FOR SALE BY ME...an awesome house

Hey all! The time has come for me to move. Well, me and the kiddos and the old man. We're selling our home in Pleasant Grove, and I'd love for your help. We want to sell our house for sale by owner, so I'm asking you to forward this post on to anyone you think might be interested.

And why would you do that? Well, I'm offering a Family Photography Session to any person who refers the BUYER of our home. We would like to have our house sold before the holidays.

Here's a few shots I took of the upper level. If you, or anyone is interested, you can email me at erinsummerill(at)gmail.com for more info.

Location: Pleasant Grove
5 bedrooms
2 1/2 bathrooms
.30 acre
Asking 235,000

Thanks, erin

Intern: what I can do for you.

Many of you may have wondered what I'm doing with an intern. I admit, I've often wondered the same thing. In fact, many a Seinfeld moment has passed as Marie and I sit in my small, cramped office, discussing my take on every day life. I've done my best to indoctrinate her into my elevated way of thinking. 

Have I succeeded? 

One can only hope. 

But one thing is for sure. Thanks to me Marie is no longer the same little high school intern. Now she is a high school intern with a rockin' senior picture!

See below:

Um...not that one. I meant look at the ones below:

And of course the next one is my favorite:

NOTICE: If you want to be my intern I'm now accepting applications for the "potty training my kid" job and the "picking boogers off the wall" job. 

2 years ago...

Two years ago today I looked like a human blotation device. This little baby girl was a week overdue and my patience expired a month before that. I wanted and waited for a little girl, and now that she was on the way, frankly, she was taking too long to come. But finally, in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, I woke up because I peed myself...well, turns out it wasn't pee but water. The amniotic kind. Of my four kiddos, she's the only one that came because the my water broke. It was totally cool, but kind of gross. 

Anyway enough grodiness. Two years have passed in a flash, and now my sweet baby is looking more like a little girl instead of a baby. Which makes me sad and happy all at once. I love my Ruby and I'm so grateful to have her in my life. She's sweet and sassy and friendly and fun. Happy Birthday sweetie. 

today=crash and burn

Today I should be:

EDITING 5 family sessions, 1 wedding, 1 senior, and a workshop. WRITING 5,000 words for NanoWrimo. PROGRAMMING the new blog for our lil' frame company. CREATING a pamphlet for said frame company. CLEANING the sticky post-Halloween guck left by 40 kid-sized fingers all over my house. SHOWERING me. EATING.

But, instead of doing all that, I'm staring at my Lame-A, bugged out, crashed, piece of $#%@ COMPUTER, wondering why, oh why, it choose today of all days to upload a virus that would send my life spiraling into a stressful oblivion of burning failure.

Son of a motherless goat!

Oh, so you snarky few out there might be wondering how I'm even posting this...I'm using my MAC laptop...the one computer that doesn't have the start of my new book on it, or the many sessions I need to edit, or the Photoshop docs that I need for the lil' frame company.

So today, I will be vegging out in front of the TV and catching up on 5 years of missed All My Children episodes.

what will you be?

This past weekend Mark and I went to a halloween party. I was dressed as a TWITCH (trendy witch) and Mark a box of Wheaties.

We so totally go together, huh?

Hey, can you see my little bear cub in the back of this pic? He's a Power Ranger!

And here's my lady bug!

Now, I know our costumes are so totally inspiring, but I'm just wondering, what are you going to be?

french onion soup.

My favorite. I love, drool over, crave and must have this soup at least once during the fall and once in the winter. It's an annual tradition for my family once the weather turns cold. If you live in Utah, you know it was beastly cold yesterday, so of course I made FRENCH ONION SOUP!

I'll tell you now, this recipe is unlike any you'll ever have. My mom snagged the recipe off a burly pup owner in England years ago. FYI, did you know I was actually born there? I know, the accent gives it away.

Anyhow, it's delish. I hope you enjoy.

1. Cut the onions. And bawl like a friggin' baby. Holy cow, I had mascara streaking down my face like I was next in line to star in a KISS show.

2. Then make the onion goodness:

French Onion Soup



3-4 lbs of sweet onions, sliced thin

1/2 cup butter

4-5 Tbl. flour

6 cups chicken broth

4-5 Tbl. rice vinegar or mild vinegar 

1 loaf of sour dough bread, chopped into bite size pieces

1 pound of Swiss cheese

1. Saute onions in butter until tender, not brown.

2. Stir in flour until the aroma smells divine! (Your mixture will look light brown.)

3. Whisk in chicken broth, and then add vinegar to taste.

4. Scoop soup mixture into oven safe bowls.

5. Top with handfuls of bread cubes, and Swiss cheese.

6. Cook at 500 degrees until cheese is melted and lightly browned.

Then eat and enjoy, and think of me!

a product I cannot live without...

Tune in later to this very blog for a recipe made with PBF!

Sigh.

If I could do it all over again, I'd do it just like this...

Style. Sophistication. Simplicity.

Isn't she stunning?

What would you change about your wedding day?

another story in which I make an excellent candidate for mother of the year.

