More Than My Body

Show me the freedom from these chains
Show me a battlefield that saves
That world is still a world away, but you are my liberty
                                         —Switchfoot

I remember a few weeks before school ended, I was standing with a group of girls before the bell rang as one of them commented about another girl who had just walked by.

"Ooo. Yikes. Her shorts are way too tight. Her butt is totally hanging out."

"Yeah, I know. Geez. She's gained so much weight."

I stood there thinking, as some of them smirked about said girl's weight, who, by the way, wasn't even close to being fat: What if she's healthier? What if she feels better about herself? She has more self-confidence than I've ever had. What if gaining weight is good sometimes?

Even though their comments weren't about me, I felt the personal weight of their words. Since last year, I've gained 20 pounds (so I can have a properly functioning young-woman body), and an all-too-familiar insecure fear began rising within me. Could everyone tell I'd gained weight? What do they think of me because of it? Am I being talked about behind my back too?

As awfully vain as it sounds, and though I'm ashamed of it, these thoughts did (and sometimes still do) run through my head. They come from inner voices that still lurk in the muddy basement of my mind. Voices I think we all experience in different forms sometimes--voices that tell us we're not enough--not skinny enough, smart enough, pretty enough, flawless enough to be accepted and loved by others. Worth nothing. Far too imperfect, so therefore, failures, unlovable.

In 8th grade, I developed a dangerously insecure mindset which allowed these voices to start to influence how I thought about myself. I had this overwhelming need to be perfect—more perfect than everyone else—and I saw how imperfect I was, and decided I needed to change or I would remain unlovable. This isn't to say I didn't have family and friends who loved me, because they did and still do love me very much, but I largely ignored them because I didn't want to believe that I was beautiful. It started when I lost a little weight because of an illness. It gave me an artificial self-confidence to see numbers drop on a scale, so when I got better, I quickly made that my new goal. I started to eat very little and lost weight quickly, even though I wasn't overweight at all. My weight soon dictated my thoughts and feelings. I would weigh myself several times a day, and when the scale read a number I didn't like, I would feel defeated and crushed. Because calories and food were constantly on my mind, it was hard even doing fun things with friends and family because I was so worried that I would eat too much with them or expose my growing disorder.

After a few months of this, I became very unhealthy and underweight. People started to notice how much weight I had lost in that short time. I remember going to the doctor's to get a physical in the summer between middle and high school so I could play high school volleyball. The doctor was very concerned about my weight, and said unless I gained weight, I couldn't play volleyball. I remember feeling so bitter and irritated towards the people who loved me the most and wanted me to get better. I abhorred the idea of gaining weight, so I locked myself in a dark cell of bitterness and self-loathing that summer.

 

I was reluctant to show this picture, but I think it's a necessary part of my story. That was May 2012, when I was at my lowest weight, and then now, July 2016, that I'm at my healthiest weight.

Fast forward to freshman year, and things started to get better. The worst of it was over, and I began to see with a new perspective how unhealthy I'd become. I went on a church retreat for the first time that November, and I confessed to our priest, which was the first time I'd told anyone, about what I was struggling with. He embraced me in love and reminded me of my true identity in Christ. There was no judgement, only understanding and compassion. This gave me a lot of hope, and I decided then and there that I would try with all my might to get better. So that marked the start of my journey towards recovery, especially my mental recovery.

And now, as a college-bound 18-year-old, I'm in a place that my 14-year-old self would have never imagined. I've accomplished and experienced extraordinary things that have absolutely nothing to do with what I weigh or what I look like. My 8th grade self would cringe if I told her I've gained back the weight she tried so hard to lose, but would she cringe if I told her that I made some of her dreams came true: I got my Gold Award, was editor-in-chief of the newspaper, sang in Honors Choir, now have a summer job at the Girl Scouts headquarters, and will be starting school at a beautiful college on the beach this fall, studying her passion? I think she would think that's really cool. I wish I could go back and tell her that she is enough, that God has a plan for her, and that it's her passion—not her appearance—that will give her wings to fly.

Psalm 139:14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! 
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.

The question that's been hovering over me these past few weeks is this: What do I do with these extra 20 pounds? Do I over-exercise until I fit into those tiny shorts again? Do I start skipping meals so I can again look like those emaciated grunge-era models? Will I delete every photo that I think I look "fat" in, even if it was a happy moment? No. I will do none of these things. I'm not a slave to that anymore.

