a walk in the park
August 5, 2011 § Leave a comment
The day of our second family photograph session was filled with the same humor, fun, and good intentions that compose our days outside the lens. I debated detailing the day, but thought perhaps I need this reminder to revisit next year.
Good intentions began early, with a mother-daughter moment. Last year, Rapunzel inspired my daughter to begin growing her chin length bob to fairytale proportions. At present her shoulder length hair is typically a tangled nightmare of defiance against all my endeavors to tame her tresses. My daughter hides behind the thick curtain of her hair and I was eager that our photographs capture her expressive features. Unpracticed at braiding I enlisted a stylist for a quick and simple braid to sweep my daughter’s features into the forefront while still allowing the remainder of her hair to fall comfortably, that she would feel at ease. I did this approximately 9 hours before our session to an active 7-year-old. Lesson: The braid was a good idea. The appointment was too early.
My daughter prematurely prepped and still uncertain what I should wear, we stopped by a store for a simple summer dress. I was rewarded with an adorable, white sundress that would blend quietly into my family’s wardrobe. The fit was perfect, but the cost unreasonable. I was working hard to choreograph an image rather than embracing myself as is. I set aside the dress and settled for my familiar summer uniform of shorts and a top. Lesson: Be yourself. Costumes not required. Smiles should be more prominent than clothing.
Feeling a little distracted by the details, I ran to shake off my anxiety. My hair previously styled for the day was slick with sweat. I raced through washing and drying my hair, primping and fussing. Then I made water balloons. I sat outside, sweating from the heat and sprayed with water from a stubborn hose filling tiny plastic balloons. Much to my children’s delight I released them to our backyard to burn off their own pent-up energy in a water war. Lesson: Make time to play. Happy children are more relaxed.
Picture time came just hours before sunset. Between grassy locations and mosquitoes we settled into ourselves in the company of a friend. This is my greatest indulgence, having someone who knows the best pieces of my family using her lens to guide the camera. My children opened up to her and I relaxed in her company. I will inevitably fret over my own image, but I know without a doubt that the images will reflect the humor, fun, and good intentions of our days as a family. Lesson: Bring a friend. Schedule outdoor photographs for after the first frost to avoid pesky pests.
At day’s end our session was a walk in the park, filled with happy discoveries.
big picture
August 3, 2011 § 4 Comments
Family photographs, an image marking one moment on a seamless timeline in a family’s story. When our children were little my husband and I pledged to document each year with a photograph. I procrastinated using countless recycled reasons; each a variation of when I lose weight or there just isn’t time right now. Last year a friend spent an evening reassuring me with words of encouragement, distracting my silent concerns, from behind her camera. Waiting for the images I fussed frantically to my husband what if I look horrible. I hate my photographs of myself. It hadn’t occurred to me the pictures weren’t of me, they were of my children’s mother. In their company I became the best version of myself; my smile genuine and my flaws secondary.
Tomorrow, we are scheduled to repeat history with our second session. I should be peaceful, last year’s experience lending confidence. Instead, I have begun to panic. I spilled my concerns like a much-needed guilty confession to a friend. I lamented my daughter’s intended outfit. I had pictured her twirling in a white dress on a beach; the dress stored safely for months in anticipation. Ironically, there is no beach and her once rounded form has lengthened turning her sundress into a charming tent. Still, I know she will look beautiful regardless. The boys coordinated easily; khaki shorts and t-shirts. Organizing our outfits is really a flimsy cover for my own insecurities. Expectations of perfection and fears of imperfections distracting me from the bigger picture.
One of my favorite photographs was imperfect. Pregnant with our second child, I was determined to embrace what I predicted would be my last pregnancy and indulged in a few beautiful pieces of maternity clothing. My favorite was a pair of black terry cloth capris accented with a black and white strapless top. I remember feeling beautiful and carefree. Later, I realized I more closely resembled the Hamburglar reminiscent of old advertisements from my childhood. The image captured the weight I had unconsciously gained between pregnancies, my self-perception just out of focus in the lens. Still, there is no editing life and the memory makes me smile. It was a happy day; one unflattering outfit could not hide my joy.
On the eve of our family photographs I am trying to let go of expectations, embrace imperfections as part of our story, and focus on the big picture.
scheduling conflict
August 3, 2011 § 2 Comments
My husband and I could live in different time zones for our inability to coordinate our internal alarm clocks. I am perpetually early, he is unavoidably detained. Sometimes our schedules overlap creating momentary chaos; this is how a misplaced minute created opportunities for appreciation.
Running late returning home from work to watch our children, my husband met me at the salon where our children were stoically braving the dismally uninviting peripheral space of women embracing a moment of pampering. The children, overjoyed to see their father, leapt gratefully towards an eager exit. Another stylist, leaning into my chair, murmured her appreciation for my children’s good behavior while waiting. This is not a compliment I am accustomed to, and I was aware the shuffle of little people between mismatched schedules had created an opportunity to appreciate my children through another’s eyes.
