Sunday, August 14, 2011

My Name is Lissa C.

Yesterday, while leaving a comment on Kelli Case Anderson's blog (doesn't her name have a nice ring to it? I like it.), I saw a mini autobiography she wrote and I realized that I am, like so many other bloggers, one of those who write posts as if everyone reading knows everything about me already. Which isn't remotely true since I am tricky and write mostly about my husband, my baby, photography, and books.

SO. Today, I am going to tell you a little more about myself.
(Note: I skipped most of college because I wrote about it when I graduated.)

grapes!

Hi. My name is Lissa C. and, if I met you in real life, I would actually say "My name is Lissa C." because when I say "I'm Lissa" people call me "Melissa" and, as anyone with a fairly different name knows, being called a name other than your own gets old really fast.

I was born in Mobile, Alabama with two older brothers and one younger sister. We lived really close to our cousins and most of my childhood memories rotate between all of their houses. My brothers never let me play Nintendo, my sister always stole my Barbies, and my parents bought me pink and purple legos for my birthday one year because I was a huge tomboy who loved to wear dresses. Weird combination, I know, but it's true! While we lived there, I thought fifty degrees was horrifyingly cold and I stole a lot of honeysuckle off of our neighbor's fence.

We moved to Lee's Summit, Missouri (a suburb of Kansas City) a few months before I turned eight. I spent a lot of time writing little stories and recording my life in a bright colored journal with a heart on it. I asked my mom for a perm and, after it grew out, we went to get my hair cut and the stylist ended up giving me a pixie cut long before they were cool. Immediately after, a man at the store kept telling my mom how fun little boys were and that I was a handsome one. Awkward. BUT. My hair grew out (and my mom had two more boys, so maybe that conversation spurred her on!) and by fifth grade, I became friends with my best friend, Brittney. We spent junior high being extremely cool (read: not cool at all, but hey! at least we liked glitter and could talk on the phone for five hours straight) but, by our sophomore year of high school we'd grown out of our crazy awkwardness (for the most part. and ps I was the awkward one). In high school, I played tennis and violin and piano and I took a lot of photographs and wrote a lot of words and had braces and worked at a library and totaled my first car and hardly wore makeup and cried a lot of crocodile tears but those are all stories for another day.

High school was fun for me but I was, like, so over it by the time I was eighteen. My birthday is in September, so I turned eighteen early on in my senior year and I was probably the least nostalgic person in my class. I wasn't very interested in going to college, mainly because I thought I could self-teach myself everything about photography and writing (ha!), but in the end, wanting to be independent outweighed my stubbornness and I enrolled at the University of Missouri for my freshman year of college. Mizzou was a good place for me in a lot of ways- I made friends easily, loved my classes, and adored feeling like I was on my own. But it was also a bad place for me and I eventually decided that being completely isolated from people of my faith wasn't a good idea for me. A whirlwind ensued, I somehow become an EFY counselor fresh out of my freshman year of college and, weeks after finishing my second semester of college, loaded up my little red car and headed west.

I hopped towns (okay, I lived in a city and a college town) and apartments (I lived in at least four) for the next two and a half years. I met Andrew at BYU and just like that, I was a goner. He was just perfect for me. The man drives me absolutely bonkers sometimes, but he's perfect for me. Honestly, I don't know how I ever liked anyone else before we met. He is a gem. Our relationship was really lovely (it's still lovely!) and really fast, and when we found out I was pregnant nine months after we first held a conversation, I almost felt like I was daydreaming. Actually, I started cutting work short once or twice a week and became a mediocre student because I was so busy daydreaming. Then I became a mother and my whole world changed.

I'm not one of those mothers who's going to look at you starry eyed and say that her baby is the best thing that ever happened to her (even though, in most ways, he is!). The love I have for Max is inexplainable and the joy that he brings to me when he looks at me, snuggles with me, or tries to make me laugh, is one of the best feelings of elation that I have ever experienced. BUT. Motherhood is a piece of work. I love it. But it is hard- harder than I ever expected- and I really get my panties in a twist when people wonder what stay at home moms do (though I kid that he is, my child is nothing close to a hellian and he still keeps me on my toes all the time) and I also get my panties in a twist when mothers say that motherhood and pregnancy are easy (Lies! Bold face lies! Getting newborn poop all down your leg, on the seat, and on the floor during a mommy-and-me airplane ride, among other things, is not easy!). Anyway, I graduated college with a still-respectable GPA, my husband graduated from school two months later and two days after that? We hit the road to Fayetteville, Arkansas!

My husband is starting his Masters in History at the University of Arkansas next week and me? I am busy juggling motherhood and running a newly full-time photography business. And I'm also resisting the urge to get knocked up with another baby because, my soul, I miss me some new baby something fierce. I want at least fifteen (I kid! I only want seven more!).

And as for blogging? I have kept this blog for two years and this is the first month where I've thought about becoming a serious blogger- you know the kind. The ones who utilize social media, advertise on other blogs, use other networking sites, and write for an audience other than their future, stretch marked, self (Wait! I'm already stretch marked!). Is that what I want? Maybe? Yes? No? I really don't know! But, one thing I do know: I've recently merged this blog with my photo blog because it seemed more organic to keep the two together. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a photographer. I am a writer. And I have a really happy, very loving little life that I am super proud of! Why can't I have all of it together, even if it isn't the norm?

And that's me, in a nutshell.

(p.s. Isn't Andrew getting good at taking pictures?)