I was looking through some pictures from my phone’s saved “cloud” stream again because I had an issue with my phone battery and had to get a replacement phone. Now for some reason, the photos won’t download from the cloud back to my phone. It looks like they are trying to load but aren’t visible, even after a couple weeks. So I’ve been looking through to see if I even need that to happen or if I can stop the process and quit worrying about it. Silly concern, I know, but I’m only worried that the attempt to download is eating up my phone’s battery life. At any rate, as I went back through photos, I realized that a lot of the ones I really like are the funny ones my kids and I have taken together, especially the insanely awkward and unflattering ones. They immediately bring back the moment we were in when we took them. I’m thankful tonight for those memories and for the amount of laughter we still have, even on the stressful days.
Tag Archives: photos
March 9
I am not a great picture taking person. I never have been. I’m the type who shows up at special events and thinks, oh, crap! I should have brought my camera! There have been countless functions over the years–school plays, musicals, sporting events–where I sat watching all the other parents vying for the good camera shots while I sat empty handed, expecting someone to come take my mom card away from me. (Although driving a mini-van probably ensures that can’t happen.) I’m not sure why taking pictures has never been a priority. I actually really love good photos. Maybe I’m just lazy. Even now I rarely remember to take photos with my phone camera when I should. But I’ve also never been the type to fill my home with family photos either. In my house now, I have only four framed photos: one of my kids from a couple years ago, a small one of me and my sisters when we were kids, a rather large black and white of my great-grandfather holding a cigarette (it’s just really cool), and one of me that was taken by a photographer friend who won a national award with the print. (You can’t really tell it’s me, so I don’t feel too vain with having it up.) Although I usually have a couple pictures on my fridge. Right now there’s one of my parents and one of my mom and sisters.
So I got to thinking a few months ago that I should have good pictures taken of me and my kids before they move out. I hired an artist friend who recently got into photography, someone I have known for years. She is super creative, and I knew she would find an unusual backdrop and some non-standard poses for us. We ended up going to another artist’s studio. He works with found/industrial elements and had several areas for us to use. We brought a change of clothes and spent a couple of hours feeling like models and having a blast. In one series of shots, the three of us sat in rubber chairs that had come out of a mental institution (I wanted one). In another we sat on a workbench in formal gowns. In yet another we stood in front of shelves of found junk, posing with pieces that seemed meaningful to us. When I finally got the proofs back, it took me forever to narrow down the ones I wanted to buy. If money were no object, I would have gotten them all. My daughters are beautiful and so photogenic. However, there was one particular picture that all three of us immediately chose as our favorite. The irony of it is that we weren’t posing in it at all. We are laughing together, a moment in-between the poses that the photographer simply captured with us unaware. It’s the perfect embodiment of my relationship with my kids…such joy. It was the first print I decided to order for the wall–in a large canvas. It arrived this weekend. I’m so thankful I decided to have the photo shoot and can’t wait to add this picture to the wall.
March 6
I was searching through a box of papers and things at home the other day and ran across some old photos. I’m so easily distracted when it comes to stuff like that, so I took a few minutes just to look through them and remember the moments when they were taken. One was of my youngest in one of her favorite outfits. It was a pink shirt with ruffled edges and a set of matching pants that had a tutu sewn at the top. I distinctly remember the day the picture was taken. I was dropping her off at the baby sitter’s house, a retired woman who loved my kids like they were her own grandkids. She oohed and aahed over this outfit and immediately insisted on taking a photo. But Emma was already distracted, off dancing and twirling in the living room. It took a bit of coaxing to get her to stand still, even for a moment. Later, after getting a copy of the picture, I wrote the following poem. Now that my kids are older, I’m thankful that I have some of these tidbits of the past to remind me of the magic of their growing up.
She fidgets in the imposed restriction
back against the wall,
fingers dance along the eggshell satin sheen,
whole body poised for escape.
Pink sleeves hang over hands,
crinkled netting floats around hips,
bare toes curl and uncurl into deep carpet.
Smile little dancer.
And she pauses,
Bambi blues open wide,
new teeth proudly display themselves
as she coyly complies.
Quickly the camera freezes her form
onto paper for those who don’t want to forget,
and she darts, twirls away, lost again
in the musical world of a one-year-old.
