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Yes, You.

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Article by: Brittany Renee

Precious woman, 

Yes, you.

Somehow you thought your sparkle was too big, 

Too bright, 

Overexposed and juxtaposed,

Obvious in the night.

Keeping those opposed from shining just right,

You became a dimmed woman. 

Yes, you.

You didn’t realize that armor shines in the sun too. 

You grew dazed trying to save the world,

Dizzy as each day began to swirl,

Trying to be too many things to too many people.

Becoming too agreeable,

Forfeiting your own taste,

Losing and forgetting parts of yourself, 

Becoming misplaced. 

Leaving you a tired and lost woman, 

Yes, you.

Neutrals replaced color,

Afterall, you’re a mother now. 

And somehow, that means everyone has an opinion about what you do,

So, you became an always appropriate woman, 

Yes, you.  

Sacrifice has its place,

But it can be a sneaky bitch,

Leaving you with a scratch you can’t itch,

Invisible and inextricable, 

But painful all the same,

It tames you, 

Proclaims you an ashamed woman. 

Yes, you. 

But when you started to retrace your steps,

You saw how easy, how tragic it was to forget.

While looking for that thing you thought you couldn’t find,

You found your magic:

Sequins make your eyes sparkle,

Like dancing under a disco ball until last call.

You are a remarkable woman. 

Yes, you. 

Your smile holds glitter. 

Your laugh leaves tinsel floating midair. 

Hair wild like a lion’s mane, 

Wow, mama, aren’t you glad you came? 

A roar stronger than before,

You are a free woman. 

Yes, you. 

When you start to sway, 

Like a palm tree in the breeze, 

Shrouded in rhinestones and dresses above the knee,

Honey, please, 

Feel yourself as you sashay on stilettos, 

See those black lashes,

Thick and velvet, 

Saying, here’s a story, 

It’s my turn to tell it.

A beautiful woman, 

Yes, you. 

Remember when someone told you, the deeper the cut, the more likely a slut?

Well, here you are in your deepest V, highest slit, tallest heels,

Swinging too high on a golden trapeze to hear that voice,

But still you yell, “Hush, boys.”  

You are a perfectly noisy woman. 

Yes, you. 

Smack those glossed lips,

Sip your drink,

While your fire is burning white hot pink.

Smoke coils out from your dreamy eyes, 

Cloaking the truth,

And provoking the lies. 

Fan your face with feathers,

To shield yourself from the flare,

Even though your skin is kissed by shimmer,

Your lavender glasses combat the glare and glimmer,

Yeah, you can see just fine. 

You are a one of a kind woman. 

Yes, you.  

Your metallic boots reflect light too,

Like how your skin drips gems when you get out of water.

You thought you might’ve lost her, 

But your crown just needed adjusting. 

Some dusting,

Some trusting, 

That in your color, in your sparkle, in your shine, 

There is power. 

Hunt it with your jeweled hands.

Do not allow yourself to cower.

Realize your wish is your command

And get louder and louder in that eleventh hour. 

Keep that posture like a tower,

Because you are more than simply human, 

You are a powerful, powerful woman. 

Yes, you. 

Hair + Makeup: Jillian Artistry

Photography: NVS Photography

HUGGIE

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By: Brittany Renee

I knew both of you when you were inside a belly, sheltered and protected. Just two boys who had names picked out for you. It is a joke that your combo nickname is ‘Huggie’ because it takes parts of each first name and puts them together. We’ve watched you grow into your individual names, make them your own, while also making ‘Huggie’ a reality where two friends eat popsicles together on hot summer nights, chase imaginary friends in the grass, and point out the moon in the sky. The rest of the world gets reduced to crickets and the sound of your laughs. I love the ‘Huggie’ reality, and I wish more people knew its sights and sounds.  

But, not enough people do. When I held each of you the first times, you were so new, and I whispered how the world could be anything you wanted it to be. I told you both, “Welcome.” 

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As you’ve gotten older, I’ve repeatedly asked myself if I welcomed you to the right kind of world. 

One of you is my son. The other of you is my son’s best friend. When it comes to your worth as human beings, it shouldn’t matter which one of you holds which title. 

I’ve watched your feet grow and talked to you both about all the places they may take you. But for one of you, your feet may take you more places easier, quicker, and for the other, it may be harder, slower, even though your feet carry the same strong bodies, the same smart minds. Your paths may be very different, but you must walk together. 