No, I will give thanks for the 20 pounds I've gained. I will give thanks because my body is functioning how a young woman's body should function. I will give thanks because 20 pounds ago I wouldn't have had the energy to swim for hours with the kids I nanny and ride my bike places instead of driving everywhere. I will give thanks because I can sing and worship in church choir with all my heart without getting lightheaded and needing to sit. I will give thanks because I can lift and move heavy boxes and bags around my office job and in my house without feeling like I'm going to collapse. I will give thanks because I can eat a big bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream late at night on the back patio with my sister, and instead of feeling guilty over calories, I will feel happy and content from crying-laughing at inside jokes and having meaningful conversations. I will give thanks because these 20 pounds have helped me discover an inner beauty in me I never saw before because I was distracted by the mirror and scale. The truth is, my body is the healthiest it's been in years, and I don't need a scale to know that, because I can tell by the way I'm starting to live. Skinny does not equal beautiful, nor does it always equal healthy.

"Get off the scale! I have yet to see a scale that can tell you how enchanting your eyes are. I have yet to see a scale that can show you how wonderful your hair looks when the sun shines rays on it. I have yet to see a scale that can thank you for your compassion, sense of humor, and contagious smile...The scale cannot measure beauty, talent, purpose, life force, possibility, strength or love. Don't give the scale more power than it has earned. Take note of the number, then get off the scale and live your life. You are beautiful!" —Steve Maraboli

I am more than my body. I am more than my accomplishments, more than even my own personality. I have God living and breathing within me, and this makes me more than myself. It's a beautiful mystery to know that we are both human and divine, "partakers of divine nature" (2 Pet. 1-4) and have the God who makes all things new constantly making us new. You are more than enough. You are significant and have a sacred, necessary purpose in this world, and this purpose is not to obsess over your body. We are meant for far more holy, far more extraordinary and profound callings. Let the truth of Christ's words sink deep into the bruises on your heart.

I love you little rose, I love you more than you can fathom. Remember your body is my temple, my dwelling place, so sacred and beautiful to me. But even more than that is the beauty of your heart, more beautiful than a thousand roses. When you are tempted to weigh or scrutinize your appearance, remember that what matters is your heart, your zest for life, your passions—the things that make you colorful and vibrant as I want you to be. You are my beloved, my most holy daughter. Your past is wiped away. Do not settle for anyone who doesn't see the beauty in your flower heart. Look to me always, and know you are treasured, made new, unfathomably priceless.

I realize this will be a lifelong battle for me, but I know that with Christ at the center of my life, those insecure thoughts and temptations will never take hold of me like they once did. In order to stay grounded I have to constantly ask myself, Where am I looking for acceptance? And if the answer is in other's words, or society, or boys, or friends, or anything but God, I know I need to reconsider. I am no longer a lurking, unworthy reflection of a distorted society. I am a revolution. Free to eat and enjoy the food that God meant for us to enjoy. Free to run, free to smile, free to love my body for what it is: a temple for Christ.

As scary as it was for me to write and share this post, I pray that my story will encourage anyone who has ever struggled with body image and self-love. You are beautiful. You are His beloved, and He calls you by name. Even on your worst days. I understand the battle, but I also know that you will overcome, because Christ already overcame. He already won this battle for you, so wave your victory flag, and dance in the freedom of knowing you are immeasurably loved.

For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, 

and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery. 

                                       —Gal. 5:1

If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell us quite simply 

all that God has done for it, without hiding any of its gifts.

