tip time: dressing your family for portraits you won't hate

Of all the things that can make getting family portraits stressful for people, ranking high on the list is coordinating everyone’s clothes. When I was little, it seems that all a mom had to do was stop in to Sears and pick up each kid what amounted to a fall version of an Easter outfit, and you were good to go. Dad wore a suit from his closet, and mom splurged on a nice new top. Done and done. Now it seems so much more complicated and mysterious, time consuming and expensive. Let me see if I can reassure, and maybe even help you.

Here are a few simple tips for dressing your family for portraits.

1. It’s okay to buy some new things, but don’t underestimate the power of a favorite. People look best when they are comfortable and confident. You probably know which of your clothes make you feel like a million bucks. It’s okay to build from there.

2. Dressing everyone like twinsies is the worst. Trust me on this one. Do not tell everyone to wear jeans and a plain white tee shirt. Just: no. Coordinating outfits makes sense- but matching everyone is not cool anymore.

3. You may hear people recommending you plan “pops of color”. That can be great. Also great? Neutrals. And- tons of colors. Don’t stress yourself out trying to force an elaborate color scheme. Just lay out what you have and take a look. Chances are, if the outfits look good next to each other on a bed, they are going to look good together in your pictures. As my son's baseball coach says when a kid can decide themselves whether to bunt or swing at a pitch, "You do you." Save yourself an extra therapy session, and decide now that your goal is not to impress a vague crowd of "other people" with your clothes.

4. Part of what sets great portrait looks apart can be summed up in two words. No, it’s not “Crew Cuts”. It’s LAYERS and ACCESSORIES. It doesn’t matter if your clothes are from Walmart or Anthro, if you layer t-shirts and button downs and a vest for boys and use tights and belts, cardigans and headbands for girls, you are getting somewhere. Maybe your boys would sooner die than wear a vest- that’s not the point- but if you are conscious about planning some layers and accessories you will be happier with how complete your look seems.

5. Someone once told me that it’s easier to start with the girls’ outfits, and once you have those, build the boys’ clothes off of that. And they were right. I’m not sure why that’s easier, but it has always been that way for me. So I’m passing that bit of wisdom on to you, in case it helps.

6. Fit. It’s gotta be there. Your little one swimming in a ginormous shirt that’s too big but you lovvvve it? You, wearing the pants that kiiiinda fit? You will regret both those moves. Remember, when people are comfortable and confident, that shows in their body language. Which definitely shows in pictures.

7. When wondering how formally to dress your people, go with what you like. Casual and sophisticated outfits both yield charming results. With one caveat, however. Do I need to say it? I know you will always treasure the memories of your little guy in his Lightning McQueen shirt and your princess twirling in the Frozen logo dress she asks to wear 5 days a week. So take a couple dozen snapshots tomorrow. Today you say no. Out-rank them, bribe them, what ever you have to do to get them into some timeless clothing for your professional portraits. You, and probably your in-laws, will thank you for it.

I hope this helps you as you plan for your portraits. Maybe I’ll write another blog post soon about how to get your kids to actually wear the clothes you have carefully selected, without everyone losing their chill. Are there other questions you have about getting your crew ready for pictures? Or do you have any funny experiences getting your family ready for pictures? Post them in the comments below. We’ve all been there and can use both laughs and wisdom.

All photos in this post found on www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com.

embrace the camera

Messy hair? Don't care.

It's about to get emotional up in here. Listen, are you afraid to get in front of a camera? Are the only pics you have of yourself poorly lit duckface selfies or shots of your feet below a steaming latte? I want you to consider, for 60 hot seconds, what photo you want your family- especially kids, if you have them- to have of you years from now. And then make that photo happen. Whether it's you in your gardening gloves pulling weeds, or stirring your famous chili on the stove, or sitting in the sunshine with your favorite sunglasses on- think of what a treasure that picture will be someday to your people. 

What double chin?! #winning

I don't have it in front of me, but somewhere there is a rare photo of my mom from when I was little that I used to stare at for long moments. In it, she is about to leave on a date with my dad. Her hair is sleek and styled, she has on lipstick, and she’s wearing a fabulous red outfit. I must have been seven years old maybe?, putting this at 1982-ish. I can still see that picture in my mind, how relaxed and happy her smile was. When I was a teenager, I would marvel at how young she looked in the picture- and how much of myself I could see in her face. Needless to say, I love that pic.

Look!  I was there, in my own life! Also, Go Cubs.

Now, back to you and I. About a year ago, I read about an “embrace the camera” challenge. Since then, I try to at least take a phone selfie with the kids every once in a while. I want them to be able to see my smile and study my eyes and search for clues about who I was, one day when I’m gone. Even better would be to plan out a picture that captures some element of our life together- me cheering at a soccer game, or being cheesy dancing to music in the van at school pick-up- or the above ideas related to hobbies and favorites. Of course the best, the piece-de-resistance, would be not only getting a picture with myself in it, but printing it out so that my kids can easily access it. I may never reach that level of organization, follow-through, and comfort with seeing my face in print, but I can dream.  

Teaching my mom the art of the selfie.

Those of you who have lost a parent or someone else close to you, you get this. You’d give a lot to get a couple more pics of them from the past, and you wouldn’t give a rip about whether they had a beach body or glam hair.

At any rate, my encouragement to you today is to hand your hubby, friend, or kid some camera device and say cheese. Or pay a professional to get you a photo you feel good about.  You may regret it when you first glance at the picture and that mean voice in your head points out your one gray hair or your blah-blah number of extra pounds. But you just tell that voice where to go, and think instead of the voice of your family 15 years from now thanking you for embracing the camera, for them. 