I’ve watched your hair change from baby fuzz to the perfect contrast – bright platinum blonde on one head and dark spiral curls on the other. For both of you, your hair is part of who you are and people often comment on it. Some people may judge one of you based on how you wear your hair. But I’ll make sure you know it is beautiful.  

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When you were both born, your eyes were still deciding what color they wanted to be – each of you starting out with deep, dark tones. Over time, I’ve seen what color your eyes were meant to be. One with cool blue eyes, and the other with warm brown. You will both see the world differently, not only through your colors but also your experiences. You will see things you wish you didn’t, but you will also see so many truly lovely things, like how love exists in all colors. I always hope your light and dark eyes grasp the beauty in themselves, easily see those who do not, and relentlessly demand more for yourselves. 

I’ve heard you both develop your voices from infant cries to toddler tantrums. One of you has a raspy voice, the other one is more chipmunk-like. I hope every single time you see or hear of an injustice those two voices become one, screaming into every corner of the world, hand in hand, shouting until your throats are raw, but your hearts are content.

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Right now, as the world stands, one of you will be treated better than the other because your skin is lighter. That is unacceptable. Always and forever until the end of time. You will actively fight against this because you will know better. You will be taught that love is louder and bigger and better than hate. You will be taught that your actions have a ripple effect, and you will be conscious of who and what that ripple could eventually drown. You will be shown that ignorant silence has incalculable consequences, and conversely, the right words can make all the difference.

You will do better than people past. You will be better because of that boy beside you. You will be better because of ‘Huggie.’ 

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To the families that participated, thank you for opening your hearts and allowing us to be safe in them. 

To Desert Rose Designs for donating the custom t-shirts, the boys felt special. And, we can’t say thank you enough for that. 

To the photographer who drove close to an hour and a half to capture these images at no cost, I wish more people were like you. Your heart holds the purest love. 

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I want to know what you think about life. I imagine you’ve seen so much, some things you probably remember in exceptional detail and other things must have frayed edges. There have to be memories that are so vivid, and yet, maybe some you wish would have blurred with time. 


I think about all you’ve been a part of, all your heart has gone into, and how many times that heart has been broken. I wonder how high your hopes have gotten and how low your spirits may have dipped when life was inevitably unfair. 


I wonder how much the family has changed since you first came into it. You’ve seen so many new faces, whether they were born into this family or found themselves welcomed by you in a different way. You have heard baby cries, teenage drama, and adult uncertainty. And you’ve been there to comfort any and all, reassuring us as the one who has seen it, lived it before, and knows the way through. 


I am curious what holiday memory is your favorite, which birthday sticks out the most, and which anniversary present still means more than the rest. I think about if there is anything you would have done differently or if there is something you would like to do again. Or maybe you are a person who believes it all shakes out the way it is supposed to anyway. 


I wonder if when you look at me you see parts of your life, maybe the same challenges or similar moments of joy. I am guessing when you see my daughter, you see everything – all the firsts that lie ahead and the struggle that will come at times because as we all know, struggle does come. 


The difference is when the struggle comes for me or my daughter or anyone in our family who has been able to live with you, the struggle isn’t so bad because we’ve had you as the example. We’ve had your smile and your laugh breathing life into our family, building generations of love. 


I hope, one day, my daughter or my granddaughter or my great-granddaughter wonders about me. I hope she’s curious about the life I’ve led and all the things I’ve seen. It means I’ve influenced her. It means I’ve left a mark. It means I’ve lived a story worth retelling. 


Your story, well, it is in your smile, in the corners of your eyes, in the sound of your laughter, and I love every word.

Article by: Brittany Renee

Images by: NVS Photography

*The parties in the images are not related to the author of this piece and did not participate in the writing.

**The images are solely meant to add visual interest to the story.

BABY GIRL

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You were different from the start. I saw signs that you were coming. Certain things started to go right; things that had been so unbelievably hard before. I remember going to the grocery store, just with a feeling I would get the call I had been waiting so long for – a baby girl needing a home. And then, my phone rang. Call it mother’s intuition. 

My world changed in that instant, like any woman who realizes she is going to become a mother. You know that you can never go back to the way you were before, but you also don’t want to.  

When I met you, you didn’t have a name. They called you Baby Girl. You were 6 pounds 10 ounces, but at a month old. You were born in July, yet I met you in August. I told myself a summer baby like that, you’d have the fire of the sun in your little soul. I was right, but I was also wrong because you were beyond what I imagined. You were more than I allowed myself to hope for, more than I could have dreamed. I knew I was your mother in that moment, at that hospital on that August day. And I knew I was going to give you a name as beautiful as you. 

