitting on you anytime soon.  

  

wishin' and hopin'.

That pretty much sums it all up.
Sure, it would be great if the world was at peace and people gave hugs instead of slugs. But why not throw a little self-love in my wishing too? One day I wish that a literary agent will find my manuscript in his/her email inbox, and after reading through the entire novel in one sitting (because it's so uber-amazing the agent wouldn't be able to rip his eyes away) the agent will then call me on the phone and ask beg to represent my work because of it's complete awesomeness.

And yes, I would like the agent to actually use that term.

Is that so much to wish for?

I don't think so...but I hope the second half of my wish comes sooner than the first half.

secret 2 of 100.

When I was fourteen I was arrested.

It involved my best friend, two older boys, one stolen van, and possibly a little Mary Jane (if you know what I mean...but since this is a family blog I'm not going to elaborate.)

Nuff' said.

Have a great Thursday. Obey the law.

moose tracks.

Yesterday I shot my second moose this summer. Talk about an awesome shooting season. As I drove down the Alpine Loop headed home after shooting a family, I was feeling quite ravenous. My stomach's hunger growls almost kept me from seeing the young moose standing a short ways off. In mid 'where-should-I-eat-out' conversation, I spied the young moose beauty. I swerved to a stop and whipped out my sharp shooter. It took seconds to snap on a 70-200 mm. With the right lens, I dared to step out of my van, sneak around the back, and shoot this moose beauty while he/she (who knows?) ate. 

I love me some moose!

On another note, if you were wondering where me and the hubs ate last night it wasn't the OG. Though, admittedly that was my first, second, and third choice. Mark put down his size 9 foot and we ended up at Costa Vida. Yeah, I'll admit that I might have announced their food tasted like butt as soon as we walked in the door, but I quickly changed my mind after I tasted the food. It was excellente (that's excellent in Spanish). If you're in Pleasant Grove and you want somewhere to eat...that is also now on my approved eating locations...go to Costa Vida. 

luv, erin

secret 1 of 100.

Today I'm starting down a new path in life. And by the title of this post, I'm sure you're wondering if that's the secret. The first of a hundred that I'll share on this blog. The answer to your silent inquiry is no. That's not the secret. However, it should be noted that I'm starting something new. I've always used this blog as my spewing ground, shooting into cyber-space whatever comes to mind with little to no focus. If we've met in person, you've probably already noticed that to be an everyday occurrence when we're conversing. What can I say? Go ADD.
But today I'm focusing. I'm hankering down and truly committing to something. I'm committing to one-hundred little somethings. One hundred truths about myself or those around me that you probably don't know. Why? Because at heart I love gossip as much as the next. No, that's not entirely why. I don't even know why except that I have secrets, boy do I have secrets, and I want to share! I may not even share a secret a week, but eventually I'll share all one hundred. And when that day comes...well, it'll come and you'll know one hundred secrets. So, um, yeah. I guess that's about it.

1:100 Gas Girl
When Mark walked me to the door after our first date, I totally farted. Not once, but twice. And yes, it was loud. He had said something funny, and as I laughed, I just couldn't hold in the gas that was pressing on my insides with unbelievable paining pressure. The laugh caused me to relax enough to, well, let it all out. Not knowing if he heard, but certain he must've, I turned the door knob and slipped inside without saying another word. I didn't give a rat's but cheek if he thought my departure was abrupt because I was more concerned that he'd never want to take out the gas girl again. Mortified, I shook my head and after a few seconds erupted into a fit of laughter. Because even though part of me wanted to sink into a hole in the earth, a bigger part of me considered the scene from another angle. Particularly the one of any one of my neighbor's. 


Obviously Mark asked me out again. And after that first date he never made any indication that he heard the world's worst faux pax to be made on a first date. So I kept that secret closest to my heart for years into our marriage. And when I finally broke down and told him, he had no clue what I was talking about. Or so he said. 


I haven't shared this story with many others for fear that they might look at me differently. If that's the case, than so be it. Because now you know secret 1 of 100. 

huntress.

Once I dated a guy who was a hunter. He sent me a picture of himself sitting on top a deer or a buck (I have no clue about these things really) and the poor deer-buck was dead. Blood and guts and all were exposed. Gag, right? That poor deer-buck animal was a goner. It's wee little offspring were left to wander through the woods alone.

Now that many moons have passed since I dated hunter-boy, I too have gone the way of the huntress.
Well, kind of.
I recently shot an animal. And I have the picture to prove it. No, it's no deer-buck animal. But a Moose!

