almost

I feel like I live a life of almosts…

I’m almost a lot of things:  almost beautiful, almost tall, almost thin, almost athletic, almost a genius…you get the idea.  I’m also almost a great wife, almost a wonderful mother, almost a good friend, almost a good sport, almost an amazing photographer, almost a successful business person.

Almost.

So, not quite.

I like the idea of almost – the idea that I’m working towards perfection, but never quite achieving it.  It’s in the ‘almost’ that I find the most growth, the most motivation, the most enjoyment.

Being the best, the brightest, the thinnest, the most beautiful, the kindest, the most wonderful…being any of those things just seems like too much pressure.  Imagine being held up as the perfect body, for example, and then gaining 5 pounds.  That would be crushing.  Or, imagine being held up as the most beautiful and getting a zit or, god forbid, an injury to your face.  Imagine being considered the very best photographer, and screwing up a job.  Imagine being the best at anything…would you really want that?

In the pursuit of success, happiness and balance, I’ve got a lot of ‘almosts’ to my credit.  I’m almost there – almost balanced and happy and successful at the same time.  And then something happens:  a friend succumbs to a early death, one of my children gets hurt, I work long hours to catch up and miss bedtime stories, I fight with my husband, I don’t return a friend’s call.  Sometimes, life gets in the way and the ‘almost’ that I’ve achieved slips, just a little.

Almost beautiful is ok with me, because I’m beautiful to those who love me.  Almost thin is ok too, because I can enjoy the occasional bowl of ice cream or sugary treat without guilt.  Almost the smartest – I’m always learning new things and finding areas where I know nothing.  At least I never run out of something to learn about.  Almost athletic?  I keep trying, running, cycling, lifting weights – getting strong and being healthy.  And if I skip a workout?  I’ll get over it.

Almost the best mother?  Thank goodness my children can see me fail, see me falter, see me pick up and keep going.  I make mistakes with them, sometimes make the wrong choice – and they are part of it, growing with me, back to almost.  My humanity is my gift to them, my lesson in empathy and understanding.  Without that, what am I giving them?  How am I preparing them to live outside this house?

Almost the best wife?  Not even close.  There are so many times when I feel like I’m not the best partner for him.  And yet, if it wasn’t for the almost, complacency would take over and we would flounder.  The almost keeps me engaged, involved, aware.  Some days I’m more than almost, some days I’m less.  But I’m always working on it.

Almost…

almost is the right place for me, for many of us.  I like that I can fail.  And learn from those failings.  I like that I can fall.  And get up and keep going.  I like that I make mistakes, cause trouble, sometimes hurt feelings.  You know why?  It means I can understand when others do the same.  My own shortcomings make me better.  By acknowledging where I need work, I give myself permission to take on something new, something scary, something good.  Growth is born in knowledge, and with almost, knowledge is the key.

If you were not almost, if you were actually the ‘best’, would you still be a responsible, generous and hopeful member of society?  Would you be concerned for others, or be aware of your own mistakes?  Or would you revel in your ‘perfection’, stagnating and ultimately withering away?

I’m almost where I want to be, at least today I am.  I’m almost thin, almost beautiful, almost athletic, almost smart, almost empathetic, almost the best mother, wife, friend, daughter, photographer, business person.

Almost those, but always me.

the why

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately – the “why” of things.  It stared with Heidi’s passing which was tragic and challenging, and is still so difficult to consider.  But I quickly moved away from the things I cannot change and towards the things I must.

For me, photography has never been about taking pictures.  Never.  In fact, I don’t take pictures.  I have always rationed out my image making, saving it for moments, situations and places that compelled me in some way.  Maybe it was the interplay of light and shadow.  Maybe it was the relationship in front of me.  Maybe it was the mile-wide smile of the child running through the tall grass.  Whatever the reason, I never take a picture, for the sake of taking a picture.

And so I got to thinking about why I am a photographer.  Because you either are or are not, you know?  There are thousands of people that can take pictures, fewer that are photographers.

I suppose I’ll never have a concrete and tangible answer for why I am a photographer.  It’s just like being a writer – why do I write?  I don’t know, I have always written, and I always will.

