The inverted pyramid.

That first summer I was an intern at Dayton Daily News is like a living sepia photo in my mind. The colors are distinct, but muddled, and the most discernible thing about that summer is the brightness that I feel when I think back to those days.

I had always thought I wanted to be a teacher, but by the time I was a senior in high school, I realized that education was not my calling. Rather, I had taken the position of Senior Editor and then Copy Editor for our high school newspaper and I discovered a truth about myself that I had actually known all along:

Whatever career I chose, I had to be writing.

That revelation lead to journalism, which ended up not being the path I chose—but in that summer I learned more about myself than I have in any other season of my life.

More than anything, I think that internship gave me such a sense of importance. Not that I was important necessarily, but that there were important things to be done in the world. I learned so many things in those short three months: the inverted pyramid, parallel parking, how to drink real coffee, and the all important questions of who, what, when, where, and why?

In the end, the hardest lesson I learned was that I could never be a good journalist. Call it gut, or something else, but I just did not/do not have what it takes to force the tough answers out of people.

What I have, of course, is a sincere love for the written word… and I can say with full confidence that my first summer as an intern was the crash course I needed for a life of writing.

Some of those lessons I learned:

• Trying to get children to answer a question with anything more than “yes” or “no” taught me how to answer the tough questions myself.
• The benefit of working on a deadline is that every project is your opportunity to save the day, and to give the world something else worthwhile before the day is done.
• Nothing will ever make you cheer for the protagonist like learning that the good characters are so far outnumbered by the bad.

I could go on and on, and maybe I will in some future post, but what I really mean to say is this: In that first summer as an intern for the Dayton Daily News, there were some people and projects that ended up changing my life. That old building taught me everything I know about writing, and most of what I know about life.

And I am grateful.

Photo find Friday.

It was a snow day during our junior year of high school when my friend Morgan and I really solidified our best friendship. All of our friends had congregated at Morgan’s house for the day to “play in the snow.” Not quite sure how much playing we actually did, but the point was that we were all together.

I had only worn jeans, and they were completely soaked. So Morgan offered to help me find some sweatpants in her (always messy) bedroom. Of course, there were none. Next best option? Pajama pants. Under my jeans.

You have probably never actually tried to pull jeans over pajama pants, but let me tell you, it is difficult. I managed to get the jeans on and buttoned, but the pajama pants themselves had migrated up around my knees. At this point we had pretty much collapsed into giggling.

Here I am, tugging at the pajama pants to no avail, laughing so hard I am now crying, when Morgan looks up at me with her trademark devilish grin and asks,

“How good of friends are we?”

This is a question we still ask today. The answer? Good enough friends for her to reach up my jean legs and pull down the pajama pants.

Morgan and I were best friends by our junior year, but I never could have imagined being so close into our adulthood. Snow days and formal dances gave way to college graduations and even weddings.

Which brings us to this photo. More than 5 years after our snow day-pajama pants-plight… and Morgan is still helping me get situated from the ground up, with the same devilish grin.

Thanks for fixing my pants, and my garter. Thanks for making my life infinitely more fun, and for your unconditional friendship. I adore you, Morgan Liz!

Photo credit: Fullam Photography

Wednesday book craving.

I just cannot get enough of the typewriter art that is available out there. I had no idea there were so many other people who loved that sound of clacking keys!

In fact, I have found so many amazing pieces that I am officially inspired to one day have a vintage typewriter-themed office.

Speaking of clacking keys, the book craving for this week makes use of the keys left over from well-loved typewriters. I have included a monogrammed S because I want one for my own last name, and a fabulous use of the Shift Key.

Swoon.
Monogrammed necklace: $19.50
Shift key necklace: $24.50

Storytellers: Erinne Fullam

It seems only appropriate that as I introduce my good friend and fellow writer, Erinne Fullam, I have a cup of hot cocoa by my side.

There are a few things that I always associate with Erinne: the love of a mother, the adoration of a wife, and her appreciation for hot beverages. We share those last two.

I found Erinne through her husband Gerry who works with me—and now with my husband, Chuck. Chuck and I were invited to their wedding before we were even engaged, and then we hired The Fullams to be our wedding photographers.

So in some ways, we have shared some of the most important moments in our lives. Our weddings of course, but I have also been truly blessed to watch Erinne raise, and photograph, her two boys: Shepherd and Archer.

To be completely honest, I look up to Erinne. Not only is she a devoted mother, but she is a brilliant photographer and writer as well.

I asked Erinne to pick one of her favorite photos, and to tell the story behind it. I hope her story makes your heart warm, like it did mine. Thank you, Erinne.

“Mommy, Archie spit up again!”

