One on Tuesdays | Week 2

Sam - 3 years, 10 months, 5 days
Bo - 1 year, 8 months, 2 days

This week, I used my Mamiya RZ proII and some endangered Fuji 3000b instant film.

Monkey See, Monkey Do. . .

Some people say children of photographers are the worst subjects. They are so tired of having the camera in their faces. They don't cooperate. No posing, no smiling. The worst. While Sam doesn't cooperate when I try to get him to sit still for more than 4.3 seconds, I tend to chalk that up to the fact that he is an almost 2 year old boy and asking him to sit still is a really huge request.

While I expect that down the road he will yell at me to stop taking his picture, these days he is very bossy about all of it. He wants me to sit down with my camera and take his photo. While he is doing whatever he is doing. If I don't have my camera around, he will hand me one of his toy ones. He's tried playing with mine as I cautiously observe within arms reach. Thankfully, it's pretty heavy so he prefers to play with my film camera. There's little he can do to hurt it so I let him. It's good to learn film first right?

He prefers to take photos of me now, which I think is pretty funny. And he's almost nailed down the technique. He just needs to learn which way to point the lens. We're working on that. Yesterday he told me he wanted to take pictures of bananas. I'll let you know how those turn out.

And my nearly 26 week belly. Crooked. Huge. Entertaining.

And following up on Sam's trauma from this weekend .... the trauma continued briefly this morning as we went to get the stitches out. But one way or another they are out and I'm hoping to never have to do that again! But knowing how many times I've been stitched, I'm not holding my breath.

mystery

Considering the last photo I left you with, I'm sure you understand my blogging hiatus. Just a few things going on over here most days. The usual.

But for some reason, I decided to add to my madness and shoot a few rolls of film with an old 1986 Minolta a friends parents found for me. I have been reading about film for a while and following others as they jumped on the train venturing away from digital photography for a bit, but realizing how different the two really were had me baffled and instantly intrigued. I have NO intention of giving up digital photography at all. I love it. The idea of taking a challenge on like this is strange and exciting at the same time. I don't plan to use it during my sessions really, except to practice here and there, but see it as just some "continuing education", if you will. Learning to manual focus - because I have to with the Minolta - and learn to nail exposures rather than relying on Photoshop and Bridge to fix things after the fact can be nothing but good, right? 

Well I got my first scans back today. TechLab photo (in Belvedere Square) really did a good job and were extremely helpful so I can't blame it on bad scans really. But there are only a few that I would even think of sharing. What I strive to learn is what I have learned with digital; learn the camera, know your settings, and feel the moment during the session. I always feel the emotions during my sessions, even when I'm just taking shots of Sam I'm feeling the emotions of whats going on. During a newborn session I find myself calm and quiet soaking up the little things. When I'm shooting a 6 month old, I'm usually laughing, because the faces are hysterical. I'm rolling all over the floor, because they are too. I'm silly with older kids, making silly faces, asking silly questions or making fun at myself. With this first roll, I was trying to put the pieces of things I have read about exposure and light metering and underrating and overrating and all that new film stuff together that I was missing the emotion in most of my shots. 

 

At first glance, I was thinking, "Oh crap, these are awful." Exposure is all over the place, focus is off, great. I tell myself it's ok, I'll go back and read through the books and keep better track of my settings for my next roll and I'll figure it out. Maybe. But mostly, I was just bummed.

When I opened the back of the camera to put my first roll in, there was a roll in there already. I laughed thinking there was probably something crazy on there and if I developed it the lab tech would definitely give me a raised eyebrow. I went ahead and got it processed anyway, taking my chances.

So I went to the next set of scans from the mystery roll. There were only 6 photos on the roll of 24. And they all look like this:

My first thought was that I wished I knew who took these shots so I could send the negatives to them. And then I found myself just staring at them. Sure I've seen beautiful sunsets over the water. But what these shots by some mystery photographer did to me was exactly what I needed.