A "real" camera can take a better quality picture, but the
best camera is always the one you have with you.

i wanna start swinging

You know the list you have of the things your parents were right about? Like, for me- my dad was right that my red tights, red skirt, and red sweater from Benetton in eighth grade did make me look like a tomato. Well, I am finding out that God has been right all along, too. I mean, I have always agreed in my head that God is right, and that his ways are best. But after nodding along during sermons, I often turn around and live very differently from the truth I just affirmed.

I get paralyzed by perfectionism.  I suffered from that pressure long before Pinterest raised the bar.  So the gospel- the idea that God loves me BEFORE I am perfect, just-as-I-am, not for what I do but for who I am- that news frees me like nothing else. But sometimes I get stuck there, and miss a big chunk of God's plans for my joy. Like, I read Bible verses like, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters" (Colossians 3:23) and "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matthew 5:48). And I don't see how that meshes in a live-it-out way with the gospel of freedom, so I kinda ignore those ideas. 

Well, at my mom group the other week, we were talking about whether Christians are called to excellence in different areas of their life. And during the discussion, an idea that had tickled my mind in the past took root. Like many Biblical concepts people mistake for burdens, God's call to excellence is a gift! I have told my kids (students in my classroom, and biological children both) that trying hard is a present to yourself. I've asked kids, can you imagine playing on a baseball team where no one is really trying? The pitches make it halfway to the plate? People shuffle instead of run? No one gets out because throws are lazy tosses, and half-hearted swings never make contact with the ball?  Everyone on the team would be bored and miserable.  It would be worse than trying hard and losing. I'm preaching to myself here when I repeat: it would be worse than trying hard and losing. It would be boring. It would suck the life out of the players and they would hate the game.  Well, that's how I approach my tasks as a wife and mom more often than I care to admit. I resent the pressure to be perfect, and I am aware that God's love does not depend on me dazzling the world with my skills. So, I shlep through my days halfheartedly. I do what I have to do, but don't push myself to do more.

What a recipe for depression and disillusionment!  Kids constantly in front of the TV, kitchen in a shambles, time wasted online. I have so much more fun on days when we swing for the stands (to keep the baseball metaphor going). Moving from a "have to" to a "get to" mindset has been a game changer.  God doesn't ask us for our best efforts because he is some school marm from 1853 with a ruler in His hand, ready to smack our knuckles when we fail! He is like Willy Wonka, with a twinkle in his eye, pulling back the curtain to a land of color and joy that comes when we go for it! 

Now this is long post, I know, but there is another part I can't detach from this. Effort takes energy, and trying hard to engage with my kids and keep up with my housework and also share life with my husband takes a lot out of me. I feel like I am pouring out for much of the day. But my half-hearted days don't leave me more energized either. Instead of wandering through my days on autopilot, which leaves me discouraged, if I run through my days as "on" as I can be, I reach a time where I must stop and truly rest.  The Bible, of course, calls it Sabbath. True life and true rest leaves me so much more satisfied than disengaged life, never truly off and never truly on. In a nutshell, I am learning that my best efforts at an excellent life paired with Sabbath leads to amazing peace and joy, whereas trying to muddle through with as little effort as possible leaves me drained, tired, and stuck. 

There is so much more I could say, about how a life of excellence (while still free from the pressure to be perfect) is what I want for my kids to know, so I'd better model it. About how our witness to the world as believers is so hurt when we muddle through life, detached and vaguely bored. About how God's rhythms are beautiful and life-giving, and we are silly to think they are only "rules" that we "must" follow. That this idea of laying your life down so you can find it, giving up our way of seeing things because God's is better- this works out to be true in how we eat, physical exercise, friendships, marriage, parenting, career dreams... 

Some of you have been operating this way for a long time. You "got this" long ago. Bless your heart. Be patient with those of us slow learners. At any rate, I'd better go. I need to go pick up my bat, get my eye on the ball, and start swinging. #rainyday #gameon #sendmorelegos

hashtag summer

It is 9:30 am. I am huddled in front of my computer, reading the 4 free Jen Hatmaker essays that are bonus pieces from her new book coming out in April. I am also eating the crumbs at the bottom of a bag of Baked Ruffles.

The children are in the other room playing some game that involves a whacking sound that should make me nervous.  One of them is dressed in fresh clothes for the day.  One of them is in the same clothes they wore yesterday. One of them is in... a diaper.

Sesame Street is playing, ignored, in the background.

 Is this the best I can do?  I don't know. Give me a minute. After Jen Hatmaker makes me sigh and chuckle, I will get my act together and maybe we will craft something, and I will attempt to make sorting laundry seem like a cool game. #summer

can i just say?

Tonight was my son's penultimate baseball game of the season. Side note: I have been waiting for a chance to use the word "penultimate" in a fitting circumstance since Ann Furlong taught it to me years ago in her first grade classroom.  No, I was not a first grader at the time.  I was a colleague.  Never underestimate the power of a primary grade teacher. And for those of you who, like me, did not learn that word in high school, it means, "second-to-last." You're welcome.



