For my 5th grade science project I created a clay mask that form fitted to my face. The idea was you can put the makeup on the mask before bed, then in the morning you’d just smash it to your face and voila! makeup finished! I created it because I figured it afforded me my two favorite things makeup & sleeping in.
It didn’t really work:) but I never gave up on the idea to make makeup easier and more fun.
Even at 11 years old I could tell that there was a problem with the beauty industry. Instead of making women feel more beautiful I saw a tendency to make them feel more insecure, by convincing them they needed more and more products and more and more rules to abide by in order to meet the standard.

I wanted to my blog and my products to be different. I wanted to help create an environment and makeup that celebrates every type of natural beauty, that shares simple and useful tips, and to create and share about staple products that can be used by every woman time and time again.

I’m a face connoisseur. It’s almost distracting how much beauty I see in women all day long. Every face I work on inspires me because they each have such unique and stunning features. I’m honestly and truly baffled when they tell me about the flaws that bother them. My goal is to help them see the what I see.

Thanks to so many beautiful, kind and intelligent women who frequent these pages I can say that this has become much more than a company or a blog to me. It is a sisterhood where everyone is welcome!
Thank you so much for being here. You are beautiful.



Nick and I met about 7 years ago.  Typical boy meets girl, they fall in love and then…he dumped me.

I guess I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
It all started with this photo:

I was living in San Francisco but visiting my hometown (St. George UT) for my little sister’s wedding when I went to lunch with a good friend. On our way out of her office we stopped to talk to her coworker, Bevan. He said he had a son named Nick, who was playing golf at BYU (about 3 hours away) and swore that if he sent a photo of me he’d be here in a hot minute to take me on a date. So I awkwardly posed for a photo and didn’t really think much of it afterward. Apparently, Nick didn’t either because he ever showed up.

Although, a few weeks later I received this email:

I know emails from complete strangers are a little creepy, but I wanted to make sure it was ok that I was given your email address.  Im sorry if my Dad weirded you out a little…. I can’t believe he made you pose for a pic….. gotta love parents.  So I have your email and now you have mine.  I just wanted send a quick message to say hello and…… to see if you really exist…  So email me back sometime, I think it would be cool to talk some, either internet or phone or whatever.  I look forward to hearing from you.

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aletterI’ve been wanting to write this post for a very long time.
I’m struggling to understand how to approach it.
My head is swimming with so much I want to say and so much I don’t want said.
Some memories I think are important to share, while other memories I hope will fade away in time, but cannot if written in the ink of the internet.

I want to share my journey through being married to an addict, my own codependency that developed and my recovery from that.
It will take more than one post so I hope you don’t mind if this subject takes a few spots over the next few weeks. (between the usual fun stuff, of course)

I think the best way to begin is with this letter I wrote nearly 3 years ago.

When I met you I honestly loved you the minute I saw you.
I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
I knew you had had rain clouds but i was convinced I had enough sunshine for both of us
You just needed to be loved. enough…by the right girl… Me.
So I loved you.
Boy, did I love you.
With all my heart.
Every ounce of it.
And when love didn’t seem to be enough, I begged you.
I really begged you. I cried and pleaded.

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weary{Continued from Part One}
After years of struggling with my addiction to an addict.
After trying to control him and in the process losing control of myself.
After watching my life become something I never imagined it could.

I finally gave up.

I was sitting in my living room, packing up Christian’s baby swing and some overnight clothes to “leave” again for the thousandth time when I finally realized it.
I needed help.
And for the first time the help I knew I needed was not help for my ability to cure Drew, it was help for my ability to help myself.
I finally hated the pain I was in more than I hated the idea of letting go of it.

I had been adamantly against going to Al-Anon meetings before this point. For a barrage of reasons. I didn’t have time, caring for an addict is very time consuming. (Which is kind of like saying I can’t go on a diet because I’m too busy eating) I don’t have a problem, he has the problem. (Something I learned codependents are kind of famous for saying.)

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IMG_9488-635x423I was born and raised a Mormon, also known as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Both of my parents are very devout and their love for the gospel was threaded into every part of our lives. I mean, my mom replaced the faces of the ‘Guess Who’ characters with the Prophet and the 12 apostles (the spiritual leaders in our church). “Is yours bald? Does he wear glasses?” It becomes very a long game that way! I loved growing up in a Christ centered home. I loved the values that my parents taught me and I more or less figured everything I learned at church was factual, for a while…

I’m not really a “take my word for it” type person so it didn’t take long into my teen years before I started questioning everything.

The first time I remember having any real doubts was at a church camp out. I had gone to the showers and only brought a towel which meant I had to scamper back to my tent with just the terry cloth for coverage. It was a poorly planned event, but since I was covered by the towel, I didn’t think it was a big deal. When some of the leaders were showing sincere alarm over such a small incident, some of my doubts and concerns came to a head.

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philI have a big scar on my leg I got at summer camp one year.
The true story of how I got it is quite ordinary and boring but that’s not what I think of when I look at it.
I think of me and my best friend Shelly, at 16 deciding the story was rubbish and, since everyone within spitting distance asked about it, we needed a better one.
We concocted this big ol’ elaborate tale involving me and a jealous cowgirl …with spurs.
It became our best conversation starter, the funny go-to story when we needed an ice breaker with cute boys.
We never told any one the truth. Somehow it wasn’t really a lie if we were both in on it.
We told it so often that sometimes still, when people ask about my scar, I have to remind myself what really happened.

I have a mole on my chest, too.  This has always served as a very scientific measurement. If I can see the mole, my shirt is too low. Pretty great placement if you ask me.

I also have scars on my heart, that I cherish as much or more.

Anytime I pass a baseball field I think of my oldest brother, who passed away years ago.  At first it hurts a little, but then I think about how much I loved to watch him play, I think about his big hugs that felt like being covered in a homemade quilt and how his smile made me smile and just thinking about it now,
still does.

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