I make photographs, and write, in my head all the time.  Everywhere I go, there is a running slideshow of the images I would make, just like there is a running commentary of the words I would write.  Sometimes the stories I see are fantastical, full of bright colours and bold movements.  Other times they are serene and muted yet warm and intimate.

This seems to go against the notion that a professional photographer must always adhere to one style, yet it doesn’t contradict that at all.  In fact, I think it embraces that concept on a much more visceral level, taking the obvious stylistic markers we look for, and transcending those to a deeper, more spiritual reason for making an image.

And so, the why.

I make photographs because I have to.  It is how I see the world, in slices of magic.  And yet there is more – I make photographs because preserving those moments, however spectacular or mundane they may be, is the most important gift I can give.  It is my legacy to the wold, and to myself.

It sounds grandiose and self serving, doesn’t it?  Maybe it is, in a way.  After all, doing something that gives you purpose is incredible.  Sharing that feeling with the world, may not be as well received.  Oh well, it won’t be the first (or last) time I ruffle a feather or two.

Photography is, for me, a way to make sense of the world, to explore relationships, and to give the people I photograph a real sense of their own relationships.  Photographs are so meaningful to people, always the first thing they grab if their home is threatened or the first thing they look for when a loved one dies.

But why are they meaningful?

Done well, photographs capture a little piece of everyone that is in them.  It is like a secret, revealed for the first time.  A revelation, if you will, of the nature of the subject.  The best photographers see beyond the light and shadow and static smiles, to a place of raw truth and beauty.  It is that which interests me, the face behind the smile, the message behind the eyes.

A piece of me is in every photograph I make.  I must always be aware, as a result, of my own motivations for my photography as my feelings and state of mind will make themselves known in each image I create.

Just this weekend Steve and I photographed a wonderful wedding (which will be up on our blog very soon).  On any other weekend it would have been a wonderful experience.  But on this weekend, just one week after the passing of a friend, just one week after the “why” of what we do was so starkly revealed to me, just one week after my own sense of security was challenged, this was more than a wedding.

To leave a piece of myself in these images meant opening the door to the pain and loss that I feel, to the hope that always resides in me, and the knowledge that nothing is as important as the people in front of me right now.  It was through this awakening and acknowledgement that I was no longer the person I was just one week before, that allowed a new sensitivity and empathy to guide the images I made.  I left a very large part of myself on the images I made for my clients, and I am grateful to Heidi for that opportunity.

It is so easy for us to get caught up in the mundanities of our lives.  The small things eat at us, beating us down over time.  The reasons why we do what we do get lost in the shuffle of time and experience.

And as much as I am saddened by the loss of a friend, I am also grateful to feel the pain.  It has renewed me, shaken me out of that protective blanket I wrap around myself, laying my emotions raw.  It has given me so much more respect for the images I make and a greater sense of the “why” of my work.

For every image that we make, a piece of ourselves is forever embedded alongside that of our subject and the viewer.  Photography never stands alone, for the value of a photograph is not in the making, but in the viewing.

So please, make images with sensitivity and care, taking the time to consider each moment.  Study the relationships of those in your lens and look behind the smile to the hidden secrets of this life.  Share your images, do not horde them, for it is in the sharing of your work that the import of what you do is felt.  Live every moment you preserve and trust that the sincerity of your participation will shine through every image you make.  Make photographs, not pictures.

And above all, please consider the why.

my friend, Heidi

The feel of the ocean breeze softly caressing my face at the end of a warm day is one of my favorite things.  Heidi was like that – the soothing wind that gently blows through the evening, holding a measure of the day just done and promises of the days to come.

She brought with her such joy and zeal – the knowledge that life is for living and making every moment count.  It wasn’t just talk with her, she lived and loved with everything she had, embracing the moments as they came, knowing they would never come again.

5 years, 10 years, 1 year, 6 months….the measure of her life was meaningless in terms of time, but rather in quality of moments.  The gentle feel of her hand on her daughter’s face, or the tickle fight in the evening;  the subtle brush of her arm against that of her husband;  the delight in good company and laughter.  And her eyes, so full of mischief and intelligence.

She didn’t shrink from any of it, but rather lived it all.