Yes, ya'll. I done gone and shot me a Moose. 

Now who's the huntress? 

Boo-yah. Ya'll come back y'here.

(Something about shooting wildlife has inspired the hick-lovin', animal-huntin' side of me.)

"bare" tales from the great outdoors.

If you haven't met my hubby, Mark the Shark, you wouldn't know that he can grow a beard in about two hours. Or that he somewhat resembles Tom Cruise (and he's told this daily). Or that he's one of the most helpful people out there. If I need something done, Mark's my man. Ha ha. Snort. But really. He is my main man. He's built things for me, crawled out of bed in the middle of the night to get me a drink of water, and even helped me put my shoes on when my body was too bloated with baby to move. Mark's helpful nature is one of the reasons I fell in love with him. In short, Mark would give someone in need the shirt of his back.

So...

Last night while helping me at a bridal photo shoot, Mark did just that. I wanted her to sit on the steps, but they were dirty. So Mark, being the guy that he is, took off his shirt and placed it on the steps.

this is me for real.

I posted this earlier on Facebook, but it makes me laugh so hard I thought I would share it here. My friend Finny caught this true life shot of me at a recent wedding. I'm not sure whether I should be appalled that I'm looking so freakishly blissful, or that some young boy appears to be checking me out. Either way, all I can say is: That's right boys, I still got it.

truth...or something like it

Some days that's truer than others. Of course, I'm still cutting back on my DC habit.

some like it hot.

I love salsa. I like it hot...relatively speaking. I don't want my lips to melt off my face and my tongue to shrivel into a blackened stump from the fire in the peppers, but I don't mind a nice burn across the creases of my mouth. I love my salsa to burst with cilantro and to hold a hint of lemon or lime in each bite. I want there to be a kick and to be complimented with the perfect greasy tortilla chip. Oh, just writing this post makes my mouth water. 

In order to feed my summer salsa craving I planted a "salsa-lovers" garden. Big Boys, Early Girls, Celebrity and Roma tomato plants are surrounded by a couple tall cilantro clusters, sweet Walla Walla onions bursting from the ground, two bell pepper plants, and one serrano plant. In another month my house will become salsa central and Salsa Fest 2011 will begin. (Stay tuned for updates of this years Jam Fest 2011 that went off without a hitch. Strawberry Jam rocks!)

Anyway, the purpose of this post isn't for me to brag and brag some more about my pint sized garden that will only be good for supplying my love of salsa. Basically I want something from you. I want your recipes! I'll share mine first...and granted it's not the best or I wouldn't be asking for yours. But it's decently good. So I'm begging you, if you have a great salsa recipe please share it.

Erin's Supa' Awesome Salsa 

(Winner of Summerill Salsa Fest 2010)

8 roma tomatoes
1/2 large bell pepper
1-2 garlic cloves
1 small walla walla sweet onion
1/2 serrano pepper or jalapeno
1/2 lemon (squeezed for it's juice)
1/3 cup of chopped cilantro
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper

Directions: 
1. Buy yourself a food processor. It makes the salsa making process so much faster. And it's pretty cool when you get to press the "pulse" button over and over again.
2. Pulse (this is like intense chopping) the bell pepper, garlic, onion, and serrano pepper until evenly chopped.
3. Cut your roma tomatoes into quarter-sized chunks, then add to the food processor. Pulse until your salsa reaches the consistency you like.
4. Add chopped cilantro, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Pulse a couple more times until it's all mixed and looking like a good-lookin' salsa.
5. Get out some real nice tortilla chips and dig in!

If your salsa recipe is better than mine, please share.

so very cheesy.

I love to take wedding photos...and I love all my cute couples...and I think all their pictures are to die for. Gush, gush, gush. Yeah, I get that I sound like a total sap. Cheesiness to the max. But it's the truth. Well, most of the time. I'll not be speaking of any bride-zillas here so you can go elsewhere if you think this post has anything to do with the bride I encountered last week that nearly ripped my head off because I merely mentioned she might have to wait one minute longer to take a certain picture. Please, like I'm working on her time schedule. When will these brides learn that their wedding day is MY day? Mine, mine, mine. Where I'm the photog rockstar and they're just a momentary blip in my shot. 

 

Uh, did I just say all thought in out-loud cyber space? 