                                  —St. Therese of Lisieux

~~~

I bought myself a fancy amateur Canon SX530 HS

so I can be a true backpack journalist ;) 

I suck but I'm having fun so it's okay to suck!

sheepies

sista iz rlly coot

Cherry Creek Art Fest was a whimsical time

adrift with just a tutu and her everyday tiara

*same*

We are not some casual and meaningless product of evolution.

Each one of us is willed, each of us is loved, each of us is necessary.

                                      --Pope Emetrius Benedict XVI

Beautifully Bizarre

The sweetest thing in all my life 
has been the longing to find the place
where all the beauty came from.

                           —C.S. Lewis

"There it is! Good ol' Thermopolis!"

My dad's shrill hillbilly yell jolted me from my pleasant backseat nap. I rolled my head off of my plushy Pillowpet and watched as the "fancy car" glided dreamily into the unassuming small town of Thermopolis, Wyoming. I smirked as we drove past a giant, welcoming T-Rex who announced our entering into the town of the "World's Largest Mineral Hot Springs!" in fading red letters. My family's small train of cars all turned into the Hot Springs park for a quick stop to explore and stretch our legs on our long haul to Yellowstone.

When we got out of the car, Grandma and Papa shuffled us cousins out efficiently and led us to a spot where we could see and feel (and smell) the springs. I followed Grandma onto the boardwalk and bent over to feel the little stream of water. The smell of hot, raw eggs squirmed through my insides when I inhaled. I scrunched my face and touched the gooey moss and slimy rock with my fingertips. It amazed me: I was staring at a spectrum of colorful bacteria nesting beneath a shallow blanket of warm water. To think, just beneath my fingertips was a colony of living bacterias, dancing in sulfur with all their microbes of life, burning in rich colors of crimson and rust and sand and emerald. So incredibly small, a singular one not even visible to our eyes, yet in their smallness they create so much natural beauty that it causes the agitated human heart to stop and revel in curiosity. The bacteria live a life of vibrancy in their natural hot springs, never moving but always being, displaying colorful magnificence in the most primary mode of life. I flicked the drops of water from my fingers and caught up with Grandma. I tucked that thought away in my heart--extraordinary beauty through utter simplicity. In smallness is greatness for those who care to look.

Last week, my grandparents took our whole family through the unexpected beauty of Wyoming for their 50th anniversary trip. For a girl who had only ever seen the Southeast part of the state, I was stunned by the staggering beauty and earthly freakishness of Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. Road tripping with my wacky family through the prairie isn't unusual or exotic for us, but this trip was memorable because it opened my eyes to the wonders of the natural earth and gave me a newfound appreciation for science (yes, I totally did just say that.) I learned about the rich history of Buffalo Bill and his damn dam, saw a mama moose with her two babies, a Grizzly bear's fuzzy butt, lots of bison, and a couple bald eagles.

bison ft. some Kleins

I had never been to Yellowstone before, but now I'm totally intrigued by the beautifully bizarre geysers and hot pools. I really don't know what I was expecting going there, but now that I've seen bits of earth's shockingly absurd majesty, I realize that there is so much I don't know and understand about the world I live and breathe in every day. An overwhelming sense of awe flooded through me as I stared into a deep, steaming chasm of turquoise and emerald. I felt like I was on another planet.

For some reason, as I stared into that abyss of sapphire and brilliant topaz, I thought about graduating again. The strangeness of the pool reminded me of the strange stage of life I'm in—the uncertainty, the hope, the fear, the thrill. I thought about the open-endedness of life, about the blue ocean, about forests, about magic, about stars, about kissing, about books, about broken hearts, about healing, about music, about ice cream, about possibility. The pool seemed to understand. It steamed more as I got excited, and then cooled down to reveal the beauty hidden underneath. I suddenly heard a loud "SUP DUDE!" in my ear from my cousin Calissa and was jolted back into my reality: which is that I am graduated, I am moving on, I am a hopeful wanderer in search of pearls in this oyster world. I took a last glance at the pool and smiled. "Sup dude! Where to next?" "Did you see that cave thing over there? It smells like a giant fart!"

After a long but unimaginable day of adventuring through only half of Yellowstone, we checked in to our hotel in West Yellowstone, Montana and walked around the rustic mainstreet to find somewhere to eat. Even though it was already 9:30 p.m., there was still soft apricot glow in the sky, as if the sun was trying to set but the mountains were keeping it up with their fingertips. After we ate, it was finally dark out. As we walked back to the hotel, I glanced up and saw a sky throbbing with billions of sharp stars. I let the cousins into the hotel and stood out there for a few minutes longer. The lyrics to a beautiful song I'm learning to sing in my voice lessons suddenly came to me as I stared into the ocean of possibility above me.

Sure on this shining night
Of star made shadows round,
Kindness must watch for me
This side the ground.
The late year lies down the north.
All is healed, all is health.
High summer holds the earth.
Hearts all whole.
Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wand'ring far alone
Of shadows on the stars.
—James Agee, 1934

Sure on this shining night, I stand in my giant sweatshirt, the crisp Montana breeze tugging loose hairs from my braid, and I wonder who I am and how I got here. My life is about to take a wild turn, and the people I've spent everyday next to for years I may never see again. I am alone but not lonely, I am alive but not indifferent. This poem speaks to the very core of what I'm searching for on a daily basis, of who I am in relation to the vastness of creation and the unchanging ways of God. My ultimate goal in life is to experience and know God, even though I'm a wretched sinner and can't feel Him sometimes.

The passing whims of the world have left me broken and blue and bruised, but I weep for wonder for my heavenly father. I weep for wonder so that every single day that I'm alive I can say I'm living for something beyond myself. Because this life is not about me and never has been. I am so incredibly small, so insignificant. To love myself and not be ashamed of it I need to become like a child, fearless in pursuit of what makes me happy. Extraordinary beauty through utter simplicity. When I feel that soft glow of childlike innocence, I know I can begin to live life the way it was intended. Excitement for the day ahead, simplicity to enjoy each moment without needing to think about what "more important" things I could be doing. Like letting myself eat a bowl of rocky road ice cream because it tastes good instead of obsessing over calories, or taking a nap on a lazy afternoon, or praying and meditating when the world says it's a waste of time.