Anyhoo, I digress. At my son's games there is a concession stand. It sells the stuff that kids' dreams are made of.  Ring pops. Airheads. Walking tacos, and nachos with delectable unnatural cheese sauce. Something like the pixie sticks of my youth, but like ten times bigger and in a plastic straw. (Forget the internet and cell phones- what this generation should celebrate is never having your flavored sugar get stuck in a gooey mess on your disintegrating paper pixie stick straw!)  And my three year old loves the Icee Pops, and often asks if he can get one at the "confession stand" as he pronounces it.  It may be my favorite of his mispronunciations.  I purposely steer conversations around to get him to talk about the "confession stand" and its Icee Pops.  So cute.

As I chuckled about his confession stand faux pas, I got to thinking.  I need a confession stand.  Not in quite the same way as the confessionals of my Catholic upbringing (although, maybe that too. That's a topic for another time.)  More like- a safe place to gently let fly some of the vulnerable thoughts and feelings I've been having.  I mean I technically have those places- my marriage, my weekly mom "support group".  My friends, my parents.  But I am in a new place. We moved a couple months ago, to a new town. New church, new schools, new grocery store, new neighbors, new, new, new. And I have not been quite brave enough to say out loud to new or old friends:

Can I confess that I am afraid of repeating patterns from my past, that sabotaged my friendships?

Can I confess that I only got part way done organizing and unpacking, and I really don't want to do the rest of it?

Can I confess that some days this moving transition is embarrassingly easy, and others days it is really hard and lonely?

Can I confess that I have overdue library books already?

Can I confess that I fear that people are just being nice to me because I am new and they feel like they should?

Can I confess that I don't want to shop at Aldi even though everyone says it is cheaper and amazing, etc., because I am a creature of habit and ease, and I love Hy Vee?

Can I confess that in this season I keep getting mixed up feelings that God is more pleased with my clean kitchen than he is with my broken prayers?  So I keep the buzz of life turned up so loud that I forget how much I miss him, until when I do remember, it makes me cry? All this, even though I know that in my past I have gone through at least three Bible studies that cover the story of Mary and Martha in detail?

And lastly, can I confess that it's hard to be on the trapeze between places, between friends even, so that I have so many people who care about me and are nice to me, but no one I can talk to long enough to get to these deep places in conversation.  Where I can process out loud until I say my vulnerable thoughts, and hear theirs, and laugh and cry in the same conversation.  I. miss. that.

I could end this blog post with a neat little statement about how in the meantime, Jesus is my best friend anyway, and He will listen and He never fails.  Or I could say that it is growing my faith to go through lonely times. Or that he will answer my prayers for deeper friendships in His time (or he will, once I get around to praying them.) All these things are true, but those are not my take-aways tonight. Tonight I am just going to breath, and feel these yucky feelings. It has been a long stretch of being "fine" because I think I'm supposed to be.  And I don't think it makes God happy when we pretend to be fine, and find ways to numb our uncomfortable feelings.  (Hello, facebook, sugar, and caffeine!) So here I am, owning these "confessions." If faith is moving forward (and I believe it is) then I don't think I can move forward until I say aloud where I am.  I am hanging onto the bar of a trapeze- with one toe on the new platform.

Okay, one last confession.  I confess that I cannot imagine actually posting this on my blog. But I'm going to!  Take that, fear of vulnerability!

compulsive much?

In the category of things that make me gently, forgivingly rueful about myself, is my recently noted addiction to Pinterest, directly related to our moving.  There is very little I can control about our move.  The only tangible thing I could control in the entire process is how clean our house was when it was time for showings... and I really don't get "into" cleaning anyway.  Now our house is sold, and that part is over.  Our closing date is penciled in on my calendar. Cue the "William Tell Overture" music as we now have more pressure to pick a house in our new town, and buy it.  And that isn't as easy as I thought it would be.


And this is, understandably, stressful.  Each time a house listed online seems like a possibility, there is a process I can't speed up.  We have to wait- wait to see the inside, wait to get an expert friend look at the roof, wait to get an estimate about renovation costs, wait to decide if the floor plan will work for us.  I have two ways of coping- first, staring at houses for ages on zillow.com in an ever widening circle around our future town, and secondly, trolling Pinterest for ideas on how to fix up and decorate a given housing candidate.  We looked at a house with an 4 season porch with dark wood paneling.  So I pinned ideas for painting paneling.

from Southern Living House Plans

We were hopeful about a Tudor revival English cottage style house, with garishly red painted trim.  So I pinned modern paint color palettes for Tudors.

from Country Living

When the inside of that house turned out to be a money pit fit for a sitcom episode, we heard about a possible ranch coming on the market.  Within a couple hours I was pinning pics of ways to improve the curb appeal of plain jane 1960s ranches.

found on Houzz.com

While these hours were fun, and gave the illusion of being (mildly) helpful, they were in fact a lovely distraction and a waste of time.

I am very conscious of the ways this move is stretching my faith.  I have had to ask myself some hard questions.  Do I really trust God with this move?  Can I let go of trying to control the details and timing of this?  Am I really listening, I mean, REALLY paying attention to what he is calling our family to invest in?  Can I wait for a while, not knowing everything in advance and not scrambling with regards to our next home?