Remember the time I totally got my days confused and sort of, kind of, well almost, in all honesty I basically forgot my son's birthday? You can check out that story here. Awesome, right?

It would seem, based on the events in the last week, that I have a talent for the aforementioned birthday forgetting.

Case in Point: Teddy the Bear's birthday.

Week in Review:

Monday: Edited Photos
Tuesday: Edited Photos

*son of a...
Late Tuesday night I had the singular thought, Something's going on tomorrow that I've forgotton about. What could that be? Well, duh. Teddy's birthday. As in, the celebratory day in which I apparently forgot to buy a cake mix, candles, balloons, and presents. Pretty much, I had a whole lot of nothing planned.
At ten in the evening I made a few phone calls and begged my sweet good neighbors with young kids to bring their kiddos to my house the next day for a FABULOUS party (one of which I had not planned).

Wednesday: Rush to Target. Buy everything that resembles Halloween party supplies. Rush home. Clean house. Make cupcakes. Con good friend into helping me make salsa. Turn all photography business over to Intern. Cross fingers that kids show up.

And did they? Thank the Good Lord, YES!

So last minute, I threw the best 4-year-old Halloween party that a slack-A Mom could pull together in less than a day. We decorated pumpkins and played freeze dance to Michael Jackson's THRILLER.
All in all, it was a perfect party. And now my little guy is four. It's hard to believe how fast he's growing up. Here's a shot I made the kids take just hours before the party.

name dropping and clothes busting.

Where the devil have you been? Oh, wait a sec. Yeah, I mean where the heck have I been?

URWA

Say what? You don't know that that means. It stands for Utah Romance Writers of America. And last week I was the 'esteemed' photographer of honor. (Alright, so maybe I wasn't the esteemed guest...whatev! But I was the photographer.)
Authors, agents, editors and publishers came to the conference. I shot all day long, and learned a thing or two about writing. Mostly it was awesome. Especially when I got to see the amazing Karen Hoover, and Candace Salima, and Laurie Mclean, and Amy Moore-Benson, and Victoria Dahl, and Bree Despain, and Jessica Day George (who, I personally believe, should just go by JDG. It sounds supa' cool).

Whoa, breathe. That was one heck of a name drop. Am I cooler now? Am I? (Fingers crossed you'll say yes, but if you say no that's ok too because the rest of this post is for you... I am SO. NOT. COOL! Read on, and you'll see why.)

THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR:

Remember a paragraph and a half back when I said "mostly" awesome? Here's the small, miniscule, nothing to worry about part of the conference that was definitely NOT awesome. At. All.

While shooting headshots of all the amazing conference attendees, I met an older gentleman who was sporting quite the manly goatee. I asked him what he wrote. (That's what non-published-aspiring-writers mostly talk about) The goatee-wearing man said, "I write erotica."

My jaw dropped to the floor. "Um, yes, well. That's nice, and lovely. And I'm sure it's very interesting." And then I put the camera in front of my face and started shooting. There was nothing coherent left to say.

That evening, at the conference dinner I wore the new blouse I purchased earlier in the day at JCREW. (So maybe I wasn't shooting the entire time of the conference.) While I was looking for my seat, the goatee-gentleman waved me over. When I reached where he was sitting, I placed my hand on his table and leaned over to talk to him.

SNAP is what I should've heard. But I didn't. Those top three devil buttons on my blouse came undone on their own without so much of a warning noise. In front of Erotica-writing goatee-gentleman, my top three buttons popped open to expose my hot pink brazier. (The white one was dirty.)

He looked at me, then looked at, um...you know. And he said, "Looks like you're coming undone."

In that moment, I wanted to DIE.

Did I? Of course not. That's why I'm writing this extremely long post on why I am so, so, so not cool. I'm just a person who as of late is not published and happens to expose fluorescent undergarments at Erotica-writing, goatee-sporting gentleman.

Intern: total sicko

Intern called texted in that she was sick today. And you know what that made me think of? These darn kids and all their texting.

Back in my day, which might I add wasn't too long ago, kids didn't text. Heck, most kids didn't even have a cell phone. That could be because they were the size of a brick and weighed close to the same, but whatev. In fact, since I started working with youngun's like Intern, my texting has increased. I used to have the 200 text plan, and now I'm going to have to bump it.

This is a grief I'd planned on laying on Intern. Now that she's not here, I have no one to complain to. My home is too quiet. And my hair is too thin. Where is Intern with her thick, lucious locks?

Not here, that's where.

Get better soon Intern, lest I spend all my money on hair extensions so I have something to brush out and take pictures of.

rain and kissing.

The thunder boomed so loudly in the sky that it shook my entire house, and my tv screen flashed on and off. Creepy! And wee bit romantic. I do love me a good thunder storm, and thanks to the Good Lord, this summer has been full of them.

On days like this, I drawn into making autumn inspired food...even if it is just a spice cake mix, an egg and a can of pumpkin, and a mass load of chocolate chips. (Seriously though, try it. Cook these pumpkin cookies at 375 for 15 min.)

