Nella's ONEder Fund.

Bonjour, Monsieur! Comment ca va? Je...have been learning French. Rather, Francais. Don't ask me why; well, you can. I'm desperate for raw mental stimulation. Not the every-day occurring kind of thing. The college learning kind of thing. A year ago I would've killed for a mindless job, re-runs of Grey's Anatomy, a mental stewing of boredom. And now, I'm craving it. Craaaaaving. Craving a response on an academic paper. Craving studying for an exam and the rush of receiving back an A. I was never real in-tune with athletics at school. (I dribbled in court instead of throwing the ball from out-of-bounds in junior high basketball. Twice.) But I was smart. And once I scooted around different majors and minors, I finally settled into my niche at the end of sophomore year. Shakespeare, Emily Bronte, and even J.K. Rowling (okay, maybe not that last one). All became good friends accompanying me into a world of academics where I could excel. After finishing a couple novels by the Bronte sisters, I was in desperate need of new reading material. Cue Barnes & Noble. Cue Brennigan not having enough money. Cue Adam. Cue him suggesting library. Cue searching. Cue Learn French books. Too many "cues." Cue mental reminder not to use them again. Okay, that just sounds kind of stupid.

Besides sounding insanely sexy when spoken (is that too shallow?), French is a beautifully complex language. Since I was dying for an academic challenge, I picked up a few books (as well as a recommended novel) on the subject. I AM LOVING IT. I've made some flash-cards, registered online at a French learning site, and am probably annoying Adam more than usual with my relentless, "Bonjour Monsieur! Comment ca va? Bon! Au revoir!" My speech may sound redundant, but my oh my, I bet I sound sexy.

But not everything's been airy, and sexy, and French. No, no. We're talking major freak-out on my part (isn't it always?). I'm no expert, but I don't think this is good.

My lens broke. MY LENS BROKE. My sweet, baby 50mm 1.8. And I was devastated. The devastated where I'm booooing and whiiiining to Adam on the phone about my itty bitty lens FALLING APART. When I have a shoot Sunday. A baby shoot. And when I do baby shoots, I need my baby lens. Cue Adam (I swear, that's my last one). The man is sick, but drives me to Grand Rapids to get my lens looked at. And supports me as I buy a replacement lens. Then drives me all the way back. I love my baby lens (number 2), and I love that he cares so much about me and my business.

BLOG-SHIFT. I've got a few thoughts that's been on my heart lately. And ready or not, I'm going to start pouring them out.

Number 1. Sweet Nella.

Nella's turning one. I've been following her mom's blog, Kelle Hampton, for almost the entire year (unless you're counting going through all her old blog posts; then I've technically been following her for a couple of years). Kelle is an inspiration to me as an artist, as a mom, as a lover-of-life. I look forward to her blog-posts every.single.time she posts something new, and I frequently find myself talking about her and her beautiful girls, Nella and Lainey, as if I knew them personally.

Nella has down-syndrome. Her diagnosis, like many other children with DS, wasn't discovered until her birth. And since then, Kelle has been raising awareness about DS and life's challenges --and JOYS TOO, hallelujah-- while raising a child with DS. For Nella's first birthday, she's established the ONEder fund where all proceeds will go directly to the NDSS (National Down Syndrome Society).

Kelle is right. If I donated just $5 - the price of one of my bridal magazines - I could help bring about change. And I couldn't help it. My heart strings play like one of those big bass guitars -all funky and cool and full of soul- when I see sweet Nella's face. And so, if you'd be willing as well, you can donate too right here.

Oh, and here's Kelle's video about the ONEder fund. Go on and watch it; I dare you not to cry.

Number 2. The fire.
I've been thinking about the fire lately. The fire of life where we're pulled in both directions, making too-little-money pay the bills, handling sick babies and sick husbands, and dealing with emotional and physical stress. And this fire, this fire is where we're scared to death even just to breathe for a moment for fear of suffocation from the smoke effects.
But the fire isn't meant to burn us. It's meant to refine us. Like a sword being taken a slab of ugly metal and being made into a tougher, more beautiful piece of art.
I'm thankful for being made new.
I don't really have a great way to end this since my mind is turning to mush, and crawling into my heated bed just sounds so inviting. So happy weekend, friends!