Here are some things I know.  We will move.  We may buy a house in time, we may need to rent.  It could go smoothly; it could be a stressful transition.  But our problems are small in the grand scheme of things; any homelessness we face will be temporary.  We have loving friends on both ends of our move.  We have been supported and cheered on.  And I also know deep, deep down, in that almost wordless place inside, that we don't have money for Pinterest ideas anyways.  Praise God that he is so gentle and forgiving of my (sometimes) silly worries and preoccupations.  He keeps taking them out of my hands, so that they are free and open to receive the better plans He's had all along.  It may cause me stress to fill out mortgage paperwork and have nothing to put in the "forwarding address" blank (especially as a rule-following firstborn- I can't leave a question blank!) but whatever our address, we will be the same goofy people living out the same kingdom life Jesus called us to before I knew how to spell mortgage. And so maybe tomorrow I can spend more time in prayer, service, and friendship, than I spend on zillow.com and Pinterest.  A-men.

deck the screens

For no particular reason other than the fact that I like to share, here are some of our family's favorite holiday youtube clips.  Some are funny, some may well draw a tear to your eye.  At any rate, I hope you enjoy them.

1. The Christmas story as told by precious children from New Zealand in funky costumes.

2. From Slugs & Blugs (which  makes the best music for kids) a song about a shepherd dad and his son on Christmas.

3. A look at modern shepherds in Bethlehem and what they understand of the story of Christmas.

4. Mariah Carey, the Roots, classroom instruments, and children.  And Christmas.  Yes, please.

5. Last but not least: Rend Collective's "You Are My Joy" Christmas video.

One more? Okay, here it is.  Kid Snippets takes kid's voices telling stories, and their adults lip sync to it. This particular one is the kids telling an old family story of a Christmas from when their parents were young.  I love the rambling way kids tell stories.  And the lip sync skills are prodigious.  

So what makes the cut for Christmas screen time, for your family?  We love the classics: the Grinch (animated, duh), Charlie Brown and his friends crooning at the sky, and this year we will introduce the kids to "YOU'LL SHOOT YOUR EYE OUT!" You? Any recommendations?

instead

Oh, has Elf on the Shelf arrived!  It has crossed the line from "cute idea exploding all over Pinterest" to "controversial idea debated on blogs posts shared on facebook." Or is it just my friends linking to Huffington Post articles about how the Elf is ruining Christmas?

I wrote last year about my conflicting thoughts about the Elf. (<-- Click to read). And I ended up deciding not to do it, a very sound decision for me and my family.  (And a tricky one, I'm finding. More and more of my kids' friends have elves living at their homes this month, and it is a minefield for my kids. I coach them frequently about how not to ruin Santa for others; now I have to add the elf to the lecture.)

In the interest of disclosing holiday traditions, we may not have creepy charming plastic dolls wrecking havoc and taking marshmallow bubble baths, but we do plenty of other memorable activities.  We always get new jammies on Christmas Eve, and play "hot-and-cold find the hidden baby Jesus from the nativity set" at Grandma and Grandpa's. We always make decorated sugar cookies. We have special ornaments with traditions and stories.  We do Advent readings and Advent calendars with daily cheap pieces of chocolate therein. We always have Christmas tree waffles the morning of the 25th.  We always stand in a circle and sing "Joy to the Word" with family at Nana and Papa's house. But my favorite tradition that we are developing as a young family is that of our "shepherd's pouches."

Like all good traditions, this one came from the Bible.  No, just kidding, it came from Pinterest.  The idea is, each kid has a rough burlap pouch with their name on it (seriously rough- I sewed them, and I'm no seamstress). They are meant to hang in the place of their stockings, but as we have no mantel, and no stockings yet, we just place them haphazardly around the house.  Did I mention this is a tradition-in-progress?  Throughout the season of Advent, the kids earn money by doing extra chores- ones above and beyond what is expected of them.  The money they earn goes in their pouches.  Christmas Eve we count up what they made, and use it to order from the World Vision Gift Catalog. That means they are giving a practical, special gift to a person in need around the world- a mosquito net, a chicken, a Bible, or a soccer ball, for example. Then when they wake up in the morning, their shepherd's pouches are gone, replaced by stockings.  Just as they experience the joy of giving, they get the joy or receiving.

Here's the thing: my kids get into this.  My oldest boy remembered doing this last year, and begged me to let him start early- about 2 weeks before Thanksgiving.  He has begged me almost every day for jobs to earn money- money that he knows will not be for him.  We watched the videos online at World Vision's site, where short clips explain the hows and whys and whos of each gift- medicine, fishing gear, educational supplies, seeds.  When we got to the video about clean water, and the effects on children who walk miles to get muddy water from a polluted source, my seven year old buried his head in my shoulder and started shaking with sobs.  Which made me cry too- in part because my heart and head are so numb, so cynical, that I forgot how shattering that truth is, until my boy's tears reminded me.  I had to get his attention and show him the end of the video, with the joyful children frolicking in the clean water of a new well, to remind him of the hope of change- and the fact that he could be part of it.

So all my kids are wiping windows and dusting and taking out the recycling.  And asking, "how much will you pay me for that job?" like some money grubbing Wall Street wannabes. And they take the quarters and dimes and dollars (thanks, Grandma and Nana!) and stuff them into their burlap bags.  Christmas Eve will be amazing, because each one has a chosen goal: a Bible, a mosquito net, and a share of a well, respectively- that they are working hard to meet.  The Bible says that whatever we do for the people who are "the least," we do for Jesus.  So like the shepherds, we will come to his birthday party, ready with His gifts.

Because I am the opposite of super-mom, I cannot do both this, and the Elf. And I know that the long-term lessons about joy, and the power they have to actually change a little of the bitter sadness that is truly in the world- will serve my kids well.

But I still reserve the right to have a random toy dinosaur start some nightly shenanigans, sometime in January.

Find out more about World Vision's gifts by watching this video:

Also, Compassion International does a similar gift catalog.  World Vision just got to us first, and we stuck with them. Both feature domestic and international gifts in many categories, but of course there are countless other charities you know of that would fit the bill just as well.

