Thirteen years ago today, Honey and I stood under a covered yard in the hot, Alabama August and said “I do” in front of our nearest and dearest.

I swore to love (check), honor (mostly check) and obey (yeah, not so much) the man beside me.

We are no longer those people, and for that I’m glad. We are stronger, more patient, more tolerant and more forgiving (really that one is just me). We’ve had amazing highs and frightening lows but have never questioned us.

Thirteen years, three kids, one law school degree, three states, two apartments, one house, five cars, two dogs, three cats, eight jobs. And I still get a tingle when he kisses me.

And I still can’t see a future that doesn’t include an us. A lifetime won’t be enough.

Sometimes I forget how much I enjoy playing with my camera. Weeks pass without me even touching it, much less thinking about it. We’ll be somewhere and I’ll think “Oh, I should have brought my camera,” using my iPhone instead.

And then those times that I do pick it up, I remember why I love it. How natural it feels, like an extension of me. Seeing that moment captured in an instant — and a lifetime.

We drove eight hours Saturday, to Tennessee and back, so my husband could see his brother for the first time in 18 months. Our little kids played together, sussing out quickly the roles that cousins play.

And I brought my much-neglected camera, forgetting it in the car for most of the day.

The kids accommodated me for only a few minutes, but that was all it took. Giggles and smiles and little faces captured just so. Personalities shining through.

People who don’t know me very well have accused me of hiding behind my camera, using it as a means for avoiding interaction. They don’t see what I see through the viewfinder, the enduring connection made with a particular moment and person.

These pictures remind me life is too short to trust every moment to memory. Some just need to be photographed to endure.

I’ve been trying to sew more for myself. It seems like such a shame to not truly reap the benefits of my favorite hobby (sewing), although I often find it a frustrating practice. Tracing patterns, checking measurements, making muslins. It’s infinitely easier to just crank out something for Miss L!

I run into the same problems sewing for myself that I do when I shop for ready-to-wear clothing: Poor fit. Pants fit in the hips but not the waist. Shirts are too short. Tops are snug in the chest and loose everywhere else.

It. Wears. Me. Out.

I am determined to overcome these challenges, however. I’ve been taking risks and actually trying to adjust patterns to compensate for my figure. Making muslins as I go to check for issues with fit. Tweak. Unsew. Try again. Of course, the biggest issue really has been one that caught me completely by surprise.

When I teach classes, I tell my students to ignore the size and just look at the measurements to choose which lines to follow on a pattern. I think I’m pretty good about doing that myself. Unfortunately, I have never really looked at my own measurements and considered what they mean.

Over the weekend, I went to a specialty shop to be fitted for a pretty vital foundation garment. I’ve been thinking about going for some time and finally did it because I could find nothing to fit me in the past year — and, really, it’s probably been more like five years. I was a little nervous because it involves a total stranger seeing me half nekkid. Plus I knew without setting foot in the door that these were going to be some pricey pieces of fabric, elastic and underwire and I’m really pretty cheap when it comes to spending money on me.

I could have saved myself a lot of money and frustration by making the trip years earlier! I was so far off in the size I’d been buying, it’s not funny. While I’m not about to tell you the size, I will say that I was two sizes two big in the band and two too small in the cup. (I did tell a couple of my friends, prefacing the size with the phrase, “I’m, like, Jessica Rabbit or something.”) Now, when you consider that the typical commercial sewing pattern is made for a B, it clarifies for me why any full bust adjustment I’ve ever done has failed: I wasn’t compensating nearly enough.

Armed with my new knowledge, I think I’m better prepared to sew for myself going forward. I have a lot to learn about FBAs for my “new” figure, but at least I know all the right numbers. Although it sure would be easier if sack dresses would come into fashion.

A year from now, our nest was going to be empty. No more parent-teacher conferences. No more report cards. No more proms.

Now, our nest won’t be empty for another 12 years.

I couldn’t be happier.

Miss L, Class of 2023, on the first day of school in an outfit made by Mom, and all the love and good wishes we could send with her.

Once I finished up with teaching camp, I thought I’d take off the rest of the summer and hang out with the kids. After all, it’s Miss L’s last summer before Kindergarten and maybe the last year I have all three kids home for the break. That plan zipped right out the door the day I ran into a friend at Joann’s and she told me about this cool project she was working on: Sewing costumes … for a movie — and they were running short on time and seamstresses.

I practically begged her to give them my information. Three days later, I was standing in the office of the costume designer, picking up supplies and trying not to act like a complete dork. Because I totally felt like one. Seriously — I was in Target, back-to-school shopping with two of the kids when she called me and did an actual little dance when I got off the phone, which prompted my mortified teen-aged son to say, “Mom. Really? Is that necessary?” And it was.

And as cool as the whole thing is, the best thing about it for me is the meaning behind it. Here’s what the folks at Whitestone Motion Pictures posted on their blog about it:

The Candy Shop is a twenty minute film that Whitestone is now in preproduction for and will release in November. This film is being made for the Doorpost Film Project, and with support from 12Stone® Church and Street Grace.

The film is a Fairytale/Parable about the child sex trafficking epidemic that has overrun our city of Atlanta. We are using the film to raise awareness about this issue taking place in our own back yard.

Up to 500 underaged girls a month are trafficked for sex here in our city of Atlanta.
It’s the number one city in the country for child sex trafficking..
The 10th in the world.

This plague has gone on for too long, and now we at Whitestone, in cooperation with Doorpost, 12Stone® Church and StreetGrace want to put a stop to it.

This film represents the spearhead of a citywide and possibly a nationwide campaign.
It is not a documentary. It is not a PSA. It is the beginning of a movement.

How could I not want to be involved with this? Check the trailer below and, if you’re so inclined, spread the word. Every little bit helps.

The Candy Shop Teaser from Brandon McCormick on Vimeo.