Sneak Peek: Nora! :)

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"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional."
-- Chili Davis

What Makes a Mom?

Am I a mom?

No. At least, not in the traditional sense.

But in the untraditional sense, I am. A mom.

My daughters have fur. Four legs. Floppy ears. And tails.

And yes. I am their mom.

Okay, most "real" moms out there are probably snorting into their coffee cups right about now. Her? A mom? Children are so much more different than pets. She's not a mom. No way. No how. And the kicker? She didn't go through ten/eighteen/thirty-six hours of labor like I did!

So what makes a mom? Over the last few years, I've had to think long and hard about this question. Tense times with my own mother has left us estranged - we haven't been in each other's lives for nearly six years now. And that fall out (of which there were many over the years, truth be told) makes me wonder just what, exactly, makes a person a mother? In, you know, the traditional sense.

Warm. Kind. Nurturing. Compassionate. Understanding...

Those words float immediately into my head.

A mom is someone who will never - no matter what - turn her back on you. Who loves you unconditionally, wholly, and without judgment - until death-do-you-part. Unlike a spouse, a mother doesn't have to take an oath, because loving you is just in her blood. It's a part of who she is. It's a connection that she cherishes and never, ever lets fade away.

I am a mom. I supported my girls when they were young and wobbling little puppies. I got up at three o'clock in the morning when they had to go outside. I've sat through bouts of sickness, cleaned up messes from said sicknesses, petted away fear, taught compassion, celebrated their victories, and cuddled needing hearts.

I researched medical therapies, struggled through let down after let down, and experienced sleepless nights when Molly got sick. Four months of sleepless nights. I felt a sickness of my own when I realized she couldn't be saved. And I sat right there with her and held her head in my hands when, at last, the needle went in.

As a mother, I still feel that loss. That unbearable emptiness. Even today.

So yes. I am a mother. In all the ways that truly matter.

I know from experience that family isn't always related to you by blood. Sharing a common lineage does not always a family make. And biology? Biology most certainly doesn't determine who your family is.

But love does. Compassion does. And where those two things exist, there exists a family.

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"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life."
-- Richard Bach

For Friday: Musicial Inspiration

I love this song. It pulls at my heart and takes me back to a simpler time - where cell phones weren't buzzing with text messages every thirty seconds and when kids stayed (safely) outside until long after the lightening bugs came out.

Absolute and uninhibited. Freedom.

The Naked And Famous - Young Blood from The Naked And Famous on Vimeo.

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"As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness."
-- Henry David Thoreau

Hannah & Jamie: Lifestyle Portraiture

Hannah's gorgeous. (I mean, obviously.)

Jamie has the whole James Dean look going for him.

Together, they're smokin' hot. :)

And I just couldn't resist throwing this one in... ;)

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"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides."
-- David Viscott, How to Live with Another Person, 1974

Photo of the Day: "Dulce Amore"

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“Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale.”
-- Unknown

Sneak Peek: Hannah & Jamie

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"Love doesn't make the world go 'round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile."
-- Franklin P. Jones

Photo of the Day: Beach Bum

Craving some beach time...

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“My life is like a stroll on the beach...as near to the edge as I can go.”

--Thoreau

In Need of a Getaway

I'm thinking of a place that's far away...

Well, not that far away. (One of the perks of living in Western Washington!) Only two more months left of this busy Spring Quarter and then I'll be partaking in mucho beach time. Three months of beach time, to be exact. Simply heaven.

*Sigh*

Is it June yet? ;)

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"Play in the sand; splash in the water; get dirty; get wet. The beach is the only place my mom doesn’t get mad about me doing that stuff. Of course I love the beach!"

-- Dixie Dykens (age 5)

Diana: {Sneak Peek}

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"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
-- Mark Twain

Random Rambling: What's In a Name?