Here's the blog where I originally found the idea:
http://blog.jamesandjuliepaquette.com/2011/12/02/shepherds-pouches/

PS- I know none of you reasonable people will jump to any crazy conclusions, but in case some person I don't know actually reads this all the wrong way: I HAVE NO PROBLEM WITH OTHER PEOPLE DOING ELF ON THE SHELF. MORE POWER TO YOU. YOU ARE A BETTER PARENT THAN I.  IF I COULD DO IT ALL, AND DO IT ALL WELL, I WOULD TOO. There. (wink).

call me mawm

I just spent a few minutes sorting through a pile of clutter.  (Cue the parade!) And in the pile I found some papers created by my oldest a couple years ago, wherein he wrote of his love for me in giant tipsy letters, on construction paper, surrounded by crayon flowers.  Of course looking at those papers made my heart swell up and burst into a thousand tiny pieces.  I didn't cry or anything (this time) but it was marvelous to see love, young and wholehearted and innocent, made visible on paper. My boy still loves me, and we have a great relationship.  Today he asked me roughly two dozen times if there was anything he could do for me, that would help me and the family.  Seriously.  But he no longer writes, "LOV YOU MOMY" over and over on decorated papers.  That stage is gone.  I love the stage we're in now, but I'm glad I have a few examples now filed away to remember the way it was.

In the interest of that, I wanted to blog today to capture for posterity what my youngest has been doing.  He's two, and when he wants to say something to me, he launches into a building crescendo of, "Mom! Mom! MOM! MOM!" But he pronounces it more like "MAWM!" Without a hint of annoyance, almost like a bleating sheep.  And even after I answer him, "Yes, honey?" he still throws a few more "Mawms" my way, winding down the refrain. Sometimes his song varies to, "Hey mom. Hey mom. Hey mom." About a dozen times. And if he is in range, he gently grabs my cheeks between his hands and steers my face to look at his.  And if I'm talking, he puts his open hand softly on my lips, to get my attention.    It's too cute to be annoying, and I respect his tenacity as a third child.  He could resort to more violent ways to get me to pay attention, so I appreciate his peaceful ways.

I noticed today that the fall is advancing.  The first trees have transitioned from changing colors to actually dropping their leaves.  And that was just too much for me. I liked the beautiful leaves, but the barren branches were going too far.  Silly, I know, to rage against the turning of the seasons.  Summer was so good, so sweet, it's hard to let go.  I know that in the coming months more than just the trees will change- our family is planning our next phase, our next big growing adventure.  I don't have the luxury of thinking that we can hit "repeat" and do the same summer all over again, next year.  We won't be where, or who, we were.

And I don't want to grieve over the growing of my boys and my girl.  The sweetness of their affection is not going to vanish because they become more sophisticated and self-conscious.  I've worked with older kids, so I know. These little pieces of who they are will still be there- they will just be under the radar, coming out in funny ways that make them just as sweet.  Instead of reams of love notes, I may get the smallest smile and a nod in a room full of his peers.  On a good day. Whatever, I'll take it- because it will be the same love from the same kid. I still have this time, for now, to enjoy the clues adding up, revealing who each of my kids are- the good, bad, and ugly- we are still together for them
to call me, "MAWM!"

*In rereading this post, realize I don't want you to think that we have been in some state of constant harmony over here. We have our fair share of conflict and tantrums, and "You're the worst Mommy ever!", etc. And I know that as they get older, those jabs will get more sophisticated, too.  But hey, it's worth holding the sweet moments in your hand and pondering them a while, isn't it?

i might be crazy, but... wait. there's no but.

I am laughing at myself again.  I try to have a sense of humor about myself, because then I am always close to a free source of entertainment.  Here's my latest laugh: I am so over my daily tasks.  Laundry, I'm lookin' at you.  Cleaning: always over that one. Even cooking can cease to be a joy and become a chore if I'm in the wrong mindset.

However, one of my automatic places to "relax" is Pinterest.  Where I gaze dreamily at beautiful laundry rooms, unlikely recipes with outlandish ingredients, and "31 tricks for cleaning your house fast."  I just think that's funny- to relax from my "job," I look at pictures of what other people have done at the same job.  It's like a bookkeeper looking at other people's charts and spreadsheets and saying, "Ooooh- nice font on that one! And is that recycled paper?"

Surely if well-lit digital photos related to my tasks makes them more appealing, focusing on the people for which I do them should do that even more.  Or perhaps remembering the grace I'm given to HAVE food to cook, clothes to clean, etc. should stop my grumbling in its tracks.  For a funnier pondering of the gift of our lot in life, read this:
Glennon's give me liberty or give me debt

Anyhoo.  Tomorrow is Labor Day.  Don't get me started on the shock to my system the ending of summer has been to me, this year.  Instead, enjoy pictures of my older two on their first day.  Because although the first day hits me hard, I still like to record it for posterity.  A la Pinterest, of course.

magical moment

Today G, who is seven, learned something.  He has been practicing riding his bike this summer, and technically he could do it, but he hated it.  He was afraid of crashing (again) and so he avoided getting on the bike at all.  And truth be told, our street is not the best place to practice.  It leads to a lot of sharp turning around, or short rides with frequent stops (crashes) or a serious downhill.