But there was no cooking today because I had a lot of editing to do. I know, what's new, right? Blah, blah, blah. I'm sure by now you want to gouge your eyes out when I talk about photography. I hope to end all that soon. See, one day I plan to never take another picture again, and spend my time as a pop-culture information specialist employing my days in front of the television as way of research.

However, until then...

Photography it is. Here's a rain shot that makes up for the no cooking day. I love kissing in the rain. Even when I'm not the one doing it. Sigh.

oh, for the love.

Remember yesterday's cookies? Not so yummy. In fact, when all was said and done I only ate two. Maybe if you suffer from anorexia then you're thinking two is a lot, but the rest of the stay-at-home mommy world know that two cookies from an entire batch is exercising seriously self-control. Except, there wasn't much to control because those cookies tasted one step up from butt.

Tammy, the other momiva (mom+diva), took pity on my motheticness (mom+patheticness) and brought over the yummiest cookies seen here:

Notice there are only four on the plate. Um, that's because I may or may not have eaten two or quite a bit more. Even without Betty Crocker's assimilated frosting product, they tasted divine.

And then, to top off my evening. I got to shoot me a hunky senior in front of my TRUCK!

Truck, truck, bo buck, banana fana fo TRUCK! I love it. And I love this cute senior boy...who is not nearly as cute as my main man, Mark! (That's alliteration for you babe cause I luv ya. wink)

le dessert craptastico!

I like food. Who doesn't? But I hate it when I'm having a hankering for something sweet, and thanks to some grand idea I had two days ago about getting fit, there's nothing yummy in my house to eat. And to make matters worse, someone like Tammy posts something ridiculously good-looking. Check it out HERE!

Of course I act like any other rational stay-at-home mom toting a muffin like stomach, and working towards slimming up to her 20's again. I dig through my cupboards for every last ingredient on that blasted blog post. And sadly enough, I'm one egg short.
One egg from chocholate goodness that will take all my woes away.
One!

So I do the next best thing. I peruse my cookbooks, scan the internet, and say a prayer in my heart that I can make something similar to Tammy's tempting creation.

Do I?

Um, Yeah. Not so much. But though they aren't gourmet, or even finely crafted, these homemade oreos will please my kids. And given the bizarre aftertaste, my diet is saved too! So I'm happy all around. Chocolate craving cured. Diet saved. Kids happy. I feel like a regular super-mom.

If you feel like making le oreo dessert craptastico, here's the recipe. You can be super-mom too!

One devils food cake mix

2 eggs

1/3 cup cooking oil

1 T. water

Mix all of that together until it forms a wierd sticky dough substance. Then pinch off large marble size pieces and roll into balls. Set on a greased cookie sheet a couple inches apart. Press flat. Bake at 375 for 8-10 minutes.

When cool, no need to get all fancy and make frosting. Just pick up some whipped cream cheese frosting in the tubs and smear between two cookies.

Arrange on a decorative plate, and call yourself a domestic goddess!

Intern: FIRED!

So the other day, Intern says to me, "Erin, I just texted my friend and told her I was at your house since you're my OBFF."

Say what? "Um, what is an OBFF?"

"You know," she says glancing from her most recent text to me. "It means Old Best Friend Forever, because my friends at school are like my BFFs but you're old, so you're an OBFF."

Hello? How old does she think I am? I thought back over our conversations and I realized she referred to me this way quite a few times before. Like when we first started working together and she mentioned her friend's mom was probably around my age. Do I look like I'm old enough to have a 17 year old daughter? Maybe if I got preggers when I was 12. Eww! Gross!

Anyway, I had to set that girl straight. I am not OLD! In fact, with a bit of Photoshop work, I look a lot like her teen BFFs. So there!

All I had to say in response to that was, "FIRED!"

But, apparently she doesn't listen because she's still working for me. So here's a cute shot anyway of Intern with her YBFFs.

let's get to the fat of it.

I'll be honest, I've been a little on the porky side since the wedding season has been full swing and I haven't cared much. That is, until yesterday when my pants didn't fit. Dang it. Don't you hate that feeling? Where has my inner Jillian Michaels been?

Today I decided to STOP IT. (See what I mean here).

So, Mark and I went running this evening. I ran two miles, and died a little. But in the end, the part of me that was left felt a little bit better.

Am I going to pull a Drew Carey? (See what I mean here)

Maybe not. But I'm back in it ya'll. And maybe the next time I see you, I will be wearing my pants. Um, you know what I mean, right?

luv, erin

truckin' it.

I recently decided that every girl needs a truck. And so I went out and bought me one. This particular 1965 Ford may not look pretty, but then again, neither do I most days. So now that I found me this old clunker (at a yard sale I might add) I no longer have to get my clients to tresspass on other people's vintage property.

Do you like my truck?

Intern: i darn near got a tear in my eye

Today Intern suprised me.

Fifteen minutes before Intern was scheduled to show up at my house, Mark (my main squeeze) called and said his truck died. Let it be known now that I told him I had a similar problem with his ghetto old truck. I suggested that he take the key out, let the car think for a bit, and then put the key back in. He said he'd already done that and it was clear that the battery was completely dead. So I drove out to Orem to rescue the man.