Finishing up at the salon too late to take my daughter to swimming, my husband taxied her to class. The tiny details of well-practiced routines were reassigned. My husband figured out how to fix our daughter’s hair into a pony tail. Small thing, but a new moment between them. Another everyday act experienced from a new perspective.
Returning home to quiet, my family detained at swim lessons, I threw dinner together and finished folding a load of laundry with time to tuck them into drawers. Normally I would have run an errand, indulgent or necessary, my mind focused on extracting an extra minute for myself. Instead I was settled and peaceful when my family returned home. Rather than walking through the door to a household bustling with energy and anxious for dinner, I welcomed them eager for their company.
growing pains
July 29, 2011 § 2 Comments
As my children stretch their independence and their abilities extend toward self-reliance I find myself stuck in a place of transition; caught between the experiences we have outgrown and the unmarked space of our futures. When my daughter’s language skills first formed concise thoughts, she inquired: Mommy, what do you want to be when I grow up? My heart and head stumbled over the answer. In truth, I was so busy being my children’s mother I couldn’t imagine what else to be. Her question, formed in innocence and curiosity has followed me, tucked between my conscious and subconscious thoughts like an item on my to-do list: buy groceries, choose future career, finish the laundry.
I try to recall my childhood fantasies, but I have outgrown tiny tutus and tap shoes. I still hear the echo of teachers’ and my parents’ voices projecting me on various academic paths; titles I wish would resonate if only to know my place. Motherhood was a happy reprieve from committing to a career. With my daughter’s prompting and no clear answer, I find myself window shopping for the future.
Where others create careers, I found only interests. In college, my favorite space was a classroom; unique personalities and opinions challenging old theories and projecting new possibilities. Subject matter was secondary to the experience, but my favorite teachers pushed boundaries in conversations centered in English, Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy. I wonder now if my liberal arts education could still hold the key to doors of opportunity promised over years of academic guidance.
I am happy here, in this moment as a mother. Still, I sometimes look ahead and feel the familiar panic of my youth as old questions revisit bearing uncertainty and insecurity. Shouldn’t I know what I want to be? I envy the uncluttered wisdom of youth; tiny people dressed in costumes clearly marking their future with dreams. Firefighters, teachers, doctors, scientists, and dancers confident in their childhood career placement. I wish for a simple answer and the ability to demonstrate the passion and conviction of owning a dream. To model for my children the drive and ambition, hard work and stamina of working tirelessly towards a gratifying sense of self outside our home. To know myself more completely, and for my children to see, the woman in the footsteps of their mother.
inheritance
July 24, 2011 § 2 Comments
When we get married we inherit new family with old stories. Woven beneath traditions are habits that can foster a feeling of connection as naturally as they can make one feel misplaced. Nostalgia gleans over difficult moments while basking in happier times. Sometimes we find a place of belonging and other times we struggle to wade through unmarked territory.
My husband and I met one another’s family in our Sunday best; everyone sparkled, poised and polished, on their best behavior. Over time health concerns, conflicting opinions, and irreversible mistakes have piled sloppily between us creating boundaries. Spaces marked with sadness or anger that we tiptoe over and around. I wonder, is it better to create a quiet space marked by limits to preserve feelings or do we remove walls and accept what we struggle to forgive?
I won’t strip away the simple dignity that accompanies privacy with details; this space where I set aside my thoughts feels deceptively intimate. Still, I cannot believe that something as universal as family would go unshared even among strangers. So I’ll pose these questions to no one in particular. How do we love openly with different values? How do we find our way when we close our eyes to ward off hurt? Is it more painful to forget or remember?
promises
July 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
It began with our vows. A lover of language I embraced volumes of potential promises seeking inspiration; I wanted something intimate and empowering to celebrate each of us as individuals while nurturing a future together that would be based in love and respect. It felt essential that the words that would guide us into this new chapter serve as a reminder that we both remain true to our sense of self while evolving into our new identities as husband and wife.
We agreed a marriage was something created and that within our mutual values and common objectives we would stand together as we faced the world. We promised to speak words of appreciation and demonstrate gratitude in thoughtful ways while creating space for each individual to grow. We promised to look for the good in our lives and to be the source of support and strength for one another that we each needed for ourselves. Beneath each wish for our new life, I do was replaced with I will try. This was our beginning.
Soon after we exchanged vows, we broadened our relationship to encompass parenthood. I poured over potential baby names and books on parenting with the same passion I had sought out and created our vows. We shared our unique, individual expectations for what our family would look and feel like. My husband and I confessed our fears and mapped our future path around our own childhood experiences. Still, we learned very quickly that children require both boundaries and open minds. Promises of I will never and I will always cast aside for I will try in moments of improvised answers to unexpected challenges.