But Craig was persistent, promising G that if he just kept at it, he would grow to enjoy it.  And G was persistent, promising that he could live a fulfilling life NEVER RIDING HIS BIKE. EVER.   Today, G learned that his dad was right.  We went to the school playground, which has a huge paved area, perfect for biking laps around a loop.  It took one, maybe two laps before G decided that he loved it.  Soon into our outing, some friends unexpectedly showed up, and all the boys biked together for the rest of the evening.  By the time we left, G told us his legs were wobbly from biking so much. He explained later in the kitchen as we got bedtime snack ready that it literally felt like he was still biking because his legs were rocking. Like sea legs.

One of my favorite moments of this, my favorite summer, came tonight when G looked at me and said, "Mom, it was like a magic moment. It was like I was dreaming. I felt like I was on a TV show or something." He readily and freely admits that his dad was right, and that the next time Dad says something is worth trying, G plans on trying it over and over.  Craig built up a lot of trust with this one.  Which is very, very cool.  Craig loves a few hobbies: disc golf, biking, camping, hiking.  He is so eager to share those things with our kids, and of course G being our oldest, Craig is inviting him into those things first.  I can already see my husband's mind working, dreaming of the bike trips the two of them can take as G gets older.  My heart is happy, seeing the separate but related smiles on my men-folk's faces.  They are both proud and hopeful.

This was taken two days later.  Off to ride around town.  

In a short time we are going on vacation with Craig's extended family.  Our reality just shifted from the other boy cousins zipping around the campground on bikes together, with our boy sitting it out, stubborn and lonely-- to him being in the mix, making those memories with them. I'm sure tonight was just the first of the "magic moments" he'll make biking.  And learning to trust his dad, and himself, that he can grow up to do difficult things. Okay, I'm going to stop now. But I'm enjoying this moment too. M'kay?

Sometimes in his pictures, it's like I can see a glimpse of the man he is growing to be.
*Cue the swelling orchestra music! Emotional mom moment! 

whiplash

I'm still here!  June is over.  June is over?!  What the what?!  I cannot keep up with the speed of the summer, and I cannot keep up with the roller coaster of the good and bad things daily life flings at me.  At any rate: whiplash.  I've been decluttering (always), helping edit a thesis paper, taking the three littles to the pool, killing earwigs (eewwwww), attending a great wedding (can you say overnight getaway? without kids!), and generally dog paddling through the daily details.  Doing dishes at midnight, repeatedly.  But, to quote that classic of American cinema, Nacho Libre, "my life is gooooood." Here's some proof.

no candles here

I feel like this is a week where the phrase, "burning the candle at both ends" doesn't do justice to the level of crazy here.  How about, "throwing the candle into a blazing fire, and now there is no candle?" But it's all good, still.  I've had some of the best, sweetest days of my life this week.  And I think the deadlines and intense schedule and level of destruction wrought upon the house by my delightful toddler are all a super creative plan the Lord has for getting me emotionally through the last day of school.  Because like last year, I find within myself a deep pool of inexplicable grief at the thought of my son reaching the end of this grade.  How can this be?! This month he turns seven.  SEVEN, people. I don't normally look at him and think that he is a freaky giant with a mature, chiseled face.  But when I look at his first and last day of school pics side by side, it will hit me.  Stifling the ugly cry. Barely.

But like I said, things are also beautiful here.  Other than my youngest putting hand sanitizer, melted popsicle,  a hundred small beads, and his own pee (twice) on the floor in the span of a few hours, things are rosy. And when they aren't, I have found strange power to cheer me up, in watching the Jimmy Fallon/ Justin Timberlake History of Rap videos on youtube.  Seriously.  I never listen to rap, but I guess I did in the 90's, and that's all it takes to really appreciate what they're doing in those segments.  Awesome. sauce.  And yes, I dance around like a fool and wave my hands like I'm coordinated and cool and starring in a video being shot in Miami.  My kids are too little to judge yet.

Other things that have given me joy, in addition to 90's rap and my sweet children?  Making crostini (basically fancy buttered toast) with smashed avocado, lime juice, sea salt, and bacon on it.  Yuuuummmmm.  That's a lot of perfection.  In related news, my store was almost out of bacon when I went.  Of all the brands!  I swear it wasn't me.  Or at least, it wasn't all me.  Also, it makes me laugh, realizing I was probably in my mid-twenties before I ever tried avocado.  Poor young me!

Lastly, I'm 38 years old and still learning what makes me tick.  And it turns out that editing photos is one of my happy places. Hours fly by while I'm working on trying to get the best out each photo.  And it's easy when you're working with this adorableness:

What about you?  Are you dealing with the emotions of a season coming to a close?  What do you watch/ listen to when you need a boost?  And what are you eating or doing that is a good fit for who you are now?

beautiful photos are memories... of tense moms holding cameras?

I can tell I've made it past the one-year mark as a blogger.  (Cue confetti! No? Okay then.)  I think of topics I want to write about, and realize I wrote about them last year.  Today is no exception.  It's early May, and in my little burg that means we just experienced Tulip Time.  To read my thoughts from last year, go here: so-this-last-week-was-tulip-time

The actual Tulip Time festival this year was so great, I felt sentimental about every little detail.  I was just a thin thread of emotional control away from hugging windmills, crying over the taste of poffertjes, and taking pictures of random tourists who were taking pictures.  Wait, I did that last one.  But only once! The only bummer was that my oldest got sick and had to miss out on much of the fun. I told him there's always next year, which I am in no position to guarantee since who knows what our career future (and therefore zip code) holds, but as I said I was already weirdly sentimental and I was offering the hope of next year's festival as much to myself as to him.  Which goes to show how much I love Tulip Time.