So as I move on to something even greater, I will strive to become less and do simple tasks with utter and great love. As I work hard this summer I will work with great love. I will dance and pray and read and tan and laugh and eat and sweat with great love. Let my love for Christ be so childlike, so simple and pure and real, that I glow with joy in all I do. When I get a sunburn, I will endure it with love and offer every painful itch as a prayer. When I really don't want to share the car with my sister, I will humbly hand her the keys because it's whatcha gotta do sometimes. When I get bored in my office job as I scan paper after paper, I will take a moment to realize the overall greatness of what I'm really doing, paying for college and helping a small business.

In being vulnerable and honest like a child, I will see things as God intended them to be—true manifestations of his existence. This is my life, this is my reality, and I'm ready to live every moment with shameless abandon.

 The Grand Tetons are indeed grand

 vape? nah Old Faithful

PC: Uncle Garrett

In Jackson Hole, we took a tram to the top of the world 

and ate waffles. Nummies

The *very* *very* smelly hot mud pool cave thing

the fambily

oh yeah I graduated!!!

How completely satisfying to turn from our limitations 

to a God who has none.

                   —A.W. Tozer

Love Honors Freedom

I was divided, 
my heart was so confused
I wanna gamble 
and fall in love with you

                                         —Lacey Sturm

I remember the first day I met you. I remember things like the lemony smell of cleaner wiped on desks that are stacked in neat rows. (The fragrance of new beginnings and freedom, of Clorox and summer bliss.) I remember the sugary May sun, patches of snow still on the ground like clumpy flour in a leftover bread pan, sticking to the sides and scraped on top of the gingery dirt of the earth. I walk out the school doors and gulp the air, the promising air.

I remember, I remember.

I see the clouds, the sky, the wind even. The parking lot after rain, the muddy perfume of wet asphalt. It's all so new. It was fresh, you were fresh. You were everything all at once and at the right time. Almost a year has gone by, and life is so different, but somehow my heart still feels the same things sometimes. I've learned that moving on is harder than I thought.

After it was over, (too soon, maybe) I thought my heart was broken. I missed you, and I wanted to feel like a tragic poem, so I grasped onto my own pain, thinking it would bring about some new revelation and creative outpouring of itself. But, as much as I want my life to be an elegant, introspective piece of art, it's not, and I really just felt confused and empty. I know now that I don't need you. I like you, and maybe I'll always remember you with a twinge in my heart, but isn't that what you wanted anyways? Sometimes when I see brilliant clouds, I'll think of you, or when that one dcfc song comes on, I'll remember. It's all that's left now, but it's enough.

Raw emotions are nearly impossible to battle with. I think as girls we hold onto the idea of love with a grip so strong our knuckles turn white and our tired hands ache. I wanted to feel love so badly that I plunged headfirst into an emotional tidal wave and let it toss me around relentlessly. I even enjoyed it for a while, not being able to control how I felt. Now I'm trying to control it so much that the fragments of my heart are threatening to fall apart again after careful gluing. But really, I did all of this to myself. I've never felt that way before, and I know I can't go back to how it was. Reality isn't a fairytale. Our lives last longer than a 200-page novel or two-minute Taylor Swift song. We're human, so we break down sometimes. Highlands Ranch is no Hollywood.

With society's distorted definition of love advertised to us everywhere we look, it makes sense that we start to believe it. To love someone is to trap them in emotional chains. To be each other's emotional life-source. To not be able to breathe without them.

For some reason, that romantic, supposedly beautiful love sounds suffocating. Where is the freedom in that?

Love will fight for you, but it will not fight you. Love doesn't manipulate you with fear and intimidation and control. And it doesn't back you into a corner so you have nowhere else to go because love, it doesn't trap you. Love frees you because it honors your freedom.

As Lacey Sturm says in her beautiful Ted talk, love is free. I look at how Christ loves me, and I see and feel a love that is immensely startling and liberating. It's a love that makes me want to dance on the edge of the earth and scream with all of my lung power because I am alive and free. It's a love that celebrates my worth and allows me to take risks. It's a love that will never run dry.

If I were to truly love someone, I would want him to be free. Free to express his own individuality and independence without feeling tangled or trapped in my heart strings. I would love him enough to let him go, if that's what he wanted, because above all I would honor his freedom. Sure, maybe in the movies it's more romantic to need him and have a tight grasp on him every second and want to die without him, but I don't actually want that because that's not respecting independence, his or my own. I can love someone, wholly and fiercely, without needing to trap him.

So yes, I still think about you because I remember how you made me feel, and I can't erase that. I want more than anything for you to be happy and feel alive, which I'm sure you do, because that's just who you are. I'm learning to move forward, and it feels good. I refuse to let memories and fantasies replace the reality I'm living in and make me forget what love really is: an odyssey of grace.

Jesus, I want to fall in love with you. I want to fall in love with you because I'm tired of feeling like a ghost. I want to feel life in my bones. I want to see and feel every color you created and I want to breathe deeply with my lungs of flesh. I want to fall in love with you because I've seen your arms open wide for me, I've seen you die for me, and I know this is a painful love, but so utterly real and perfect. Jesus, I trust in you now. I give you my heart. I give you everything, because I know this flesh will die and fade away, but my heart will live forever. Teach me to love you, love others, and love myself.