Adopting a child is a process that can gut you, and usually does, multiple times over. It can feel impossible to get through. I would open my home and my heart, without hesitation but with secret hope, that this child would become part of my family, permanently. That did not always happen. It was vulnerability. It was an act of love. It was what I did to get you. 

I met you on August 5, 2018. I called you mine then, but on July 21, 2019, it became official. I didn’t need that to know you were my daughter. My soul knew that before I knew you. 

I planned your first birthday, knowing you were home now. Home. We had done it, together, falling in love as a family – the family we both wanted, needed, and deserved. The way it was always supposed to be. 

As your mother, there are so many things I hope to give you in your life. Family. Safety. Love. A sense of belonging. I will live every day trying to give you a world as beautiful as you. I can say, I was able to make good on one promise so far. I gave you a name as beautiful as you. 

I love you, Paisley Rose. 

Written by: Brittany Renee

Photographed by: NVS Photography

SNACK

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BY: BRITTANY RENEE

It was barely a whisper at first. I convinced myself I was hearing things. He didn’t say it. No, he didn’t say it. 

But then I heard him again, a little louder this time, more insistent. I pretended I didn’t hear him. I tried to drive faster, but rush hour traffic is a total bitch. 

I stayed quiet, tried to make myself seem smaller, like a gazelle who was being hunted by a wild lion. He was circling me, closing in, getting ready to lunge at me. I wondered if he could see my jugular pulsing in my neck. He was hungry, and I knew there was no escaping his appetite. 

“SNACK!” 

This is rush hour, a toddler, and a severely depleted snack stash. This isn’t the wild. It is much, much scarier. It is motherhood. 

I tried to keep calm. I knew he could smell fear. I had to act like I could help him, keep him happy. That’s what they tell you to do in hostage situations, and this was basically the same thing. I dug out a crushed granola bar from my purse. It was all I could find. I handed it back to him, held my breath, and waited. 

“No, Mama. SNACK!” He sounded like a frat boy, too drunk and needing French fries.

I rifled through the front seat, striking gold after a few moments. An applesauce pouch. The holy grail. Fuck yes, that’ll do. 

I handed the pouch back. I smirked when he took it and became quiet because he was eating. But then, like life does, it kicks you in the cooch when you get too cocky. 

Within seconds an empty pouch came flying into the front seat. 

“More snack!” echoed from the backseat. 

Well, shit. I was cornered prey. I started to get angry, as I imagine prey often does. Why doesn’t he get his own snack? Why doesn’t he accept what I’ve offered him? He doesn’t pay bills. He doesn’t even wipe his own ass right now. The least he could do is accept my snack offerings graciously. Who is raising this ungrateful kid? Doesn’t he know we are stuck in traffic, and work was shit today? Maybe I should just move to the wild. The wild would accept my snacks with open fucking arms. 

Then, the mom guilt set in while I listened to him wail uncontrollably in the backseat. Classic. How could I let this happen? I put myself in this situation by not having enough snacks. I know he likes variety. He is probably literally starving to death even though I know he ate two hours ago. I need to do better. 

But, just as I was spiraling in the depths of motherhood and snack hell, I looked to my left. I saw a woman frantically handing a granola bar, a chip bag, a pouch to the back seat where I could see a car seat. The items were flung right back at her. 

I smirked. Sucker. 

And that, well, that made it better because I wasn’t alone in the wild. 

Balance Beam

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By Brittany Renee

I saw a woman at daycare drop off the other day. She was beautiful. Hair down, heels on, makeup flawless, and ready to grab the day by the balls. I used to be her. But my heels have been shoved to the back of the closet, replaced with more versatile flats. My hair pulled back so it doesn’t get pulled by sticky hands. My face makeup free. And, I’m not grabbing anything other than the diaper bag as I am running out the door, perpetually late. 

I watched her walk across the parking lot. Her hair literally bouncing like a shampoo commercial. I wondered how she had time to not only wash, but also style her hair. I wondered if when her world got so much bigger with motherhood, she lost herself in it like I did. My world got so big so quickly, and with it, my self-esteem got so small. She seemed unafflicted, spared, even confident. 