However.  My session taking picture of my children in Dutch costumes was not as smooth and painless as I'd hoped.  I know you are rolling your eyes. You mean suiting your children up into strange costumes and traipsing them around in a garden to get semi-formal pictures wasn't the best Friday night for all involved?  Really?! But, dear reader, this is my jam.  Photography.  My children.  Tulips. Weird seasonal traditions.  Just typing the words makes me giddy. And lots of people get a rush from things that nearly kill them.  This is my version of that.  (And you could argue that this time it nearly did kill me.  At one point my son complained that he hated the very sound of my camera going "click." How he- errr, I mean I- survived that comment is a miracle.

Seems I still have a little to learn.  But it wasn't an absolute nightmare, so I'll count that as a win and move on.  Each child contributed to the beautiful celebration of imperfection in their own way.  My daughter refused to brush her hair, or tuck in her shirt.  My littlest actually plucked several tulips from their stems- a huge no-no here.  (If you are from my town and read this, for the love please do not report us.)  Also, his neckerchief was missing.  My oldest son was so kind as to put on his own costume while I dressed the littles.  I was so grateful for his help!  Then we got to the gardens, and I went to tuck in his shirt.  I found he had left on his school pants underneath his costume pants... which were a full two inches shorter.  Ah, well.  That't the beauty of being a recovering perfectionist.  Learning opportunities come at you. every. moment.

Without further ado, my 2014 tulip kid pics:

Love the third child 'tude.  Plus, my oldest's pant situation.  And the soccer socks.  I can't even.

I love this pic so much.  But the pants...

What if they were this happy getting out the door in the morning every day? 

Hugs because big brother gave her the broken stemmed
tulip he'd found.

Those cute grubby fingers were in trouble for picking that tulip!
(But first I took the picture.)

we could be in trouble

This week my son came home from school and asked if he could go to "Trudy's" house. Trudy is not in his class, and I don't know her last name or her parents.  In fact, I'd never heard of her.  Turns out my boy knows her from recess.  And so my hubby and I told him that it wasn't likely we could take him to Trudy's house to play that day.  He was not deterred.  He pulled out a piece of crumpled, folded paper from his pocket and boldly pronounced, "But I got her number!"

After my husband and I recovered from the fit of shocked laughter that struck us, we studied the piece of paper. Trudy had invited him over, and had written her and my boy's name on one side, and on the other, her street address.  

Anyone ready to walk me through this?  Thought I had a few more years to prepare up in here, before the little ladies started giving my son their numbers to stick in his pocket.  

I thought you were a toddler, like, yesterday.
At least Trudy has great taste in playmates, I'll give her that.

mom, part two

Last year on Mother's Day, I wrote a blog post letter to my mom.  In it I wrote about little things I remembered from my childhood.  While I wrote it I cried, feeling such big feelings for my mom.  I wanted her to know that I valued her and my memories of her.  It was a sentimental and awkward attempt at a tribute.

Well, I reread that post today, a year later.  And it seems incomplete.  It's still just as true that I appreciate the pot roasts and the permission to make blanket forts, but there is a deeper layer of thanks that I missed.  Or maybe a couple.  And although I'm sure this will be incomplete, too, I want to try to do better. So here it is: more of what I learned from my mom.

My mom was patient with me, but when it came to me experimenting with being snarky, mean, or judgmental of my peers- well, she had no patience with that.  I remember writing a letter to a pen pal at a young age, and mentioning in it something about an annoying geeky girl in my class.  Well, my mom saw it and gave me a piece of her mind.  I would be rewriting that letter, thankyouverymuch.  My mom takes very seriously the axiom, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." And although she, along with all the female members of my extended family, loves a good bit of gossip- coffee and coffeecake optional- any stories of a person's misfortune were told in somber, sorry tones.  There was grace and suspended judgment even while heads were shaking back and forth, for all but the most heinous crimes.  Her attitude of grace and mercy is an example to me.

So what I'm saying is that Mom would get me to stop crying, and
Dad would walk me through how to best dig the grave. Hypothetically.

One result of that attitude, is that my mom is the safest person I know.  If I killed someone, and needed advice on hiding the body, I would ask my dad.  But first, I would call my mom, and tell her everything, and get her sympathy.  Once I knew she still loved me and understood, then I would tell her to put dad on the phone. When I need a listening ear, she's the person I think of first.   She is for me, in the best way possible.  And when we close our phone conversations, she says, "I love you," four or five times.  It's the best.


My mom is a "get it done" person.  Yardwork.  Housework.  Homework.  She tackled tasks and kicked their butts.  She would touch things in the sink with her bare hands that I wouldn't look at with both eyes.  Digging out dandelions.  Squashing spiders.  Holding garage sales.  Done, done, done.  She is still that way.  Having her physical presence near me is all I need to feel a burst of super-charged energy, and suddenly cleaning out the back of the fridge seems like a winnable battle.  I grew up seeing her get things done.