I used to take photos of the clouds after losing Henry. Whenever I would look up at the sky and see a cloud - not just any cloud, but those big, deep, substantial ones - I would swear it was Henry. And without fail, seeing them would bring a smile to my face and peace to my mind and heart almost instantly. Thats the feeling these mysterious photos gave me. It was whats missing right now in my chaotic life. . . that feeling of peace is so rare because I am ignoring it. I'm "too busy" to look at the clouds. I would probably trip and break my ankle if I looked at the clouds because I'm usually walking, pushing the stroller, carrying packages to the post office, trying to read or send an email on my phone, all while chewing gum. I know life will always be crazy, but only as crazy as I let it get. There will ALWAYS be time to just stop and look up and let that smile come as the calm sinks in through my pores. I need there to be enough time for that. For me.

It was the perfect time for these random photos. They reminded me of when I first jumped feet first into my camera after Henry. Here I find myself once again a beginner, green, and unsure of myself. And there popped my Henry cloud. Not in the sky, but on my computer screen. As if he found some way to come to me. Since too often my computer screen is what takes up my time that I'm alone, there he found me. And I'm smiling.

HPB

A few weeks ago on Henry's birth-day, I wrote how I didn't know what to think about it being two years ago that he died. I am beginning to grasp what has been going through my mind and though not many words are in my head to describe it, I'm going to see what comes out of my fingers as I type.

I began to realize my feelings, and the words that might best describe them, as I took this photo today. This is Henry's weeping cherry tree at my parents house. It has grown tall and beautiful these last two years. And I took a lot of photos today of its pink blossoms, its buds about to bloom and the beautiful tiny petals. A lot of photos more beautiful than this one. When I took it, two words came into my head and I knew it wasn't just describing this tree or this photo. This photo, to me, is both haunting and beautiful, and so is what happened to us and Henry.

I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it. So many things have happened in the last 2 years. So many things that have made my brain potentially permanently cloudy. And I have an ability to push thoughts in the back of my mind; way in the back where those clouds are extra thick and stormy. I don't tend to think about what actually happened, as in the details of the day and the details of the emotions. The grief. The pain. But sometimes, something happens and I stop and say in my head,  "Holy shit. Our baby died." It's almost as if it happened to someone else. It wasn't us. I feel so bad for those people that happened to. To loose their baby, I can't even imagine. It wasn't us. And then I remember laying on the table in the OB office, sonogram jelly still warm on my 39 week stomach, looking up at the doctor who's own tears were falling down on my face as she squeezed my hand. I remember thinking "I have to call my mom. She's going to be heartbroken." and "How is Phil going to get through this?" and then I heard "most of the time we never know why these things happen" as I was thinking "I knew the braxton hicks contraction 4 days ago was the last time I felt him move. Why didn't I pull the car over?" and "how am I going to deliver this baby?"

I called my mom and I think I called my sisters, but to be honest, I dont remember for sure. I cleaned up my face before walking back out in the waiting room. There were too many happy expecing mothers, I didn't want them to worry.

My defense system in my head is rock solid. I protect myself really well from feeling too much pain, stress, worry. It lets enough through that I'm human, but not enough that I am immobilized which is what I would have been had the system failed this particular day. It kicked in and Meghan went blank. Someone else took over and I got that IV, started that pitocin, cussed my way through 2 epidural attempts and thankfully only a few minutes of pushing. Someone else quickly held that baby boy. Looked at him not understanding.

Today, we walked honoring Henry in the March of Dimes, March for Babies. Our team raised WAY more than we expected and for a while I couldn't figure out why we have been so successful. I didn't understand why so many people would care that much about our little team, our little story. But I realized it really isn't a little story. It's likely, hopefully, the biggest story to happen in my life. People might care because they really are the ones saying "to loose their baby, I can't even imagine." Or it might be that it's not about us at all. Maybe they have their own stories. Their own death, heartbreak, struggles with pregnancy and miscarriage, premature birth, NICU stays, Down Syndrome. Maybe it's about them. There are unfortunately too many sorrowful reasons why one would want to help out a cause that strives to make sure every baby is born healthy. No matter who's story it is, no matter why someone is walking on a blustery, cold, early Sunday morning, it's about honor and remembering. For me, I needed to remember those details. To remember the pain. The raw hurt. The wound left open to heal itself that still seeps from time to time.