As soon as I got there, I walked over to the truck, and (just for nothing but a little bit a curiousity) I turned the key so the car was completely off. I took the key out of the ignition and let the car think for a half second. Then I put it back in, and guess what...

That POS ghetto truck started up right then and there. Mark was flabbergasted...and I (muah ha ha ha) didn't at all rub it in.

So seeing as I saved the day, I decided it would be ok if Intern had to wait a moment or two for me. I took myself to the HARTS to get me a cool 32oz.

And who do you suppose I found at the Harts buying, not one but, two icy 32oz drinks?

That's right. Intern.

Finally, she's learning a thing or two from my wisdom-ish ways. I could cry right now.

telephone.

"Hello, hello, baby, you called? I can't hear a thing. I have got no service in the club, you see  . . . You're breaking up on me. Sorry I cannot hear you. I'm kinda busy."

"K-kinda busy.

K-kinda busy.

Sorry I cannot hear you

I'm kinda busy."



I'd like to thank Lady GAGA and Beyonce for their genius in music that so accurately captures the essence of my life. I'd like to thank my parents for blessing me with the talent of phone gab. And I'd especially like to thank my hubby for not minding when I never call back.

It's all of you who have made this phone-i-ness possible for me.

(wave at crowd. Exit stage.)

lots to learn.

Tonight my dad and I went to the Pictureline Digitalfest. We sat in a room of 200 other photogs, and listened to an amazing photographer/cinematographer speak about the industry, the changes that are being made, and what's exciting about cameras now. As he spoke, I seriously had a Joey moment where I could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but it just registered as, "blah, blah, blah, camera, blah."

I wasn't bored. I was overwhelmed. Seriously, I-a-stupid-head-overwhelmed. I felt as though I'd never picked up a camera in my life. He was using jargon that I'd never spoke. So, I'm here to officially tell you that I know nothing about photography. Well, maybe a little something. But if photography is an iceberg, than I only know what's on the tip. And that's a big maybe.

Now I feel like:
1. I must run out and buy a newer, fancier, costlier camera.
2. I might vomit.
3. I've seriously overlooked the art of cinematography.
4. I have to move to Cali, enroll in film school, and make me a MOVIE!

Luv, erin

Intern: lessons learned on a Tuesday

1. I heart Harts.
If you live in Pleasant Grove and you don't go to the Hart's at least three times a week to get yourself a big chill, then you're probably the type of person who'd choose a Krispy Kreme over Daylight Doughnuts, or McDonalds over TA (taco amigo). And that, my friend, is a crime. (Or at least it should be.)

There is nothing that gives me more joy on a daily basis than filling up a cold 32 oz at the Harts. Today after a double senior shoot, I took Intern down to the Harts. And, (drum roll please) I shared with her my special drink mix that puts a hop in my step and keeps me feeling alert during my vigorous editing sessions. I explained to Intern that a happy photographer is one that takes a daily trip to Harts.

2. I heart Chocolate.
When one of my favorite printing shops dropped off my prints with two chocolates, I set down my Harts drink. Did I share one with Intern? HECK-A-NO. Why? Because I love chocolate and I'm the one who edited the pictures that the printer dropped off. Thus, I'm the one who earned the chocolate. Me. Me. Me.

3. I heart Bacon.
After a couple minutes I felt bad that I didn't share my chocolate with Intern. I know, I'm such a bleeding heart. So, I offered her some of last night's leftovers instead. YUM! (It was pasta with a tomato bacon sauce. Now you're not feeling so bad for Intern, are you?)

big MAC.

I'm the Mac daddy (um, momma) now that I have my nifty new computer. Say what? That's right. On Saturday I decided my dino-computer that maxes out at 30G of space wasn't enough to edit pictures on. (If you're a photog client, no worries, I also edit images on my desktop. And I can put at least 50G of info on that...ha ha...but really. PC's bite.)

So I ran down to the BYU and purchased the MACbook PRO. I was so excited, my face may or may not have looked like it was ready to explode by the time I handed over my money. (Insert excited squeal.)

Have I used it much since then?

Um, no. Talk about major let down when I got home. Apparently the computer doesn't come with all the programs I'm used to using: Microsoft Word, Photoshop, Excel, Bejeweled...um, wait. I didn't mean that last one.

See, a MAC only comes with weirdo MAC programs that my PC mind doesn't know how to use. I feel as useless as my neutered dog Bubba. Not only did I fork over a ton of money to ride the MAC train, I also have no clue how to use the thing.

I guess what I'm really saying is I'm more of an impotent Mac Daddy (momma). At least for now.

May the MAC be with you.
luv, erin

Intern: hair-ography.

(chuckle, chuckle. I'm so clever. I just love the post title so much I want to say it again, and again, and again.)

Intern and I were editing photos today. A process that can be lengthy, and hm hm, somewhat boring. When I realized I couldn't take it any longer, I turned to Intern and became instantly mesmerized by her hair. See, the thing is, Intern has the most beautiful curly hair in the world. I wish I could snatch it off her body and glue it to my own head. But alas, I would look freaky with curls glued on top my locks of stringiness.