I wondered how she walked that balance beam so well, in four-inch stilettos and a baby on her hip nonetheless. I wondered why I struggled, my legs shaking and my body swaying, constantly trying to regain the balance I used to have. I wondered why this motherhood business was easier for her. It felt like I was being hazed into a secret society, and yet, she was able to do it with a spring in her step. Was I not qualified for this job? I cried in my car that day. 

The next morning, I didn’t recognize her. We both sported makeup-free faces, dark circles under our eyes, and messy buns barely held together. Her heels were now  those versatile flats that helped her chase her wild child through the parking lot. 

And I saw in that moment, she was still beautiful, just like she was the day before. I wondered if she knew that. 

I told her she looked pretty today.

She laughed. 

I told her I meant it. 

She smiled politely. But I didn’t see it reach her eyes. She didn’t believe me. 

I hope you do when I tell you, you were beautiful before you were a mom, and you are beautiful now, whether you use stilettos to walk that balance beam or not. Walk confidently, walk strongly, walk like you know what you are doing, especially when you don’t. And, some days, you just might pull it off. 

Thank you to Papago Golf Club for providing the space for this photo shoot and to all the mamas for your participation.

POSTPARTUM by Brittany Renee

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I didn’t hear it at first. Then, just a subtle tap. Tap. Tap. It was probably nothing. I promised myself, it was nothing. 

But then the tap grew to a knock. KNOCK. KNOCK. Then, quicker than I could have imagined, the knock became a bang. BANG. BANG. It became pounding, deafening, all-consuming. 

I heard it, now, so incredibly loudly. Then, silence. The type of silence that is louder than noise. The type of silence that means something is wrong, fundamentally wrong – a balance has been disrupted. The type of silence that sounds all of the alarms. 

That is postpartum anxiety. 

Postpartum is much more than a phase or a segment of time. It is much more than mom jitters or feeling down. It is something that pounds on the door until it splinters into pieces. It teaches you to wear a fake smile and then smothers you with it. It whispers your biggest fears while you try to sleep and laughs when you believe it. It is a lifestyle shift, a world tilt, an imbalance, a force. 

At one point in my life, the word ‘postpartum’ was meaningless – like the words lettuce or wallpaper. But now, that word is part of who I am. It has become part of me, relentlessly etched into my being, painful moment by painful moment. It became the unwanted visitor who forced its company on me, despite my pleas. And it is the visitor that still comes back unannounced, perpetually keeping me irrationally vigilant when it comes to you. 

And I have found, over time, that I am not original or special – postpartum visits many others. It pounds and breaks countless doors. It isn’t consistent. It isn’t expected. It may look different on my doorstep than on someone else’s, but it is still a chameleon who only changes into dark colors. When it whispers doubt, the words may be different from mother to mother, but the message is the same. It is fear. It is pain. It is heartache. 

But just when that noise was at its loudest and I felt most alone, you would smile at me. 

And eventually, that pounding, deafening noise quieted, slightly at first, then more as the months went on. And it was because of you. 

You were with me when that silence fell around us, like a hush in fog. Your smell gave me air when I was gasping to breathe. Your touch warmed me when I shook beyond control. Your smile gave me hope in moments I experienced the purest fear. When I rocked you, I comforted myself. When I held you, I held my heart. In the truest of meanings, your life gave mine purpose. 

When I had you, I split myself in two, and in feeling your warmth and smelling your smell, I became whole for a few special moments. So, when I come up to you, and I put my nose to the crown of your head, let me do it. It is a reminder of my safe place, my home. It is my answer to the loudest noise or the quietest silence. You are the force stronger than postpartum.

Thank you for every woman who expressed interest in this project. And for the women pictured, thank you for giving postpartum a face, showing what love, strength, and motherhood can look like.

Thank you to Papago Golf Club for providing a place for us to gather and create images to accompany piece.

If you or someone you know may be struggling with a postpartum mood disorder, please reach out. Local resources can be found at http://www.postpartum.net or http://postpartumhealthyalliance.org – just to name a few.

Photography: NVS Photography

Listen to Lindsay

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Lindsay Stuettgen is 36 years old. She is a labor and delivery nurse, coming up on 12 years of experience. She married her husband, Nate, in fall of 2018, a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Together, they have a two-year-old golden lab, Gus. Lindsay is a lot of things to a lot of people. She is used to bringing life into this world. But last year, she started the fight to save her own. 

Among the titles of daughter, sister, wife, friend, and nurse, Lindsay received the title of breast cancer patient. She was 35 years old the day she was diagnosed. This shouldn’t have happened to her. 