Our world changed March 26, 2009; but it kept moving on. I need to remember to let myself feel that hurt. Because if I don't, I'm just moving without any recollection of all that happened to get me where I am. Am I healed? No. I'm a damn good faker though, and I might get there one day. But I hope I don't. I hope I carry a little bit of hurt. Because all the photos and weeping cherry trees and "H" paraphernalia around doesn't make me really remember. The hurt does.

And it's haunting. And it's beautiful.

And the cause of my sore elbow this weekend. He is a booger not wanting to be more than 3.5 inches away from my side, but damn if he isn't worth the inflammation in my joints and pain across my forehead he caused. :)

Cross-post . . . 52 on Friday

This is a cross-post from my Meghan Boyer Photography blog. It was exactly what I wanted to write here, on my personal blog, but it fit in to the theme for a project I do each week. Check out the original post here.


Theme: shadows


This is my husband, who is home from the hospital and wearing that content smile as he watches Sam play for the first time in a week here.


Shadows. Shadows can make beautiful images. They also can make beautiful metaphors. I thought a lot about the theme this week. Actually, I do every week. Even with all the thought, I tend to figure out what I'm going to post around midnight on Thursday the night before. In the group, we all like to have our post up by 8am Friday morning. With so many people in a group, organization is key and there are some great people who make sure we all stay on top of the deadlines! ;) So last night, a bit before midnight, I posted my husbands photo and the abridged version of  my post and then ran off to wake him up for his midnight IV antibiotics through his PICC line.
I will be the first one to admit that although it's not something I'm proud of or something that was conscious, since my son was born, my husband has slipped partly into the shadows. I used to LOVE to make dinners and we would hang out at night, watch TV or go to the gym or movies together and now at night I am either way too tired to do much of anything or I'm upstairs in my office working alone. I make dinner a few nights a week, relying on leftovers to hold us over so I don't have to do it two nights in a row. I'm sure this is fairly common (I hope!), but even after a year to get back into the swing of things, my priorities haven't gotten back to where they should be. My husband is a bit neglected.
When he injured himself in February in a skiing incident, I was less than thrilled at first. But I came around. After his surgery, complications with an infection put him back in the hospital for a week; and now he has 4-6 weeks of IV antibiotics at home. Ok, I thought. We can do this. What I needed to do, I realized, was pull Phil out of the shadows and focus on him and what he needs. Ice? Check (my man at 7-11 always carries my 3 bags at a time to the car for me since our ice maker is broken). A ride to his Dr. appointment? Check. Forgot his water glass in the kitchen? Check, I'll get it! Patience  - at least in dealing with grown-ups - is not my strongest trait, but I was really trying to make it easier not worse for him. I slip here and there since it truly has been really hard for me to have to do 100% of the things that need to be done for Sam, Daisy, Phil, the house, etc., but I really try.
So I pulled him out of the shadows, and my "Shadow", in the form of a 13 month old little giggling maniac, seems to be completely ok with it :). Maybe this is what I needed to remember that I was a wife before I was a mother.

Go on and check out Megan Wold, North Dakota Photographer. Beautiful photos as always! Go on ahead and check them out! And remember, I'll be back to add a bit more.

just another thursday

I've been feeling a bit lately that I need to get more done around the house. It builds and builds and then becomes too overwhelming and I give up. So today, I really tried. I did what felt like 100 loads of laundry, I cleaned the kitchen, I really had good intentions and felt like the day flew by and it felt like I did so much. But really I didn't make a dent. I go and get distracted by work.