I honestly have no idea how or why my parents came to the decision to name me Lisa. I'm not named after anyone in particular. My dad didn't lose a bet, bequeathing him with the four-letter L word. There wasn't any specific reason that my mother preferred Lisa over, say, Elizabeth. (I love the name Elizabeth, by the way. So many things you can do with it: Liz, Lizzie, Beth, Liza, Ellie...) The one time I did ask about my name, the only response I got was, "Your godmother picked it out." Not very exciting.

When I was in grade school, I would fantasize about changing my name to something more exotic. I longed for a glamorous name like Isabella, Josephine, Madelyn, or Natasha. A grand name with a lot of letters that I could sign with a dramatic flourish of my grape scented, unicorn eraser-topped pen. (My name just didn't have the autograph quality that I was looking for back then.) And, to make matters worse, most of my friends' names came with unique variants, making their lives seem significantly more important and way cooler than mine: Angela was Angie, Melinda was Mindy, Miranda was Mandy, Melissa was Missy, Leticia was Tisha, Antonia was Toni, Jennifer was Jenni. And I was, as usual, just plain... Lisa.

I specifically remember one day in the fifth grade when, as an assignment, we were all supposed to use and call each other by our middle names. For one entire glorious day I was Marie. (I made my parents carry on the assignment at home that evening.) Wonderfully different, beautifully exotic Marie. Needless to say, it quickly became one of the best days of the year.

These days, I don't really mind my name. Is it exciting and different? No. But thankfully I've gained some perspective since grade school and have come to realize that a person is a whole lot more than what he or she is called. It's what we choose to do with our lives that shows the world who we are and not, fortunately, our names.

** And, just for fun, here's a little muscial treat from Noah and the Whale to brighten up your Friday... Enjoy!

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"Name is a fence and within it you are nameless." -- Samuli Paronen

What's In My Bag

My purse is a liar. If opened by any stranger, it would confidently boast about my neatness, my organizational skills and, all in all, convey to the observer that I am one put together woman. At the moment, it would reveal a modestly small interior containing only the bare essentials: two books, Evolve Your Brain by Dr. Joe Dispenza and The Right to Write by Julia Cameron, with a ragged mint green Chinese take-out menu sticking out of the latter, a black Bic pen, a barely used tube of ChapStick, and a "secret" pocket containing my check card, credit card, and driver's license.

And that's it. Simple, neat, compact and completely free of unnecessary clutter.

The fact is, I don't own a wallet. And I hate to carry a purse. When out and about, I'm usually with Chris, and his wallet serves as my wallet. It holds my driver's license and credit card - on the rare occasions that I even bring those two items along on our outings. When I do leave the house on my own, I transfer those bits and pieces back to the pocket in my purse, toss in my current reading material, and hit the road.

So would the contents of my purse give someone an accurate picture of who I am? Absolutely not. I'm not, in reality, a neat person. (Granted, I'm no slob, but keeping a neat-as-a-pin house isn't my number one priority.) Am I organized? Not really. What about clutter? Well, you should see my desk. Enough said.

So what does it say about me? Well, I think it conveys the message that I don't like attachments. I strive to keep my life as simple as possible, forgoing dependency and other unnecessary items. I don't carry pictures of family members, and no sentimental objects travel with me from place to place.

And just what would that person not be able to deduce by rifling through my meager belongings? That I grew up in Iowa, but spent the last fourteen years living and working in places like Hawaii, South Dakota, Minnesota, and Washington. The items in my purse would in no way reveal that I love animals and adore zombie movies. My identity as a photographer would escape them, as my purse holds no reference to my business. And finally, this stranger would have no way of knowing that my aversion to attachments has to do with the fact that I've lost more loved ones over the past eighteen years than I care to count.

If misplaced, would I wish for a Good Samartan to box it up and send it back? Probably not. It doesn't, when it comes down to it, hold any emotional value for me. Except for the books. Yes, I'd most definitely want those back.

I guess, when all is said and done, I do have some attachments after all.

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"If a man empties his purse into his head, no man can take it away from him. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest."

-- Benjamin Franklin