When my staring reached a level of Hey-weirdo-you're-so-staring-at-me, I smiled and then begged her to brush it out. If I had curly hair, I'd brush it out everyday of my life. I would love it. Like I always say, "go big or go home." (Side note: If you know my sister in WA, you would see that she has been blessed with thick luscious curls. I have also offered to brush her hair out. Unfortunately, she lacks the eye of fashion that I have and she hasn't succumb to my way of thinking.)

Intern agreed!

So I brushed. And brushed. And brushed.

And voila! Beatiful-ish-ness.

Isn't it AMAZING?!? I love it so much. So much I want to scream and run around and then brush it again. If you have curly hair and want me to fix it for you, stop by. I'll do it for free and give you a rockin' awesome headshot. (Oh, and if you're wondering why Intern has her face covered, it's only to protect her identity. You know, cause she's young and all that. It's not because she doesn't like the hair do. Nope, not at all. I think she loves it!)

Hope your day is HAIRY. muah ha ha.

luv, erin

friend(wedge)ship.

Today I spoke to my friend (using my new nifty iphone. If you don't have one, get one. It's the bomb diggity...I believe this phrase is having a comeback, and so by using it, I'm riding the cool wave.)


Anyway, me and the aforementioned friend spoke about a particular book. A book that may or may not be the final book of a trilogy and may or may not have a supa' stink ending. Just saying.

My friend said she LOVED said book. What the? Are you for real? I thought, and may have said. Blown away, I was (thanks Yoda). How could we be such good friends and have such different taste. (Mine being excellent reading taste, and her's, well, not so much). I was pushed to anger by her acceptance and satisfaction with the ending. I was almost just as angry with her as I was with the ending. Friends should like what their friends like, right? And hate what their friends hate, right?

Now, I'm not going to end a friendship or anything. I'm not that type of friend. But, agh. You know?

Anyway, that's just my feelings as of right now. Thanks for letting me vent.

p.s. Author S.C. You are partially dead to me (I did love the first two books) because you have driven a wedge between me and my friend(s).
luv, erin

INTERN : what to wear

Here on my ghetto Summerill Surf you'll notice a lack of consistency. Random posts about whatever comes to mind. But things are changing peeps. I recently acquired me an Intern. Frankly, I feel a bit like Kramer. It's awesome and I'm sure my intern is learning lots. Maybe not about Photography, but certainly about being ADD, obsessive compulsive, and a true lover of PG (my home town). (On a side note, some may say that love is better categorized as agoraphobia. Bah! What do they know? They probably don't even fill their drinks at Harts.)

After meeting with Intern a couple times, I decided she's a true inspiration. So this weekly Tuesday spot is dedicated to her and all things Internish. Enjoy.

Have you ever had a deep love for a particular clothing item? Say sweats, or a comfy shirt. I have, and I think that love is something to be embraced. Even celebrated. Young kids these days don't seem to get that. Take for instance Intern.

Lesson 1: What to Wear

On Wednesday Intern meets with me for the first time and I explain to her photography work flow. She seems interested and even takes notes. I feel brilliant, and particularly snazzy because I got dressed, blew out my hair, and wore a shirt that I bought 2 months ago. Ever since purchasing it, I've had a love affair with this shirt. It's comfy, nice, and striped. So maybe I wear it. A lot.

On Friday Intern comes by my house to attend her first shoot. We sit in my office and prep the camera bag. Intern seems particularly interested.

"Um," Intern says. "Did you know that you wore that exact same outfit on Wednesday? Pants and shirt."

I look at Intern. "Yep."

Intern's face screws up into a mask of confusion. So I explain. When you wear the same outfit again and again, it fits like a glove. You don't have to do laundry very often. And people will recognize you for your style. It's the best.

Watch this First!

This is such a sad story for such a lovely family. Now, on a lighter note, please watch the video below before you leave my blog. You'll love me and call me your bestie for life.

Now Watch This! Please, oh please...

So, do you love me for sharing this, or what?

luv erin.

oh baby.

Rachael brought all the cute decor and darling cupcakes. I just supplied the house. Not a bad deal, I must say, considering I got me a taste of the glory in throwing a sweet baby shower for my darling friend Emily. (Oh, and fyi, the last line is a total shout out to Nacho Libre...the man I receive all inspiration from. Such a stud.)

Here's a picture of the goodies. Enjoy and have a great weekend.

P.s. If you want to see more, I have them posted on my photography blog. Follow the huge, possibly annoying, circle button on the left to my photog blog.
luv, erin

today.

I'm sitting here staring at the computer screen wondering what to do next. It's not like I don't have a million images to edit, a book to finish writing, or pee to scrub from the crevice of where the toilet meets the travertine (Seriously boys, can't you get it in the bowl?). But, all I can think about is how much I loathe Amazon at this exact moment. And, if Amazon were a person I'd sucker punch him.


Dear Amazon,

I hate you. Everybody in the world has a copy of the beloved Mockingjay. Everybody, that is, except ME! ME ME ME ME ME! Where the devil is mine? Amazon, how could thou forsake me? Don't I spend gobs of money (thank you, uncle Mastercard) on your black hole of commercialism site? And this is how you repay me? No book.
Nothing.
Nada.