I'm a bit obsessed with my 52 on friday's project and it's only week 2! This week the theme is reds and pinks. I've been thinking about it for over a week now, and today I put the ideas together and started shooting. I even made a red velvet cake just incase my other ideas didn't work. Well, now I have a tooth ache, a belly ache, and a new obsession with the most delicious cake I've ever tasted. And I still cant decide on a photo. Looks like tomorrow I'll be out looking for more red. And that to do list will once again have to wait.

 

nap

Although I no longer have a 9-5 M-F kind of job, I still look forward to the weekend. Phil is home, I get to go to the gym, we can hang out a bit and relax when we can. It's lovely. I am especially glad this is a 3 day weekend. I need a nap. So does Phil. And by the looks of this photo, so does Sam. 

He's a really good napper really. But for some reason this afternoon he wanted to skip his usual 3rd nap and decided to have whineapalooza instead. y e a h.

He has been riding on this dino Aunt Kristin and Uncle Jem gave him for Christmas a lot actually. He kind of moves his feet a la Fred Flintstone, but I don't know if its intentional. So this afternoon during intermission of the aforementioned festival, I pushed him all over every square foot of this house on this darn thing just to keep the volume down. 

Thus, I need a nap.

And I'm going now to take one. 

Oh, and check out my new 52 project on my photo blog. Be sure to click through to see all the other wonderful photographers who are a part of the project. 

scars

Well it happened. I inadvertently injured my child. I'm waiting for child protective services to come knocking down my door any moment now.

It really was innocent enough. I was only carrying him walking out of my bedroom to change his diaper and I must have tickled his back because he arched it backward like he always does, but this time it was exactly as we were clearing the door. His forehead smacked against the edge of the door frame. Lots of screaming, lots of swelling, lots of blood rushing to the surface, but no broken skin. No blood. PHEW! Blood makes everything seem worse.

So as the mark started healing (which reminds me how remarkable his little body is healing so quickly), I began to think about how glad I was that his first scar wouldn't be because I smacked his head against a door when he was 9.5 months old. What a terrible story that would be growing up. I don't know that I remember my very first scar. I do have many. I have to say that I never once broke a bone (knocking on wood as I type) but I was a pretty clumsy kid. I have had many, many stitches.

The scar on my forehead is from the milking parlor on the farm. I was maybe 4 or 5 and I was running down to the parlor because it was milking time and I wanted to help Pop Pop (by help I mean lean against the wall giggling when the cows pooed). The parlor was at the bottom of what was then a VERY steep hill (thats how I remember it). I was running so fast I couldn't stop and I literally ran right into the concrete wall. Blood and stitches. And that hill now is barely steep enough for a ball to roll down. Someone must have leveled it after my accident. Probably.

The scars on my knees are from the summer before the third grade. I was riding my big sisters bike, one with actual hand brakes and gears. I didn't know what the heck I was doing and was never very good on a bike. I couldn't remember how to stop when going down a hill - also very steep like the one on the farm - so I put my foot down and ended up flipping across the road scraping my knees to shreds. Blood and stitches. I had to walk around like a penguin without bending my knees for a whole month. To this day, I prefer a stationary bike at the gym. That scar though, especially the one on my right knee, looks like a fish. My best friend growing up, Jared, and I named it Herman. Because thats what you do when you are 8 and you get a big scar. You show it off and give it a name. I still smile and think of Jared when I see my big ugly fish scar.

My most recent scar is a baking injury. It's a dangerous hobby. Especially when you start baking a 12" layer cake at 10:30 pm and over fill the pans leading them to pour over in the oven almost catching the kitchen on fire. It's a nasty, ugly, fresh scar, but I'll look at it and remember I did it baking my best friend's baby shower cake. It was worth it.

My inside scars are harder to show. Scarred by the fire. Scarred by Henry. Scarred by all kinds of crazy ass stuff that life brings. The injuries burn at first. But then, like our skin, they start to itch and heal.

