My mom, brother and me. We were standing on the land my grandmother bought, the land I live on today. I have no memory of this moment or this day but having this photo is one of the million little stories that make me.

The blue sweatshirt I wear in this photo will always symbolize the dark days of postpartum depression (I wore it almost daily). I had one of my dearest friends and a fellow photographer document an afternoon when my girls were young. I wanted these days of depression documented. I wanted to remember that I survived and to see the little joys (like my 2 year old splashing in a puddle) that helped get me through (along with a good therapist and supplements). Even though those days felt like I was drowning these are some of my most cherished photos. Document your days even when they feel far far from perfect. You’ll be reminded that you survived and that there was light. (Photo by: Anne Nunn)

Jon and I became best friends because both of us thought that we’d never be interested in the other. We’ve been married for 18 years and are still the best of friends (and are very interested in one another).

There are days when she’s snuggled in to my body that I stare at her and marvel. I look at her body or her face wand will fixated on one thing like her jaw bone. A bone I created inside my body. I wonder if it’s smooth, I think about the collagen and calcium forming inside me as a it grew. I marvel that I created her. I feel unstoppable like I can do anything. Then, she turns up her face and looks and I realize that she created me too. Fairlight is six years old.

She is the miracle I never knew I could ask for because I never knew someone like her could exist. WillaTrue is four years old.

This was my grandmother’s dog, Missy. Somehow when my brother and I were very young we started calling my grandmother by her dog’s name. She was always Grandma Missy to us (sorry, Betty).

She went to work in an office with a striped pencil skirt and pink lipstick, her hair perfect, her jewelry always becoming. She came home and put on Wranglers and boots and jumped on a horse. She went camping on the weekends in the middle of nowhere. She flew airplanes and once kicked a bull in between its eyes when it began to charge her (they became the best of friends after that). She was never a typical grandmother and I loved her for it.

1979. My little brother looking very well pleased with the world. My gorgeous spirited mother and gentle red-bearded father. We had that gold chair (with updated coverings) my whole growing up. I remember the smell and feel of the fabric. That chair felt like home to me.

Marjorie was born on a farm in Montana. Her nearest neighbor was a mile away. She dreamed of being a drummer and moved to LA on her own right after high school. Grandma Marge was the one who always had a treat in the freezer, she greeted me with “Hiya Sweetie” and she had the best smile in the world. She never said a negative word against anyone, she went to church and smelled like flowers in the spring. I loved her with all my heart.

She bought us lottery tickets on our birthdays (I wont $2 once and felt richer than I ever had before), she told stories of sleeping in town at a boarding house during high school because the walk home in the winter months was too long. She was a single mother to three children 6 and under after her husband left. Grandma Marge was strong and full of faith and gentleness, I hope I can carry that on.

This is a large print of my freckled arms hugging my husband. It hangs in Fairlight’s room. I hope she wakes in the morning and sees the love that her parents have and the shelter it brings her.

Photos (and letters and marriage and birth certificates) are hung all around our house. These are the stories we tell our daughters. The stories they will know about how they came to be. The stories they will pass down and cherish.

There are few chickens as patient and forbearing as Easter. This queen deserves a place on our photo wall.

“I’m a little sad about everything.”

-WillaTrue, 3 years old

(I assure you she’s a very happy child except when she’s sad)