Along with most kids who grew up having a stay-at-home-parent, I assumed a lot about them.  That it was easy, that it was always what she wanted to do, that being with my exalted presence all hours of the day was enough reward for anyone.  Ahem.  Now I am in the trenches of that same gig- home with the littles, trying to mind the children, the house, the laundry, the shopping.  And I know that my mom must have sacrificed more that I knew- or know- for me and my brother.  She sacrificed the big- career perks of lunch with the girls, money, measurable and attainable goals.  She sacrificed the little- being able to have a couple moments of privacy to go pee, not having kids slurping on your (glass) bottle of Pepsi without asking, reading Ten Apples Up On Top ad naseum when you had a new Stephen King tempting you from the bookshelf.  But the beautiful thing- the amazing miracle of motherhood- is that as a kid I was oblivious to her sacrifice.  She was no martyr, no complainer, no bitter ranter.  Even as I got older, old enough for her to tell me that we couldn't afford whatever random Esprit or Benneton swag I was begging her for, she never breathed a word about her own sacrifices.

My mom loves others well.  All my growing-up years, she always made birthdays and holidays seem like days covered in fairy glitter.  She sends cards, gifts, personal notes.  I remember the lengths she went to, trying to get my grandma- her mother-in-law- the perfect gifts.  She prays for me, without fail.  She prays for my friends.  I've seen the patient brushstrokes that make the masterpiece of a wife's unconditional, unwavering love, by observing my parent's marriage.

I could go on, and perhaps next year- or next week- I will.  But the true letter to my mom about the fruits of her labor- pun intended- are my brother and I.  Our lives are not a nice and neat report card of her success and failure as a parent.  But, to really see how far the reach of her love extends, look at us.  Many of my stumbling efforts at being kind, patient, and giving, are echos back to what I grew up knowing.  So thank you, Mom. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

risky business

My seasonal tree pollen allergies are kicking my rear end.  I am hunkered down in my sweet little home.  Actually, it isn't very sweet right now.  My two littles are attempting to cover every surface with loose toy parts and broken crayons and cast-off socks. Is there some kid-centered Guinness Book of World Records that I don't know about, fueling this toy and trash tornado?  Do they win some kid award for marking their territory and thereby wresting control of the house from the adults?

Sigh.

On a lighter note, while I had the house to myself yesterday I snuck a bunch of their old toys out to the thrift and consignment stores.  It felt very freeing.  See ya, gigantic Recue Hero firetruck that no one ever played with!  I'll take those inches of floor space back, thankyouverymuch!

So that there is some redeeming value to this post in which I complain about mess and allergies, I'm attaching a video that rocked my world.  This guy is doing a series of documentary interviews of dads, seeking to discover what it takes to be a good dad.  In this installment, he's focusing on the family of one of my favorite bloggers, Flower Patch Farmgirl.  She is rad, her husband is rad, their story is rad.  Whew!  I haven't used the word "rad" that many times in one day since 1992!  I'd better go rest now.

Oh but first- the title of this post.  Makes sense when you see the video.  If you are going to risk much, let it be by risking much on other people.  There is much to be gained, in that kind of risk.

Amen and amen!

royal hoopla

My girl and I went to the coolest birthday party last weekend.  One with a real live princess. And games and music and sparkly prizes.  It's pretty important when you are the only girl, growing up with two brothers, and a hermit introvert mom, in a town that has polar vortex winters keeping you inside for months... where was I going with this?  Oh yeah, it's important when you're a girl like that, to have some shared girl bonding experiences.  And she got them at this party.  Plenty of pink and purple and ruffles and glitter.  It was awesome. Although, PS- she STILL would not let me "do her hair." It was ugly- both the battle over the hair, and the final result.

Anyway, at the party I tried to take pictures for my friend, and since she was using her point-and-shoot camera (with the flash) I decided to use my camera on manual and NOT use my flash.  I hate how washed-out and one dimensional pictures can be using my big ole' on-camera flash.  And I wanted to take amazing pictures for her, of the sweet and precious party she threw for her little girl.

Did I mention that the party was in a closed garage? With two single lightbulb fixtures with low watt bulbs?  It was a clean, beautifully decorated garage, but the light was so low for my camera.  I cranked up the ISO and dialed the aperture to wide open, but even then the shutter speed was not close to being able to handle the motion of the girls. Most of my pictures were grainy AND blurry.  Bummer.  For a few I finally relented and used the flash.  Anyways, all that to say- there are still two pictures I treasure, in their grainy- or flat- glory. Even as an aspiring photographer, I am learning that a photo can be prized not for its technical perfection or even artistic beauty- but for the memory it captures.

This picture is of my princess, posing with Princess Rapunzel.  I asked my girl later what she was feeling when this picture was taken.  "Sad?" I'd suggested. "Mad? Nervous? Okay?" I tried to give her the right emotional vocabulary to explain to me why, in the party of her dreams, she was so blank faced most of the time.  She can be such a mystery to me!  Her answer to what she was feeling?  "Kinda happy, Mom."  Sheesh.  A mystery she shall remain.

This other picture was taken after the girls had been handed these chocolate princess crown pops.  They were told that the chocolate had been baked with fairy dust in it, and that when baked, fairy dust gives you the power to make one wish. They were instructed to hold it to their heart, close their eyes, and make a wish.  All the girls obediently followed through and made their wishes.  Only my girl has still wishing, five minutes later.  I thought she'd never open her eyes, never stop muttering to herself!  After the party, I asked her what she had been wishing for so forcefully.  She said, "I was wishing that you could have a birthday party too, Mom." Cue me tearing up.  We'd talked a lot recently about the party coming up, and about her own (very) future birthday party plans.  She's been fascinated with the way that kids get elaborate decoration and treat filled parties, and adults typically do not.  So that's what she wished, for me, with her one wish.  That girl is not just a mystery, she is a beautiful one. Despite the hair.

My princess with the birthday girl.  That's a lot of royal bling!