I got an email today from someone who runs a few fabulous websites who recently talked about her miscarriages. I started thinking that she has a scar like mine. Without even knowing her, aside from some lovely email correspondence, I found myself wanting to sit with her as my 8 year old self and think of a funny name for her scar. To make her feel better.

I realized that this blog, and my photography are my way of showing off my scars like we all used to as kids. Showing that I was brave and only cried a little bit - or maybe a lot. Showing off my blood and stitches. My neon band-aid. Scratching the itch that comes with healing.

The next time, I might not be so lucky and that innocent little bump of the head could turn into Sam's first scar. And it will be ok. We'll name it after my fish. I always liked the name Herman.

Happy Christmas

I'm still in a bit of a Christmas fog, but from what I can remember, it was the best one yet! We changed things up a bit this year and cut out 2 visits on Christmas day that we usually make. Although I missed seeing some of my family, to make 2 fewer stops on an already busy day was definitely a good decision. Since last year we went to 6 different places on Christmas eve and Christmas day, I decided that with Sam and Daisy and for the same of my sanity, we needed to make some cut backs. And it was definitely a good decision. Christmas day was actually fairly relaxing. I have NEVER had a relaxing Christmas. I LOVE my insane family, but relaxing is not something they do well! It's always loud and fun and non-stop - laughing, playing, joking, pestering, teasing. It is pretty great.

I think had I decided last year to change the tradition, I would have had a really hard time with it. This is the first Christmas ever where I haven't gone to both of my grandparents houses. But I realized this year, that the old Christmas traditions aren't the same anymore. It will never be quite as exciting as when I was a kid. Running into Nanny's kitchen to see if there are any crumbs left on top of the coffee cake, or if my cousin Ginny already got to them. Stealing Nanny rolls before dinner by literally putting them in our pockets. Playing canasta trying to figure out if my dad and uncles hid the good cards up their sleeves (they usually did, the cheaters). Snaking down grandma's stairs on our bellys getting rug burn but not caring. Laughing at the grown ups passing around the bottle of apricot brandy and later showing off their best cow impersonations by moo-ing (seriously they were really good). Fighting over grandmas coconut cream pie which someone usually hid before everyone else could get to it. Crying because I literally got a sac of coal (a trauma from which I haven't fully recovered).

Things have changed. And this year, I realized that I am not the kid anymore. I've always felt like a kid (and really still do) but now it's about my kid. And I hope to teach Sam to slide down the stairs on his belly, and sneak to get Nanny's rolls and to hide the wild card under his chair. But he's a bit young for that. So before the years of chaotic Christmas return, having a relaxing one was exactly what I needed.

 Heres a little taste of our holiday from Sam's perspective:

I heart eating paper.

When I saw it was PJ's, I was REALLY excited!

I don't really know what to do with this thing yet, but it seems kind of cool.

You may think I have lame parents for giving me a wooden shoe, but shoelaces are my favorite thing ever. And these taste less dirty than Daddy's.

Grandma and Grandpa's house was loud, but before I passed out, I got to open (and eat) a LOT of presents!

Christmas morning was early and messy. I got to play with all the presents I got the night before. I didn't see too many of them then because I passed out before they were opened!

We went to GiGi and Grandpa's next and Daddy was really silly after drinking bloody marys. He was chasing me all over! It was awesome!

Daisy was mad that I kept her up most of the night, so she missed out on lots of fun and took a nap.

The morning after christmas - I finally was too tired to do anything but nap with GiGi.

Then we went to GrandPop's. There was MORE toys there for me!

But the toy I really wanted was Carson's.

Carson is trying to take over Mommy's job.

GrandPop helped me walk around.

I don't remember this picture. I must have been tired?

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On an unrelated but fun note, check out the new site, Sugar Row. They are showing some of my recent sessions! This site is awesome and I am so excited to be on it!