That's the last time I pre-order a book from you. That's right. You heard me.

You, dear Amazon, ARE DEAD TO ME.

luv, erin

back from the dead.

I woke up this morning and took a shower.
That, in and of itself, is a feat. Over the last few days I have been sick. Seriously achey-bones, high-fever, sore-throat, sick. I feel as though I've crawled back from the dead.

In the last four days I've done nearly nothing. Nearly. That is, if you don't count the weddings I shot.

A few months back someone asked me what I would do if I got sick. What would happen if I had a wedding booked that day. Well, answer is, I'd load up on some sweet-over-the-counter drugs and head to work. Then pray really hard that those pictures turn out AWESOME.

Here's hoping they do. I'm now back to the computer to start editing. Fingers crossed. I'll keep you posted.

Oh, and if you want to stop by and say hi, I've showered, so everything's smellin' fresh and clean over my way. I can't say as much for my kids though.

luv erin.

You are dead to me, and other church lessons.

1. Today I walked into church a little bit late. (Such a suprise, right?) When I surveyed the room to locate my Mom and sis-visiting-from-Hawaii, there was no empty seat beside them! No seat. For real. WTH? So I walked to the side and sat beside my good friend Shanna from JUST SO. Who, by the way, was wearing a particularly lovely dress that brought out the blue of her eyes. (Fashion tip: wear colors that enhance your features. Just like Shanna. Beautiful, really.)
Anyway, she leaned over and in a low voice noted that there was no space beside my Mom and sis. I must've made a face because she said I looked like the next time I talked with my mom and sis, I was going to say something like, "You are dead to me."
I totally busted out a snort right there in church.
Then using Shanna's inspiration, I totally did just that.
"Mom," I said after church. She blinked at me through her coke bottle glasses. "You didn't save me a spot in church today."
"Well, you were late," she said.
"That's it," I declared with gusto. "You are dead to me."
She gave me a look and walked on.

 2. Henry's teacher in church approached me between classes.
"We're talking about talents in class today," she said.
"Oh really," I smiled thinking of how my money invested in Piano lessons is starting to pay off. Henry must've talked about his Piano skill.
"Yeah," she chuckled. "He said that his talent was making you go crazy."
That little devil boy.

3. Ruby was chewing on a toy during church. A toy that George had been fiddling with moments earlier. George tried to pull it away from her, but she resisted. Then he turned to me.
"Mom, if you don't take that toy away from Ruby she's going to destroy it."
I sighed. "No she's not."
"But she's chewing it like a carnivore."
I opened my mouth to shush George, but then decided his observation was decently accurate. I took the toy away from Ruby and gave her a goldfish to eat. Cracker, not living creature.

Sundays are the best. (Please read that in a Nacho Libre voice.)
Luv, erin

dear bride.

My dear lovely bride,

When the stress melts away

and only seconds remain before you take the

walk down the aisle

I love the beautiful clam that comes over you.

You are Lovely.

I'm lucky to be a part of your day.

Like a big photog fly on your wall.

and then,

your friend.

luv, erin

Shafted.

1. Today at the Temple, while shooting a super cute wedding, another photographer gave me the shaft. First he acted all friendly, and then totally skipped ahead of me and took my placement in the line...and essentially the one good spot to shoot. By the time sneaky photog finished, my cutie bride was pooped, so no great shade shots.

2. I got a new phone. Why am I telling you this? Well, I don't have your numbers, so sometimes when I'm busy (like every moment of my life...well, last week mostly) I don't pick up the tele if I don't recognize your number. And that means all of you. Because I have an ADD pea-brain that's dyslexic, I can't seem to remember any numbers. Let's hope Technology never goes out on us or I'm out of luck. Text me your name and number. Then I wont give you the shaft when you call.

3. My little sister and bigger sister (not really bigger, just older. In fact, she's smaller since she rocked the WW) both went to Seven Peaks today. I got shafted since I am shooting a wedding...but I suppose that's Karma, since I have been shafting all who call me lately. I'm ok with not going to Seven Peaks though because it's practically freezing outside. (It's 82 degrees...burr).

4. Tip of the day: Shaft not lest ye be shafted.

Luv, erin

stage fright...to pee or not to pee, that is the question.

I was talking to a certain individual last night who shall remain nameless despite notable hottieness. The conversation went a little bit like this:


"I was talking to so-and-so today."
"Oh really?" said by me with bland enthusiasm. "When?"
"Well, we were in the restroom?"
"What?" Me, a little more intrigued. Do men talk in the restroom? I hadn't ever considered that. I mean, sometimes I talk to my friends while we're sitting around paying the water bill. But sometimes it's weird. And I have one friend that flat out doesn't talk while porcelain relaxin' at the same time. In fact, she doesn't even go into the public facilities with me. She'll wait outside while I conduct my business, and then once I'm done, she'll go and attend to her matters down south. Get my meaning?