“Okay, honey, I’ll clean him up in just a second.”

“Mommy, can I watch Thomas? I need to watch Thomas. I need pretzels, too, Mommy! I need pretzels. I want to eat them and I am hungry for cheese stick.”

I pat my little boy on the head and sigh. I’ve had a to do list sitting on my desk all morning and I haven’t even read item number one.

“Okay, honey. I hear you. Let me change Archie and then we’ll talk.”

I finish taking off Archie’s wet clothes and lie him down in the giant naptime pillow on our couch. The sun is shining for the first time in months, and the windows are open, airing out weeks of winter dust.

I inhale the smell of melting snow. “Maybe we could watch the squirrels instead. They’re running around on all the branches out back! Come look!”

Archie seems content to go clothing-free for a little while, so I take a minute to lift Sheppy up on the back of the couch where he can press his nose up to the window and spy on the critters.

I immediately fixate on the giant mess of branches still covering our yard from last month’s ice storm. I grab my phone to text Gerry that we “really ought to clean up the debris.”

“AAAAH! A SKKKKWERRRRRRRR!”

His excitement shakes the window and I drop my phone onto the coffee table without sending the text.

The child hasn’t seen a squirrel since 2010, and he nearly falls off the couch onto his now-asleep baby brother when he realizes they still exist.

Lupa, our deer-colored dog that is roughly the same size as toddler Shep, hears him squealing and charges straight into the window to see evidence of her furry friends’ return. She scratches at the window for a few minutes and then curls herself into a neat ball, back against the screen, warming in the sunlight.

I watch the three of them on the couch for a moment. Giddy toddler, resting baby, lazy dog; and I decide not to worry about anything but the sunshine for a little while longer.

Fullam Photography
The Brothers Fullam

I am going to regret this.

As I was looking through our old photos, I just could not pass these gems up.

When we talk about our future potential children, Chuck and I laugh recalling what we looked like as kids. Sure, there were probably cute moments. But when you combine the paleness, and the freckles, and the asthma, and the allergies… it really is just a winning combination.

Regardless, here goes. Bring on the laughter as I give you this week’s edition of photo find Friday.

The engagement.

Whenever you talk about engagements, someone always wants to ask if you knew your engagement was coming. I usually just answer “no”, because that is the easiest answer… but truthfully, I kind of did.

How? A fight over a shirt.

Chuck had asked me out to dinner, and he was getting dressed for something fancy. I was already good to go, but he kept pulling shirt after shirt out of his closet. I was waiting pretty patiently, but I was also approaching starvation levels of hunger.

So, the evening was going a little like this:

Chuck: Do you like this shirt?
Nicole: Yeah, that one is fine.
Chuck: Are you sure?
Nicole: I kind of liked the other one better, but whatever works.

And so it went, the definition of a role reversal. Finally, I said, “Just wear this blue one.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.

Chuck said something along the lines of, “We are not going to be late! Just let me pick out a shirt!”

He was clearly stressed. I, however, was clearly emotional—and started blubbering immediately.

As soon as that first tear fell, Chuck was right there next to me apologizing. Like, really apologizing.

Now, you know how these kinds of “fights” happen. You are both stressed, trying to get out of the house, attempting to make it somewhere “on time”… someone snaps, and it ends up with some choice words until you finally get in the car, look at one another, and say, “that was completely ridiculous.”

Well, it happens for us that way at least. But not on this night. Rather than continue the spat, Chuck was doing everything he could to make it better. Looking back, poor guy was just trying to look his best for what was obviously going to be a big night.

So, here is my confession: I guess in that moment, I kind of knew what was coming. And honestly, I think that made it more fun, because I spent the next half hour telling myself, “there is no possible way he is going to propose tonight.”

Of course, he did. Chuck took me to our very favorite restaurant—Thai 9—and proposed in front of everyone. Loudly.

The best part? Chuck had orchestrated the evening so our parents, my brother, and our two best friends were sitting upstairs looking down on us over the rafters. I had no idea they were there, of course.

In fact, at one point, I guess my dad peeked. Chuck saw him, and in a panic asked me if I liked the art on the wall. To which I responded, “Um, sure?”

It was a scene of samurai warriors charging for battle.

I do recall thinking that our drinks were taking an awfully long time, but soon enough, Chuck stood up and proposed. As soon as I said yes, the waitress appeared from nowhere and took us upstairs where drinks and sushi were waiting. Plus, all of the people we love.

I love our engagement story, and more than anything—I adore my husband. Chuck is the definition of my best friend, and truth be told: he spoils me completely rotten. Rotten enough that I cry over a shirt.

I hope you have a handful of people who love you more than you deserve. I know that I do. Happy Valentine’s Day.