~~~~

Such an appropriate poem by Mary Oliver herself

SO proud of our incredible choir for winning three big trophies at Winter Park!

This painting is meaningful for many reasons;

one is that it's of my dad (when he had hair),

and also because my mom painted it.

My parents are an amazing example of love and I'm so thankful for that

She is so beautiful and inspires me every day

I'm moving forward, I found my freedom

I found the life that gave me reason to live.

                                             —Colony House

From Manhattan Beach to Manhattan Island

I know New York I need New York

I know I need unique New York

                                 —The Decemberists

The sky was syrup. It was 6:24 a.m. on a Friday morning, and for the first time, my sleepy, post-red-eye-flight eyes watched New York City unfold before me like the opening of a brand new book. I felt a rumbling in my heart as the city's spine cracked in the harsh, sticky pink light. I was opening the greatest book of all time, the most mysterious, holy, mesmerizing book ever written by humans. And this time I was the one holding the book, I was to be the one to unlock its magic. The sun came up fast and with purpose, because really, it is a New Yorker too. As we cross over the Queensboro Bridge into the city, my eyes devour the first few words in this glorious book, words of skyscrapers and antiquity and emotion. My heart beats faster. I'm falling in love again, but quickly and intentionally, because this is, of course, New York City, and there is no other way to fall in love with it than that.

I found out about a month ago why there are hundreds upon hundreds of stories, books, songs, poems, and art created out of timeless love for New York City. I visited for the first time over Presidents' Day weekend (and only now am getting the chance to blog about it), but I felt my heart being swept away by this unfamiliar, captivating waterfall of dirty city sacredness. Quoting the beautiful words of E.B. White: "The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose meaning will always remain elusive." It's true. New York is a poem, a romance compressed in a small space with music leaking between each building, it's meaning never fully understood but belonging to you all the same.

