a mother's prerogative

Being a camera wielding mama can mean breaching all sorts of what might be considered normal boundaries. Because my photo pattern is to capture more of life’s everyday occurrences over the big events, I find myself taking pictures of the most mundane, and perhaps even the most private of moments.

Having a tween-aged daughter has reminded me that soon, very soon, the family shots I do decide to share with the world will have to be perhaps a tad more censored than they have been to date. On the other hand, I also have a preschooler under my roof and therefore still have some time to indulge myself in what I call the mother’s prerogative photo free-for-all.

Good times.

What I Remember

For many of us, taking the photos that document our lives is just a part of our daily routine. I shoot pictures of my children just about every day, but it wasn’t until the other night that the importance of each of these seemingly effortless images I snap away came into clear focus.

On the eve of my oldest daughter’s tenth birthday, I watched her pull from our family albums, her favorite baby pictures for use in her fifth grade auto biography. She mused over what she liked about each one and embellished with the details she remembered about them. It dawned on me that there really wasn’t anything she vividly remembered about the actual moment these photos were captured. How could she when she was just a baby? I imagine that what she was remembering were the photographs themselves. Revisiting the baby pictures she had grown up looking at stirred the memories of the photos themselves and the stories I have shared with her about them.

I listened as she reflected, I remember this one, I used to wear that orange outfit all the time, we called it my carrot suit. I loved that quilt, didn’t I? I remember Grandma made it for me. Oh, remember that I used to snuggle with that bunny. I love this picture. I heard her recalling her life as these photographs have narrated it for her. I too have photos like that--images of my young life that take me back to a moment in time that although may have slipped from my memory, is stirred up by both the picture and my mother’s stories. I guess it doesn’t really matter if I can remember these details or not, but I do have the photos as tangible proof that I had a grand first birthday party with a gazillion guests, that I wore my favorite Minnie Mouse dress on Easter and that I was “such a good little traveler” when my parents and I drove across the country in a Volkswagen Bus.

Hearing my own daughter speak of her baby days like that, like she actually remembers those days reminds me that when I am taking pictures I am doing something important. I am creating for her a visual treasury that she will have to help her remember her life. That I love doing it is just icing on the cake.