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Monthly Archives: September 2011

(Here are some thoughts on the monstrous task and amazing opportunities that we face as moms in capturing and preserving our families’ story, and how that relates to our personal creativity and artistic journey)

So my goal this year is to sort through, edit and blog my photos from the current month as well as that same month a year ago. Last year amidst a new baby, a new camera, and a new homeschool/charter school schedule for my kids most of the photos I took ended up being dumped into the black hole of Lightroom and never saw the light of day.

Knowing that you have taken a bunch of photos that live on your Macbook is not the same thing as mindfully looking through them and allowing them to tell their story. Working on learning my camera and developing as a photographer doesn’t amount to much if I don’t take the time to evaluate and finish what I start. And documenting my families precious moments . . . um . well . can it really be called documenting if all my children are left with is a digital scrap heap? nope. didn’t think so.

I used to scrapbook but all those piles of paper waiting for a home left me guilt ridden and the resulting shelves of albums that could be wiped out in an instant or decompose slowly over time left me feeling anxious and a bit futile. Now I am limiting my time and intentions to this blog, chronicling and backing up our story and my art – digitally. Not that I waste or let slip away those precious concrete bits of life lived. I frame favorite scribbles and schoolwork in brilliant Ikea frames and archive the rest in bright Target binders. I stitch cards and favorite pj’s into bunting strung across our home. Tiny hand and foot prints mark mugs filled with succulents beside collected bottles on kitchen counters. The bulletin board in my studio is overflowing with love from little boys and I mark down my love for them each year in their Birthday Book.  (btw if you love to scrapbook, no hard feelings)

Anyhoo I’m determined to clean out my digital closet! You may see some images here that aren’t up to par with where my photography is at now but it’s all part of the process. Our history informs our present and I think the only way to move forward into an improved future is self critique. I would love to hear critiques from others to0, so if you have any thoughts on my images, process or story please let me know! I hope this look in to my memory keeping and future forming has encouraged you to allow yourself the freedom to find a unique process that works for you. I think it’s so important to have a way of looking at your life and expressing your experiences that fits you. Down with Mommy guilt over how you “should” keep track of your families story and in with introspective inspiration that leads to including said story to make everyday special! (wow that was a lot of in’s) Revolution anyone?

Ahem, after a lot of rambling here is a word about these particular photos… My husband completely surprised me with my 5D on our anniversary in August 2010. So here goes with some photos from last September that I took while still trying to figure out how to make the shift from tiny Rebel that didn’t have a lot of options, to ginormous black camera that I was a little overly awestruck by.  Not great photos, but a very great moment, my little boys holding their little brother for the very first time….

Our baby Jeremiah, he was Fuzzy.

The big brothers, they were Amazed.

Mommy, was and is very, very Happy watching them grow and love together.

 

24-70 . 9-14-10 . really bad indoor light, taken by very sleepy Mama

September 7,2011, 6 am – lying in bed nursing you just like I was a year ago at that time. But today it is just us and your Daddy in our Anthropologie covered bed. Then it was amidst Dr’s and nurses, beeping machines and IV tubes, hemmed in by white walls. Now you are so much bigger and I am healing, healthy, happy and strong. Then I was grateful and saturated with joy, but also broken, hurting and still very afraid. Forever I am your Mother, so thankful for that day. Forever you are my Jeremiah Asher, God’s promise to me when I laid your brother in the sea.

What a Happy Birthday precious Baby Man! You have come and healed our hearts with your joyous smile and golden hair. You are just so happy to be here and we are so thankful God has given you to us. I pray we can train you up in the way you should go. I pray that we will be united and able to give you all the love your little heart needs and desires!

Your day was a perfect day full of doing just our baby man would like  to do. After dropping your brothers off at class we opened your walker and you helped Dad put it together. Your favorite ceptor so far was the screwdriver. We snuggled and giggled and batted balloons. Then it was off to the cafe where I ate my last pre Jeremiah meal at and where you watched birds as a bitty thing. You had a blast peeking at the birdies, inhaled half an avocado and tried to consume the shrubbery and Dad’s coffee 🙂 After a quick stop at the dog beach and an even speedier hike along the cliffs we picked up your bros. They couldn’t wait to get home and give you the cars they had picked out for you. Some more balloon mayhem ensued before a quick jump in the pool, complete with bubble blowing on the trip to and from.

A simple dinner and then cupcakes that you didn’t know quite what to do with. You gazed and patted and then finally sampled, deciding they were pretty tasty but more fun just to smear. We left the kitchen covered in cake and snuggled up on the couch, you sailing off to dreamworld after your big day. Your Dad and I watched Catch and Release, my yearly reminder to move on into the gift of life we have been given . . .

You are now one year and two weeks old my love. Thank you for giving me this day, your birth day.

We love you so so much Smuvadoo!

I love this man. He holds my hand through everything, for better or worse, and does his best to love and protect me.

I am so very grateful for each moment here together.

I thought yesterday. I told my children yesterday. Ten years ago I didn’t have them. Ten years and a day ago I was a kid, in college. The horror was real but everything carried less weight and there was more time. Time for the world to sort things out, for wrongs to be righted, but maybe that was just naivety.

I remember that day. Watching the first plane hit on the library computer. What is going on? Walking to class, TV in the corner by the coffee stand, second plane hits. We are under attack. Numb but nowhere to go but class. Why doesn’t the teacher care? Shouldn’t he have some wisdom, reassurance to share with us, the young. Huddled around the lone cell phone, we wait. Tower comes down, we walk out. Into what? Wander the campus, groups gather to pray, we talk, trying to make sense . . . Drive home and I cry for the broken families.

And then there was the beauty. The hush of grief and loyalty that fell upon the country. Stripes, stars, floating from every home, over roads, through dreams . . . We spoke to eachother, drew together, knew the next move mattered. Life was a gift, freedom precious, hope stirred and intentions shone.

But what gets lost along the way? I’m grateful my children have not known a 9/11, but they know fathers gone to war and friends, family without jobs. They know rules and regulations but I don’t know what the world will look like for them. And what can a parent ever do but try to give them the tools they need? Hold them and teach them and pray that this crazy globe holds it together for a few more turns but still gives them space to fly.

I’m scared we have misplaced our way a bit. But then again I can’t see the whole chess board or maybe I just don’t know how to play the game. And always the timer ticks, our turn and then theirs. I teach them history, science, math. They look at the images asking me Why? and a million more questions. I don’t have the answers.

The pool at the site is so beautiful and fitting. No matter the tragedy there will always be that dark, unending hole bringing us to our knees. Yet the water washes clean and moves us on. comforting. renewing. The smoke settles and the dust clears. We are always stepping out into that new day. What will we do with it?

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