To be blunt, she's got a case of stage fright. Or something.
Anyway, back to my story. The aforementioned sir hot-a-lot walked into a stall to 'pay the water bill'. Once in there another individual of the same gender struck up a conversation. Then Mr. Lover had to bail out because he too, like my non-powder room-sharing-has-to-go-it-alone friend, was caught unaware. Can  you say, STAGE FRIGHT?

It's never happened to me. So I guess I'm cool like that. But I did laugh at Mc-hottie's issue.
Have a happy Thursday.
luv, erin

garage sales, uniting the world.

Saturday rolls around and my body flips into Go mode. And that's 'G'o for Garage sales. I'm like a supa' nova, Garage-saling, queen bee. Don't mess with me and my deal, baby. I'm all over that fifty cent (please pronounce fitty, as in fitty cent the rapper) pair of jeans that one of my beasties will wear as a pair of new school pants. I know what you're thinking. I'm cheap, right?

Well, you're dead on. I so am. And I love it. I hone in and seek out a bargain at a garage-sale like my dog sniffs the rear-end scent of the next door neighbor's she-Lab. I'm focused. Determined. And I'm not easily distracted.
So what does that get me?
A whole ton of good stuff. In fact, recently I've been bringing my buddy Celia along for the hunt. We've redecorated her daughter's room in two Saturday's of shopping and spent less than you could buy curtains at Target. (I know this because we went to Target to buy curtains and they were ridiculous-expensive. Then again, they could be normal priced, but my perspective is skewed because of my yard saling addiction. Whatever.)
Anyway, my point is garage sales bring people together for not very much money at all, connecting someone else's junk with random strangers. For all I know, I could pick up a handy-dandy piece of Tupperware and by it for $1. (That's a good price at a yard sale). Well, that yard-saler could've purchased it new, or at someone else's yard sale. And if that's the case, then the person before them could've done the same.
So you see, it's like the whole six degrees of separation thing. We're all connected. We're all sharing and using the same junk...well, at least I am. And that makes us like family. Well, almost.
That's all I got. Just a deep thought that popped into my head while I sat editing for hours on end and listening to Glee music.

har har. So true.

luv, erin

so so so scandalous.

1. Today I went by the library and they had a sign posted on the door about the noise level. It was a warning to patrons that the libarary would be noisy until 3pm because of inventory. I took full advantage of that. Scandalous squeal of the century. Thanks to the LLL (lovely library ladies) for ordering a certain, particular, YA novel that I've been ever so curious to read. I'm so excited to have in my hands, Wolves, Boys, and other Things that might KILL ME.

2. My spelling is the shiz. And not in a good way. I make a lot of spelling mistakes because I can't be bothered to learn to spell correctly (I'm sure you've already made this assumption from previous posts). Anyway, I updated my photography cd holder. It's the shiz. And that's in a good way. Except for the fact that I spelled ONE word wrong. Urg. I didn't notice the misspelling until after I printed $100 worth of new cd holders. Double urg.

3. I want fake eye-lashes. Glue some mink hairs to me, baby! See, I cut my eye-lashes. Not on purpose. It was a total freak-show accident, (that I can't go into detail about without cursing) but now my sad lashes look miniture. Suggestions?

4. Today I went to the Harts (got my 32 oz DC mixed with crystal light. Yum.), then ACE (got my free bag of popcorn. Double yum.). That's why I love Pleasant Grove. If you don't live here, you should. Then we could meet down at the Harts for a 32 oz and a Dunford doughnut. Triple yum.

5. I bought the i Phone 4. But, it hasn't come and it's been one week and one day.
I WANT MY PHONE! Do you hear me i-Phonies? Send it now, lest I be tormented by the excruciatingly-ghettoness of my phone any longer.

So how's your day going? I just thought I'd ramble today. luv, erin 

WHY I LOVE BYU. my mom made me post this.

favorite.

Not the close up of the flowers.

Not the beautiful bride.

Not the soft fall of her lace veil across her shoulders, highlighted perfectly by the sun's rays.

Not the cake.

Not the food...though it was a close tie.

Not even the sassy bridesmaids in all their cheeky glory.

Of all the images I shot that wedding day, this one is my fav!

It makes me smile everytime I look at it. First, because it reminds me of fun friends. I've been blessed over the years to have a group of friends that make me smile and inspire me to laugh in loud, innappropriate bursts.
Second, it's a dang good action shot. And I'll be the first to admit that I am not an action photographer. (It's not often that I have to shoot a bride running away, so for the most part I shoot posed or near posed shots. No action for me, baby. ha ha snort)

Third, who doesn't love a group hug?

Nobody, that's who.

food. glorious food.

In the great state of W, you'll find the most charming farmer's markets, road-side fruit stands, and mom and pop bakeries. So when we go up there we make a point of stopping at two of my favorites: Wenatchee Farmer's Market, and Anjou Bakery.

The little street market is held a couple times a week in the heart of Wentchee (if you haven't been there, you should go. It's one of those 'off the beaten path' charming towns that you'd find highlighted on the Food Network or HGTV.) The farmer's market sells a range of goods from home grown produce to beaded jewelry and homemade cards. That's just my type of thing, right? I love it with a capitol L.