 

Pardon the serious tangent. The truth of the post is this, sometimes I really do love my brides and grooms to death. And sometimes I shed a tear. Like when I snapped this shot:

Sometimes I cry. (Note: should you mention this fact to anyone I'll deny it. I'm no sissy photog.)

So when my close friend's little sister gets married to an awesome guy, and then she shares a tear-jerking dance with her father...sometimes I get a little misty-eyed. Or a lot. 

And it's those times I realize that I love photography even if sometimes I get stressed; sometimes I feel as if I don't have time to pee; sometimes I wish I was writing instead of shooting; sometimes I want to just turn my ringer off and spend two hours taking a hot bath. 

Sometimes it's so worth it to be a photographer. And one of those times would be when the awesome father of the bride (pictured above) includes a little bonus on top of my wedding fee. A bonus that's not at all too cheesy for me and my queen of cheese. 

When the bonus is a can of COUGAR GOLD, then I say it's pretty darn great being a wedding photographer! 

feat. and sore feet.

Today I ran 10 miles.

That's the darn truth. Just ask my aching legs and sore feet.

10 miles is also the longest distance I've ever ran. Ever. I'm not one of those running moms. You know, the type that actually like to go on a run for fun after a long day with the kiddos. Blech. I hate running. I'd rather stay at home with the kids, wiping booger noses and cleaning up poop. Up until the last couple months it would be safe to say that I loathed running. I spat at anyone who would suggest I even take up the sport. Ok, well maybe that's an exaggeration. I only considered spitting on others. Of course, my refined nature wouldn't allow such a hideous act. So what did I do? I decided to face my fear/hate head on. Awhile back I posted that Mark and I had signed up for the Timp half. With the date approaching, I've been training like any other non-runner would need to train. Now after months of practice, I tolerate the activity. And I do this for one reason, and one reason only.

When I'm done running I feel AWESOME!

And today, with a 10 mile feat under my belt, I felt like AWESOME-squared.

wedding day nightmare.

Did your wedding day go off without a hitch? Was it everything you ever dreamed of? Or did something disastrous happen? Because if the latter is the case, believe me, I completely understand...I'm not saying my own wedding day was an absolute debacle, but I've been to enough weddings to tell you that sometimes...a lot of the time...things don't go as planned.

As in this case:
Monday I arrived at the designated location at 3:30 pm to shoot my lovely bride and handsome groom. Because they didn't have a bridal session, we shot their bridal type images before their ceremony which was to start at 4:00 pm.
First, let me say that it usually takes a few minutes to start shooting. The bride needs to be prepped and then placed in the perfect location that will enhance her loveliness. So basically when I say that we didn't start shooting until 3:45, I'm really saying that it's not because I'm slow. I am not slow! (Sorry, personal issues.)
The shoot continued for 10 or so minutes before I realized my lovely bride didn't have her ring on.
I said, "Hey do you want your ring in these shots?"
"Yes," she said.
And off her sister went to fetch the rings.

5 minutes later:

I glanced over my shoulder and saw my lovely bride's sweet sister with a look of pure petrification on her face.
"Um, Matilda (this is a fake name...but totally cool, right?) what's wrong?" I asked.
"If I tell you, you are going to freak," she said, voice shaking as much as her hands.
Um. Like that statement didn't just freak the bejeezus out of me. Sure.
"No worries. I won't freak," I said. Total lie. "What's up?"

INSERT: As I spoke the wind blew through the field tossing around weeds and wild flowers. Yes, we were standing in a field full of tangled weeds. Awesome...but not ideal for that day's shoot. You'll see.

"Well," she began after much coaxing. She pulled the ring pillow out from behind her back. "The rings are gone. They were on the pillow in the car, but after I walked across this field and jumped over that ditch there, they disappeared."
Holy freaking Moly! You've got to be kidding me, right? Right!?! No. It was the truth. My eyes grew to the size of saucers and I immediately rushed to her side, dropped down to my knees and started searching the field. My bride, bless her sweet soul, kept her composure as her fiance helped me dig through weeds. She even stayed calm after I called in the Calvary to help me search. Friends and family members of the bride came down and dug through the field.

45 minutes later:
I found the bride's ring. I wanted to cry, shout, jump for joy...at least be rewarded with some type of Hart's drink (this didn't happen). We kept searching for the grooms ring.

Alas, we never found it.

The wedding went on as planned, aside from the huge bump. But now I think, as I look fondly on that day, how bad can your wedding day really get? I suppose there's a lot more worse things that could happen than losing rings. But for your sake, I hope not.

luv, erin