Getting. Inked.

I've never, ever, ever had a desire to get a tattoo.

Well, maybe once when I was 18, I had the desire simply because I was technically and legally allowed to have the desire. But I had no idea what I wanted or why I wanted it.

Now that I am older, and have had a myriad of significant things happen in my life, I feel a bit differently. Tattoos have been a lot more culturally accepted, and I more recently started to feel the itch.

I didn't want anything that wouldn't have the same heartfelt meaning for me as it did the day that I got it. 

I once saw a girl with a Hello Kitty tattoo, and the first thing I thought was, "You're going to hate yourself more than you could have ever imagined when you are 47 years old."

Hello Kitty? Really?

But then again, who am I to judge what is meaningful and what is not when it comes to other people?

In my own situation, I can think of two things that I would find "ink-able." 

1. Something related to Thaddeus.

2. Something related to Wegener's.

I went the Thaddeus route.

Thaddeus's name means "praise."

The word for "praise" in Gaelic is "moladh."

Since I'm proud of my Irish heritage, I figured this was the best combination of both worlds.

And I love it. I absolutely love my new tattoo.

And in case you're wondering, no, it didn't hurt. :)

In. Case. You're. Wondering.

I let home girl right here do a good bit of cleaning up. In fact, for about an hour, she ran around, destroying her web, and then wrapping it all up in the silk that she pulled from her body.

It was beautiful, really.

But then my knight in shining armor came downstairs, opened the sliding glass door, and smashed her.

Sorry, little spider friend. But it needed to be done.

Something tells me you were about to lay 1,400 little baby spiders right outside my window, and I just couldn't have that.

Oh, and stay tuned!

In a couple of hours, Tom and I are headed downtown so I can get my first tattoo. 

I think it'll be pretty cool. :)

Simple.

But cool.

Catching. Up.

It seems like it's been forever since I last blahged. In reality, it's been all of 6 days; but I think it feels like forever because the last week (or two, or three) have been crazy busy. 

My head, I am hoping, will stop spinning within the next few days. Though, it's doubtful.

So, since we've had so much going on, I guess I'll update everyone on the past 6 days since my very last boudoir shoot...

1. After my last boudoir shoot on Saturday, I drove up to Evergreen just in time to photograph a rehearsal dinner. While taking a photo of the bartender at said rehearsal dinner, I stepped backwards for a better angle and ended up taking a nice little leap off a ledge that I was unaware even existed. I rolled my ankle as far as it would go without snapping and am currently on crutches.

So, that was awesome.

2. The next day, me and my severely sprained ankle braved the smallest road known to man at the top of a huge-ass mountain to take photos of this beautiful bride:

Everything about her dress and flowers screamed to me "dream wedding of my own" so I lived vicariously through her as I took pictures.

3. The next day, Thad and I flew home to Michigan. He sat on the plane the entire time, with his seat belt buckled, listening to music. Have I mentioned that since turning three, he has been a dream child? I think I've raised my voice maybe once (?) in over a week. It's shocking really. 

And awesome. 

It's really, really awesome.

4. Upon arriving home, I learned that this [not so] little guy had decided to build his home directly outside of our sliding glass door.

In reality, this spider is about 2 or 3 inches in length, so depending on what kind of computer screen you are looking at, this photo is true to size. Disgusting, right? And yet I can't bring myself to order his death, since it's so incredibly fascinating watching him work.

I've seen this thing devour a bug and fix its web.

I've watched it curl up and take a nap. 

How could I possibly ask Tom to kill it?

(No worries, my heart will eventually turn black...his days are numbered).

5. Thaddeus has asked at least 4,873 times if he can "go back to school." I keep reminding him that he starts on Monday.

6. I started back to school.

Uuuugggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I hate school.

7. I've edited 6 of 12 boudoir shoots, and still have the remaining 6 to go. I also have two weddings to edit.

Oy.

8. I've lost 20 pounds. And I'm still losing. :)

9. I plotted out and dreamt of my major plan to wipe out all of the insurance companies that keep trying to screw up my regimen. Each time I get on a medication that really, really works, some big shot at United Health Care decides that I don't need it and refuses to cover it. I'm sorry, but when did insurance big-wigs start earning their medical degrees before running huge corporations?

Oh that's right, they don't. 

They're just huge asshole know-it-alls (like several people I know in law school).

10. Tonya, come visit me in Michigan!!!

That's. A. Wrap. (Rap?).

I assume it's 'wrap.' But to be honest, I am so tired right now, I'm not even sure how to spell my first name.

I had such an awesome, awesome time doing the boudoir photos. I've decided to make it a regular thing. So if you're reading this, and you're interested, drop me a line. I am already starting to plan the boudoir party for the Christmas holiday (um, can you say mistletoe, Santa hats, and black high heels!?). 

But for those of you in Michigan, we can do one anytime, day or night (although, I'd prefer day).

And, in case you're wondering, yes --- I did a couple's photo shoot. I won't name any names, but I have to say, they were probably the most beautiful photos I have ever seen. And I'm not saying they're beautiful to compliment myself, I'm saying that the image created by these two people (so totally in love) are absolutely magical in every way.

I think one day, I might actually want to do the exact same thing with my own hubby. 

You hear that Tom? ;)

Although I wonder what would happen if Thad ever came across them --- I fear they might scar him for the rest of his life. Lol. Oh well. I'm still going to give it some thought.

Here's a sneak peek of another one of the photos I captured today. All of the women were absolutely beautiful, and so willing to do anything. It was like a dream! 

If you or someone you know is interested in booking a session --- whether it be for your family, or for personal use --- contact me at catherinejeter@mac.com.  :)

So. Far. So. Good.