I bought loads of cherries, but what caught my eye first were these bad boys. Do you know what they are?

Do you know what they are? At first I thought -- mini grape? But I was wrong.

After our stop in Wenatchee, we headed up into the mountains toward Leavenworth. But before we got there, or even to the cutest little town of Cashmere, we first stopped at the Anjou Bakery.

And then I died and went straight to heaven.

The treats you'll find at the Anjou Bakery are so good you won't share them with your kids. No way, baby. Not culinary craftsmanship like these fabulous goodies--give the kiddos the M&Ms. The Anjou Bakery's French pastries melt in your mouth and warm your tummy...and down the road, when you can't decide where you want to take a family summer vacation, you'll think to yourself, 'hmm, if we go visit my sister in Washington again, maybe we can convince her to drive out to Leavenworth so we can stop at that seriously-so-fab French bakery.'


And when you're plan works, you'll cackle like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons while you drum your fingers together as you wait for your delicious treats to be served to you.

objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

I'd like to introduce you to my new friend, Fly Guy. For a fly, he's big. And when I say big, I mean FREAKING HUGE. Thus the reason I spent time to snap his picture. And when I say FREAKING HUGE, I mean he's almost an inch.
An inch might not sound like an awfully big deal, but in Fly world that's everything.

He's such a big deal, fly speaking, that he's given up the fly ladies and moved on to making advances on me. Such as keeping me company while I spend long hours editing images on my computer. Though he doesn't talk much, he's a sensitive sort that shoes his emotion in random grunts...that sound much like a buzz...but, again, that's only because he's so tiny. (relatively speaking)

So in honor of Fly Guy, I want you to know that I'm not giving up on my little blog here. Even though my posts are sporadic and ADD-ish at best, I'm sticking around.

sweats and s'mores.

One time Dad took us camping in the Grand Canyon. After a long, hot, tiring day of doing whatever families of seven do at the big GC, Dad plunked us five kids in front of the camp fire and handed us a bag of marshmallows.

Then he and Mom went into the camper.

hm hm.

We spent the evening, singing, "On the road again," and flinging flaming balls of hot mallow across the nearby road, onto other trailers, and into the trees. It was AWESOME. The next morning the scenery looked like a scene from Cloudy with a Chance of MALLOWS! 

Now, I take a moment to reflect on two great loves of my life, brought together by chance one lazy evening in the heart of Washington.

Teal sweats, and roasted marshmallows.

remember when.

Mom and Dad took us brude of crazy kids on many road trips. And though at the time I thought they were too mean, and probably the worst parents in the world because they'd tell us to settle down, or they'd put a limit on the amount of candy we could chow, or they'd make us go pee when ever they stopped the car; now I think they are pretty dang awesome. They dragged five fighting-screaming-name-calling kids all over the western US. I remember those days like they were yesterday. I remember when we plastered a neighboring camper with molten balls of marshmallow. I remember when we took a long trip and I vomited in a brown bag. In fact, I still remember that there were little tangerine slices in the mess of vomit. Gross, I know...but still I remember it.

So, here's a shout out to Mom and Dad for being road-trippers...and passing on that love. Because without it I don't think I would have endured the last trip Mark and I took.

After driving for 12 hours I wanted to KILL my sweet Ruby. You see, in that twelve hours, Ruby wasn't so sweet. She screamed for 9 hours. Yes, literally. Her fussing ranged from a pitchy whipering to a full fledged, raging roar. That little pint-sized girl has a set of lungs. And by the time we arrived at my sister's house in Washington, I was ready to burst.

Isn't it funny how kid screaming can wind up your insides so tight you feel like you're going to explode? Or pull your hair out. Or actually make good on your threats and turn the van around.

But then when I think I've had enough of her, she turns around and gives me her big-brown-eyed gaze, and my heart melts.

Here's to road trips from Hell, and the awesome memories they bring.

Five pounds for Sage Brush

Last week, me and the gaggle-o-Summerills drove up to Central Washington for a vacation (in other words, my sister lives there so it was free staying)...(oh, and of course we wanted to see them).

I know what you're thinking. Central Washington, bah! But really, it's not all that bad. If you're a lover of wide open spaces and a plethora of sage brush, then you should consider moving to Grant County. There's a lot of that type of thing there, as shown in the images below.

But other than that, here's a list of the top 5 things I acquired on this year's trip to Washington:

1. 5 pounds (added directly to my gluteus area thanks to road-tripping)

2. Citizens for Humanity jeans -- I found these at the coolest store called Urban Archeology (unfortunately, the aforementioned jeans no longer fit because of the aforementioned 5 pound weight gain. sigh.)

3. No need for gothic eye-shadow (due to dark circles from driving all day and night long)

4. Sass-a-frass, crab-tastic, baby girl (no naps + plus bad fever from random virus or too much sun + mass amounts of road-tripping food (i.e. candy) = demonic baby girl)

5. The desire to watch people make out at a point blank range (or NOT! Hello Twilight movie makers, could there please be more up-close, tight enough to see nose hair shots, make-out scenes? I really love those and they don't make me feel vomity-sick or pedophilic at all.)