Over 11 years later there is no final draft, our promises are still founded in I will try. We face disagreements and disappointment with the same commitment we celebrate accomplishments and growth. It is both more difficult than I had imagined and more rewarding; painful and joyful in a language created and defined by effort. Our promises continue to guide us through new experiences and have fostered a collection of values allowing us to feel appreciated individually, as a couple, and as a family.
the story
July 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
There are beautiful houses, but homes share stories. I admire those who can fill the shell of a house with personality; it is an art form, a language of love. I have been waiting for, passively seeking out, pieces of art for my walls hoping to create such a home. A place of comfort and joy, serenity and inspiration, memories and dreams. Art has always felt very intimate to me and so most of our art are either framed children’s creations or family photographs. Today I bought a simple piece of art that makes my heart smile. This is its story.
My son and I were enjoying a quiet morning together as we sat on a park bench, he with his favorite donut and I with my morning coffee. We watched pedestrians pass and store fronts slowly come to life as we waited for a particular boutique to open. Unhurried and making conversation, I explained we were looking for a gift for his sister’s friend. I neglected to specify. I needed a necklace and it was this search that would lead to the happy discovery, the piece of art that followed us home.
The necklace came before the art and so I must explain. My daughter learned her birthday party was scheduled to coincide with her best friend’s birthday. Mindful that her party not cast a shadow on her friend’s day, she asked me to find a friendship necklace for her friend while she was busy at summer school. This simple request had led me to the boutique, on this morning, with my son as my companion. I was sorting tangled chains trying to decipher the various charms in search of the perfect friendship trinket when my son declared he had found the perfect gift for his sister’s friend. I followed the sound of his voice to the back of the store where he was perched next to a long wooden form, chalkboard black with white stenciled words wrapping its length. He read the words out loud and these words filled the air around us:
you are the cheese to my macaroni you are the horizon to my sky you are the bacon to my eggs you are the laces to my sneakers you are the jelly to my peanut butter you are the smile to my face you are the gravy to my mashed potatoes you are the bubbles to my bath you are the milk to my cookie you are the ink to my pen you are the ketchup to my french fries you are the water to my ocean you are the icing on my cupcake
He read it as printed, rushing from sentiment to sentiment without pause, words filled with whimsy and love. My son saw the plaque as a gift of friendship, but it seemed to exemplify the ridiculously fun, simple, silly, beautiful, imperfectly perfect life inside my home. The bubble baths my daughter lingers in; the laces my son ties clumsily with frustration; summer lunches of macaroni and cheese or peanut butter and jelly; the milk and cookies that signify a stolen moment at the kitchen island before bedtime. I also see the plate of warm cookies and milk from my wedding night and anniversary evenings at the hotel my husband and I were married; the heavy breakfasts of eggs and bacon to ward of the winter chill; mashed potatoes and gravy over declarations of gratitude on Thanksgiving; walking hand in hand with my husband towards our future someplace both familiar and new like the blue of the ocean or a cloudless horizon. Simple and reassuring I see my love for my children and husband as well as their connections with one another and the friends that bring added joy to our home.
Somewhere between family photos and children’s artwork I will find a place for this new, lovely piece of our story.
oasis
July 4, 2011 § 1 Comment
My husband’s schedule is unpredictable. Long hours and busy weeks are as common as spontaneous vacations. To create a space of togetherness, a place we could unwind and embrace a stolen moment, we indulged in an outdoor family room.
I am certain there are more extravagant yards, but ours speaks to our individual personalities and the needs of our family collectively. A large sandbox tucked under a tree and normally cast in shade offers our children a place to create and permission to make a mess. My husband’s grill allows him to indulge in a toy all his own. I am happy to curl up with a book under the clouds. Happily we move in the space together.
Still, the evening hours are the most endearing. Sitting around the fire pit, toasting marshmallows and unfolding the days events or watching our children chase fireflies entranced by the flickers of light in the dark. In this quiet space there are no distractions from the moment, it is an oasis from the chaos of our days.
lucky penny
June 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
Walking with my daughter her hand slipped from mine as she bent towards the sidewalk with an urgency born of discovery. Standing proudly she displayed a lucky penny poised in the air between her fingers. For all its commonness, the simple discovery created a moment of good fortune. This is how I felt at the moment my husband declared a family vacation. With minimal planning and high hopes we are embarking on an adventure that promises a welcome change from the predictable rhythm of our everyday routines and the good fortune of extra time together.
lemonade
April 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
Cold symptoms and grey, rainy days cast a shadow across Easter weekend; Spring felt misplaced. Determined to embrace the extra time and celebrate childhood traditions, I gathered my lemons and made lemonade.
Outdoor egg hunts and time with friends canceled, my family refocused our energy indoors on quiet, creative endeavors. An Easter diorama, a project inspired by a neighborhood gathering with friends, became a happy distraction. Construction paper and confectionary figures wove fictional story lines within the confines of a child size shoebox. Later, vinegar scented cups of egg dye captured our imaginations as we absorbed the task of filling in the space of nature’s blank canvas.
Tomorrow my children will wake eager to discover baskets with simple treats before we settle around a table for brunch. I cherish the new moments as they cross paths with old memories in the footsteps of tradition.
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