Crap Shoot

I saw a photograph the other day of a baby. She was about eight months old, with round bubble gum cheeks that sat on her tiny shoulders. It reminded me of my own babies. Except suddenly I couldn't think of any pictures that I had of my own childrens' cheeks. The realization felt surprising and sad. And final. Like without the solidity of a photograph, the memory of those details was now precarious. What about their fat knuckles?  And their finger nails? And their belly buttons? Did I take pictures of these things? Or had I been putting it off until "tomorrow when I wasn't so busy". And now it was too late, and those memories feel like any minute they might fly away. Then, the more I thought, the more I realized I hadn't been putting off those pictures because I was busy. It was because I'd been viewing my life as a photographer. Instead of a mother. Person.Observer. We talk a lot around here about showing the messy, the real, the imperfect. And I believe in all of that. So that's why it surprised me to realize that I'd been looking at my whole LIFE as a photo session. If the light was bad, what's the point? If I was too far away, "it'll just sit on my hard drive as a snap shot anyway". YUCK. Sometimes we end up longing for those "bad" snap shots!

So, I'd been mulling this over. And Monday I had an opportunity to get over my self and my stupid perfectionism. My daughter, Annie, started kindergarten and my heart was in my throat. There were people, and flourescent lights. She was nervous, and I was missing her already. All I had was my little camera, and a horrible view of her in a far-away sea of children. But it was the last view I'd have before she walked into that Big Girl Hallway. My baby. The one I kept in the hospital bed with me because I wanted to watch her breathe. She used to fit into my kitchen sink. And her day belonged to me. Now I would have to rely on others to tell me about it. So many times I'd been counting down "until". But at that moment I would've given anything to be able to put her back into that sink for one more bath. Or to feel her sleeping on my shoulder.

I didn't want to lose that feeling. So I whipped out my little camera, zoomed in as close as I could, and got this. A shot that is so blurry you can't hardly make her out. But I love it because it reminds me of how fast everything goes by.

So, in honor of "letting go", I'm calling this "Crap Shoot" day. These are your shots that wouldn't necessarily win an award, but that help you save an important story. Please share yours with us! And then next week, stop by my blog on Thursday, because I think I'm going to make this a regular thing.

p.s. I don't consider this shot above as a "crap shot". It's just an image of one of my sweet clients. They're expecting their first child, and it reminded me about how fast it all goes. One day you're shining a flash light into a belly. The next, you're watching your baby waltz into kindergarten. So take pictures. In the end, all that matters is remembering.

Enchanted

It is true that the magic of childhood is for the most part intangible however, as a professional photographer and a mother I know that the perfect moment in time captured in a picture can tell a pretty grand tale of the enchantment.

What is it exactly that makes us swoon at the sight of a sleeping baby or melt when we feel the motion of uninhibited play and total freedom of being?

Do the eyes have it? It is a gesture? Or something about the context of the shot that makes it irresistible?

Even after all these years, and many clients later, I’m not sure I can put my finger on it exactly. I guess I just know it when I see it, just as I’m sure you do.

Share with us in a photo what kind of kid stuff stops your grown-up heart in reverie.

MamaFocus Monday

The big winner of the MamaFocus Photo Contest (a la our collaboration with Mamazine)  is this wonderful shot by Iyoyome. YAY!

There were so many stellar submissions, I urge you to take a peek at the pool and see for yourself. Good stuff.

Speaking of stellar submissions, check out  the rest of the winners of the contest-

I wish i had more arms...or wings... by kimthemidwife - first runner up

After the Migraine by Camera Shy Momma -second runner up 

Sun Spinning by SouleMama- third runner up

Such great images ladies! Congratulations to you talented Shutter Mamas! It's always nice to win fabu prizes for your efforts, don'tcha think?

And since we're on the topic of mamas (albeit totally off the subject of photography), today the brilliant Brene Brown of Ordinary Courage begins an unprecidented series for parents based on her life's work, "The Gifts of Imperfect Parenting-raising our children with courage, compassion and connection." I had the pleasure of listening to the just released CD of the same name and I will tell you IT IS REMARKABLE! A must have for any parent--any person for that matter! Seriously. It's life-changing stuff but it's delivered in the most approachable, hopeful way. Don't just take my word for it...check out Brene's blog today as she begins her series. And get the CD.

Go. Now. Read. Be enlightened.

Looking Back

It’s that time of year again. If you read my last post, you know where I’m at; bobbing up and down in the tide of melancholy. It doesn’t take much these days to get me teary. Even a simple request to reminisce on family time at the sea shore got my sentimental wheels turning. When I noticed that the prompt was inspired by diapers, the motivation began to dwindle because my kids are out of the diaper phase. Uh oh. Here comes the rush swelling emotions. My children are long out of diapers. Dang it! Here I go again. My babies are growing up. I’m telling you, I’m hopeless.

When it comes to looking back on my life, the beach is the consistent strand that connects all the things I want to remember; family, fun, laughter, relaxation, nature, simplicity, peace, perspective, clarity. Our days (and evenings) spent at the beach are some of my fondest memories. I guess it would make sense logistically speaking as we live only a mile or two from the So Cal coast but even still, we are die hard beach people. Summer, winter, vacations, you name it, we head to the ocean—to dig in the sand, splash in the sea, snack on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walk on the beach, discover treasures, and rediscover each other. And I always bring the camera.

What about you? Where are your most sacred memories found? Is there a place you visit and revisit where you find your soul at its most content? Is it a multitude of memories that make it special or one single instance when it was as if the planets aligned just for you? Where ever or whatever it may be, I’ll bet there’s a photo that helps encapsulate it, isn’t there?

Life's a Blur

Each September begins the familiar routine. The slow and steady flow of school, homework and extra-circular activities that little by little as the months pass, begins to feel more like a river than a stream only to have the damn break in June to a force that can make it difficult for even the mightiest of moms to remain standing. That’s where I’m at right now; struggling against the current, getting swept up in the spin cycle that is the end of the school year machine.

Through the years I have come to expect this recurring ebb and flow so it’s not a huge surprise and on good days, I feel fairly on top of it. Even still this year, more than ever, I am reeling. As the school year comes to an end in a flurry of fun and excitement I recognize that it’s not only these last few weeks that are a blur, it’s my daughter’s childhood. Both of my daughters for that matter. The milestones this year feel larger than life as one will soon begin Middle School and the other Kindergarten. Sigh. I know what this is about. It’s the familiar melancholy of motherhood, the passing of time and the growing of the little parts and pieces of my children that remind me that they are getting older. That I am getting older. That they won’t be mine forever.

As I cheer them on and reassure them that the next chapter will be as rich and full as the last, I will also have to acknowledge (and quietly dismiss) that little whisper inside myself that is urging me not to let them go. The very voice that pleads in desperation with Father Time to show mercy on me and stop the clock if only long enough for me to hold on to my children a little longer.

Where are you these days? How do you see your life right now? Do you have certain photographs that express this exact moment in time for you?