I don’t know Lindsay, not really. I’ve asked her personal questions, yet I don’t know her favorite movie, where she’s from, or what she wanted to be when she was little. But I know her strength is overwhelming; her image unforgettable. I know she calls attention to a dark corner, shining sunlight in a place that others pull curtains because that’s the type of woman she is. Hers is the story of a warrior. 

In July 2019, Lindsay came home from work. She changed her clothes, getting out of the scrubs she’d worn at the hospital. When she took off her bra, she felt a small lump. She wasn’t concerned. She chalked it up to breast swelling from her cycle. 

But her period came and went. The lump didn’t.

Lindsay still wasn’t concerned. She was a healthy, young woman. She had no history of familial breast cancer. She was a trained medical professional. She went on vacation that month with her husband, Nate. Lindsay could let go of her concern, but Nate couldn’t. 

When Lindsay and Nate returned from their trip, he urged her to go to the doctor. She obliged him by making an appointment. Like Lindsay, the first doctor wasn’t concerned, but ordered a mammogram and an ultrasound out of caution. Nate insisted on being there for that ultrasound, a moment of stubbornness that Lindsay is now grateful for.

“After the ultrasound, the radiologist came in and said she was very concerned about the way it looked. I asked her on a scale of 0-10 how concerned she was. She said a nine. I immediately started crying. She looked like she was going to cry with me. I pretty much knew when I left the office, I had cancer,” Lindsay recalls now. 

Two days later, on August 9, 2019, in the midst of an unrelenting summer, Lindsay got the call she had been expecting. Yes, she had breast cancer. It was grade three of three, the most aggressive. Yes, she would start treatment immediately. 

Lindsay underwent an emergency egg retrieval. Her eggs were frozen and stored in the hope she and Nate could start a family one day. She started chemotherapy, and after each chemo session, she soaked in Epsom salts to try to quiet the pain in her bones. 

She shaved her head. She lost her eyelashes, her eyebrows. She struggled with her self-esteem because her reflection suddenly looked so unlike the woman she was. She scheduled her double mastectomy for mid-March. She was forced to confront the terrifying reality of her own mortality while trying to maintain optimism for her future. 

Lindsay doesn’t know what her future will look like. She knows a few things – good things. Her scans are looking positive. She is finished with chemo. She is getting through this day by day, at least the physical part of cancer. But there is more to it than that. Lindsay highlights an issue that many people overlook – the fact that cancer lingers beyond the physical component. It follows, it festers, it torments. Even when the cancer is gone, the survivor may not feel like it is really beyond its grasp. Afterall, it snuck up once, so what prevents it from doing it again? What keeps it all from slipping through her fingertips? 

 “The type of cancer I have has a high reoccurrence rate in the first 2-5 years. So, while I want to celebrate, I’m also scared to. I fear it coming back, and I haven’t even gotten rid of it yet,” Lindsay states unapologetically. 

Lindsay is also honest about what having breast cancer really means. In recent years, the realities of breast cancer have improved, however it is still not to be underestimated. It isn’t a “safe” type of cancer to get because it is more “treatable” in the public’s opinion. Cancer is cancer. Life is life. And having that called into question, is terrifying. 

When asked what she wished people understood about breast cancer, Lindsay said, “I wish people knew that not everyone survives breast cancer. There has been a ton of research, and the survival rates are getting better, but the fact is, once you get diagnosed as stage IV breast cancer, you will die from the cancer. There is no cure for stage IV.” 

Lindsay has been forced to learn a lot of things she never wanted to know, like how to get through chemotherapy and how to find cancer support groups. But that’s the thing – she has learned. She has found a focus, a purpose, a goal in the midst of overwhelming chaos. She has found a way to make her world brighter when darkness threatened her. She has found a way to help others.   

When asked why she wanted to open herself up so vulnerably, Lindsay said, “I’ve learned going through this, more and more women under 40 are getting diagnosed, but yet the mammogram age hasn’t changed. Also, the younger you are diagnosed the more aggressive the cancer usually is.”

To put it painfully simply, “Too many young women are dying.”

I am a young woman. I have no direct familial link to breast cancer. I am the type of young woman that doesn’t do self-breast exams consistently. I am the type of young woman who would assume cancer couldn’t happen to me. 

Not anymore. 

I will listen to Lindsay. I will take comfort in her strength and decide to honor it. I will do a self-breast exam. The next time my mom or my grandmother or my mother-in-law or my friend says she is too busy for her mammogram, I will push. I will demand. I will insist. I will tell her to listen to Lindsay. 