I had a grand time in NYC. Despite the freezing (literally freezing) weather, I got to see so many wonderful things and had strange adventures on subways and exploring different stores. One of my favorite places was Strand bookstore, a hugeeee bookstore with new and used books that I know I could spend weeks in and never get bored. We also ate some of the best food I've ever had, like authentic pierogies, street vendor Halal food, and...get ready...an Elvis-style peanut butter sandwich with melted PB and bananas droozled with honey from the peanut butter restaurant. I'm still having dreams about it.

 sorry I'm salivating

 We ate at a yummy Ukrainian restaurant called Veselka with no other than Anna Wood, 

our former neighbor and, truly, the coolest person ever. It was fun to see her in her NY hood

Times Square on a frozen night

Being anonymous among vast, unfamiliar streets made me think again about the idea of belonging and home. There's no doubt that the places I've been and lived have made me into who I am. Torrance, Highlands Ranch, Chadron, Granbury, Carlsbad, Lincoln, Amarillo...all of these towns are special to me because of the people who have made them feel like home. With only 74 days left until graduation, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to "belong" somewhere. I don't want to mess up my future. How do I know if I'm making the right college choice? Is that where I belong? I want to "belong" in New York because it feels so endless, but couldn't I belong there as much as I belong in Chadron, Nebraska?

The truth is, I don't. I don't belong here, anywhere, in this world. I'm a pilgrim, journeying and resting in certain towns and cities for a little while, then moving on until I make it home. And home isn't here. Home is somewhere with God, and I don't know exactly what that looks like, but I know that when I reach it, I'll belong. My former youth minister, again, shared with me an inspiring passage by Thomas Merton that's helped me with this uncertainty about belonging and choice: "In planning the course of our lives, we must remember the importance and dignity of our own freedom. A man who fears to settle his future by a good act of his own free will does not understand the love of God. For our freedom is a gift God has given us in order that He may be able to love us more perfectly, and be loved by us more perfectly in return."

It is deeply refreshing to know that I am free to be a vagabond, that nothing is too permanent in this world. I can fall in love with as many towns as I am able without needing to belong there. Maybe I'll make a temporary home out of New York City one day, or maybe there's some other wild adventure for me in this life. I don't know, but it's kind of fun to not know.

Rose in Winter, New York edition

I will never forget how this city, this captivating poem of excitement and blended dreams, made me feel. I'm in love with New York, like I'm in love with all the other towns I've known. I'm thankful that I got to tap into New York's well of inspiration and drink deeply of the words that I felt fizzing in my heart. For you, New York. Until next time.

I'll close with my journal entry from our second night there:
2/13 The twinkling lights of the building windows are white scars made by desperate fingernails. Fingernails desperate for New York, for anonymity, for new beginnings and busy people. The longing of all of us, making electric scars on the buildings from our hunger for them. They grow taller for us. More scratching. And then you're up there, dancing over the crosswalk stripes in Times Square, and your heart is full of icy wonder at the possibilities awaiting you, you and only you. There is a vibrancy that spins in puffy breath and coils into the night lights. Your breath joins the frothy foam in the earl gray sky, and the skyscrapers sip it like tea. The city breathes and crystallizes until you feel like you're gliding through a glowing, beautiful, fragile ice sculpture.

2/16 Today, the wetness watered the city garden of steel and skyscrapers. The urban rivers aren't the ones Mary Oliver writes about, there were no chirping birds and lilies growing beside them. But there was a rose. She was lost and overwhelmed, but she absorbed the city with all her flowery cells. From Manhattan Beach to Manhattan Island, this rose has learned to grow and thrive where she's been planted, and she can't wait to see where she'll take root next.

~~~~~

We went to a beautiful mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. 

It was surreal, and the organ was gorgeous

 Pretending to be Eloise in the Plaza Hotel

 Frida at the MoMA

Bergdorf Goodman's 

Going to Toy Fair with my mom was entirely too much fun.

I've determined that my toy designer mom is way cooler than me,

and I hope I can be half as awesome as she is one day 

Pikachu was my Valentine this year

UGLYDOLLS!!

 Sorry, more Toy Fair pics

In case you thought I was lying when I said it was cold...

Oh look I have my own pub!

 morning Daddy

The legendary Black and White cookies that my dear friend Kristen told me I had to find.

They tasted like a cookie and donut (even the gluten-free ones) all in one!
New York magic, my friends.

And every city was a gift, 
and every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips
and I was making you a wish.
                                      —Florence and the Machine