So I have three hours between boudoir shoots today, and instead of using the time like I should -- getting lunch -- I am instead editing some of the photos.

First of all, the room is working out much better than I could have imagined. The colors are great. The bed is great. I love it.

Second of all, my clients thus far have had some great ideas. I was worried that they would come with almost nothing to wear, and then expect me to come up with 100% of the ideas. Thankfully, so far so good. 

Each of them has been totally willing to work with my "artistic vision" and they have been very vocal as well - "This is what I like, this is what I don't like."

Easy peasy.

Isn't she so stinkin' gorgeous!?

We had Spanish class together over 10 years ago, when we were both in high school. I even said, "Did you ever imagine that we would go from Spanish class to this!?!?" Lol. That gave us both a good laugh.

This next one was her idea. Her boyfriend had bought her this Rockies jersey awhile back, and she figured he'd love to see her wearing it with some sexy high heels. So awesome.

I have so many more to edit, and so many more photo shoots to go. I feel like I should have labeled this weekend 'Boudoir-palooza.' I'm loving all of this work!

Losing. Those. Cheeks.

Want to see something scary?

I mean like, really, really terrifying. You might even have nightmares.

Ok, fine. You asked for it.

This is me, 2 months into my treatment for Wegener's, on 60mg of Prednisone per day. Yes, that's a lot; however, I know people who have taken even more.

And, just for reference, here is a photo of me only one week before I began treatment:

What a difference two months can make.

I told you it was scary!

Prednisone is probably my worst enemy. I hate it even more than I hate the taste of peas. And I struggle with my internal battle over Prednisone even more than I did with that girl in high school who wore the Nike sneakers and always acted like she was better than me (just a side note - since I let her consume my thoughts so often, she probably WAS better than me).

Anyways, my point.

Thankfully, my battle with Prednisone, while still going on, is coming to an end. I hope, anyways.

I am down to 5mg per day, and slowly but surely, that weight is coming off.

At one point, the skin on my face was being pulled so tight, that I could not lay on my back at night because it felt like I was suffocating. I could see my cheeks out of the corners of my eyes. It actually even hurt to smile. 

But things are looking up. 

This is me today:

I still have a ways to go, but if I look hard enough, I think I can make out the actual shape of my face.

I can no longer see my cheeks in my eyes.

I can actually sleep on my back.

I don't actually look like someone tore open my face at the forehead, and poured a gallon of water into my head.

And the weight is not only coming off in my face, but it's coming off on the rest of me as well. My entire time in Colorado has been spent in a pair of jeans that I haven't worn in over a year. 

And while Prednisone has done me a lot of harm on the outside, I have to admit that it has done wonders for me on the inside. Any patient on Prednisone will tell you that they have a love-hate relationship with it. They love it because it keeps them from lying 6 feet in the ground, but they hate it because of the way that it makes them look and feel.

Not only that, but watching myself transform into a balloon has done wonders for my self esteem, now that that balloon is slowly beginning to deflate. I no longer feel so uncomfortable in my own skin, and I actually feel pretty, dammit.

One year ago, you couldn't pay me one million dollars to pose for the camera. But slowly, I am coming out of that shell. I am less reluctant to have photos taken of myself and more willing to blast my pearly whites.

I will beat this stupid disease no matter what. I'm ready to be myself again. :)

Happy. Birthday.

September 1, 2007.

2:13am.

7 pounds, 6 ounces.

You were, quite literally, my angel.

But you know that.

Then, September 1, 2008...

 

 

In that first and second year, you taught me patience. You taught me strength.

And you taught me love like I never knew.

Then, September 1, 2009...

Your third year has been the toughest so far, and yet it has also been the most fun and the most rewarding. I have watched you go from using words like "mama" and "ball" to using words like "beautiful" and "amazing."

You can shoot a basketball from half the length of the house, and make a perfect "swish." You then typically run around the house, screaming, "I'm a good basketball player!"

You haven't quite mastered the art of pedaling a bike, but you love your bike nonetheless.

You love to play any sport that involves a ball, more recently the game of golf.

Your favorite book is a book about fire trucks.

Your favorite thing to eat is chicken. In fact, grandpa continuously voices his concern that you are going to turn in to one giant chicken tender.

You love your Mystic cat. She loves you too, despite sometimes being tortured by you.

You love to paint and color, but you don't have the patience to apply more than 10 minutes to creating a project. You'd rather be running around outside, or playing with trucks. Because of this, mommy usually puts the finishing touches on your art pieces.

You have at least 1,478,390,276 Matchbox cars. 

You have a name for each of your 1,478,390,276 Matchbox cars.

You have given up your morning "shake" of warm milk mixed with fruit. Your morning now consists of climbing into bed with mommy and daddy and watching Sesame Street or Caillou.

Oh, how you love Caillou. 

You're growing up so much. You like showers, instead of baths. You've started to call me "mom" as opposed to "mommy." You cherish your freedom, and sometimes prefer to go upstairs to your room, rather than hang out downstairs with mom and dad.

Grandpa more recently gave you your first taste of soda, and now, whenever you get the chance, you ask me for a Diet Coke. Unfortunately for you, I refuse to oblige.

You've had a camera in your face every day for almost three years and have since mastered the art of putting your hand into the air and saying, "Stop. No more pictures, mommy."

You can name any kind of construction truck you see.

You love to vacuum and help me with the laundry.

Your new favorite word is "poop." You giggle every time you say it, and yesterday you told grandma that you wanted poop for dinner.

You are such a boy.

You have yet to cooperate for your three-year photos, so I don't have one to match the others that I have posted in this letter. But I'm sure I'll snag it eventually. You'll do almost anything I ask if I bribe you with a trip to Target, or a piece of candy. 

I love you, monkey. You are still my angel. And you will always, always, always have my heart.