We are worth our futures, and we are no longer so unaware to think this can’t happen to us. Listen to Lindsay. 

Vendors who helped remind Lindsay’s of the warrior she is:

Henna: Taylor Victoria Art

Cookies: Dirty Sailor Baking Company

Article: Brittany Renee

Photography: NVS Photography

Cheers

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Spring wedding season is upon us and I am loving it!  Each season brings new couples into my life, forms new family units and brings a little more love and joy into the world.  When I tell people I am a wedding photographer I so often get a look of shock and an instant question about ‘bridezillas’.  The truth is, I have been a wedding photographer for 16 years and I don’t know if there is such a thing?!?!  I honestly can’t remember anyone that I had trouble working with.  I think if you do the work to build a relationship with a couple before the day of, they know your talents and have faith in you to do your job and are happy to let go and let you do your job. Orr-0275.jpg

Here are a few tips to creating a stress free wedding day:

  • Having an engagement session with your wedding photographer.  I have so many couples tell me they have a friend who offered to do the engagement photos, or they are going to opt out because they don’t need more photos of themselves in addition to the photos they will get on the wedding day.  Although those ARE reasons to not have engagement photos taken, I would say they are not good enough and here is why… the time we spend together does so many things to help us both prep for wedding day.  1.  You get comfortable in front of the camera.  I have SO MANY couples show up for engagement photos and say ‘we aren’t photogenic’ or ‘we are so awkward’.  Having portraits taken by your wedding photographer helps build a confidence in YOURSELF and your photographer so when they wedding day arrives you know of the images are going to turn out and you let go of that stress and worry.  2.  We work out the kinks.  Some people have a really hard time in bright light, some people are chronic blinkers, some have a self proclaimed ‘good side’.  These are all things your photographer wants to know about and work through with you BEFORE the day of your wedding.
  • Work with your vendors to create a day of timeline.  I always provide my couples with a detailed timeline of how the photo portion of the day will go.  I have photographed over 400 weddings and therefore have a very strong knowledge of how long it will take for certain portions of the day.  I provide it to my clients but remain completely flexible so we can tweak it to fit your desired flow of the day.
  • In addition to working with your photographer the DJ will also have a timeline for the reception portion.  If you have a day of coordinator they will want timelines from both the photographer and DJ and will combine everything.  Make sure to share the timelines with wedding party and family members will help ensure everything moves smoothly.
  • Delegate.  Let others make decisions and do things for you.  Plan ahead who will be in charge of answering questions from the baker, florist, etc on the day of.  Let go so you have the time and space to be present on your day and enjoy every minute of it.
  • Be organized.  Having all your details gathered and ready for photos before the photographer shows up (and someone else in charge of knowing where things are) saves time.  Jewelry, shoes, garter, rings, hankie, wedding invites anything of this nature will be photographed and having it all together and ready to go is great!

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And lastly be willing to go with the flow of the day.  Things will be forgotten at home, someone might show up late, it may be windy or rain.

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Life happens.  But having a willingness to embrace it and the love the day exactly as it is unfolding is a beautiful thing.  When so much time, energy and money have been put into planning sometimes we get hung up on how it was ‘supposed to be’ that we forget to see the uniqueness of how it actually was.  Orr-0072.jpg

I truly believe those little hiccups can be the most beautiful part of a day.  They turn into the story your family and friends tell over and over again.  The ones that make you laugh and reminicse and smile at your spouse because that was YOUR DAY.  One like no other.

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And don’t forget to DO IT YOUR WAY!  Do you want to have cocktail hour with your guests before the ceremony?  Do it.  If you desire to walk down the aisle together to your ceremony?  Do it.  Would you like 30 minutes alone to just enjoy each other and reflect on the day day.  Do it.  Everyone will adjust.  Do you!  You will never be sorry you did.

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www.nvsphotography.com  Phoenix Scottsdale Peoria Prescott Sedona Chandler Mesa Surprise Glendale Paradise Valley Wedding Photographer

Turning One!

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Elena turns ONE!

 

If you have ever wondered what birthday party photography looks like, here is a small peek from the last birthday I attended.  1-2 hours coverage is all you need to get everything from details, smash cake, presents and candids, candids, candids!

 

 

 

www.nvsphotography.com

Serving Phoenix, Scottsdale, Peoria, Sedona, Prescott and Lake Havasu.