The breath in her body is fading now, the simple act of breathing proving to be too much.  The waiting has begun and it is a painful journey, holding all who are on it in suspense.  The voyage only has one ending, the despair showing in bleak and tearful eyes.  Yet hope still remains, in the memories and love of those who surround her.

Just two days ago, I saw her smile.  It was the last time I will see her now, as those she loves most keep her tightly encircled, and the remembered glint in her eye and sincerity in her smile will stay with me always.  The hint of the life that she so wonderfully lived.

Her voice is gone, and the words that she so desperately wants to share with her children are forever trapped, inferred through grasped hands and a strong gaze.  But the message is so very clear:  there wasn’t enough time to be your mother, not enough time to see you grow, not enough words to express the depth of her love, too soon to be leaving.

The best amongst us seem to be here but a short time, impacting the world around them with incredible force.  And she was such a force – living so completely and without reservation.  She is not yet gone, still clings to those last moments with those she loves best, yet time is so very short.

So I ask you all to reflect upon the people who fill your life with love and meaning.  They are the most precious of gifts, and are so easily taken for granted.  Hold your loved ones close, your children closer, and live.

Please live.

Live each moment for what it is, experience it, breathe it in, enjoy it.  Feel everything there is to feel, good and bad, hard and easy.  And laugh, please just laugh…because when the laughter is silenced, the world feels a little too empty and cold.

Update: Surrounded by the love that allowed her to go, she is now gone, fading like the last rays of sun on a summer evening, slowly ushering in first dusk, and then night. The world is quieter today, filled with whispered rememberences of her.  And yet, all who have known her, even briefly, are better for it.  The sun will shine, with the echo of her life, once more.  She lives on in those who love her, shining through the light in her children’s eye.

indelible ink

I was friends with her husband first.  He was part of the same gym that the kids were going to for martial arts, and his daughters’ class times overlapped those of our boys.  We never sat and chatted as he was in his own class, but we would smile and say hello.  He and Steve became friends when Steve joined his class, but it was never more than a passing acquaintance at the gym.

I met her a few times, as she would drop the kids off for class, and we even had a few conversations.  It was one of those times when you know this is someone you could be friends with, but the timing never really worked out.  I really liked her, though, wishing I could see her more often and develop that friendship.

What I didn’t know at the time was what an impact this family would have on my own life.

A couple years after first meeting them all,  as I was working with a personal trainer, he became my training partner.  I saw him twice a week for nearly two years, and in the course of that time, we became incredible friends.  Slowly, over warm ups and cool downs, sprints and lunges, he started to tell me about his wife and how she had been battling cancer for nearly 10 years.

This family, that looked so perfect from the outside, was engaged in a ferocious battle that no one could see.  His wife had been diagnosed either while pregnant with their second child, or shortly thereafter.  And she did everything she thought she should do, including chemotherapy.  And it worked…

…for a time.

It seemed that every two years, give or take, she had a new cancer appear.  And slowly her body was subjected to horrendous surgeries, and reconstructions that would drive most people crazy.  They took her apart and put her back together with metal and rods and staples…she had to learn to walk again, as her pelvis was literally ripped from her body and held together with the sheer force of her will and the wonders of modern medicine.

Along the way she lost a lung, but gained an incredible zest for life.  Living in the moment became her family’s mantra and they did just that.  Trips around the world, building a dream house, making pizza with the kids every friday night, enjoying time with friends and family – they lived every moment the way we all should, like it was the last.

And then it happened again.  Just before I was dealing with my own cancer scare last year, I got the call – more spots on her remaining lung.  I remember so clearly where I was – in a shopping mall with my husband and kids – and my reaction when I read his text.  Oh crap, I thought, they do not deserve this – again.

See, she never did anything to put herself at risk.  She was athletic, ate good and clean food.  She was a social drinker, but never abused alcohol or drugs.  She never smoked.  And she was only 39 years old when this last diagnosis was given.

10 years of fighting a battle that she was determined to win.  10 years of good living, really good living, and the knowledge that her family and friends loved her dearly.  10 years of watching her children grow into these incredible creatures, full of joy and laughter and love.

10 years and now she had to do it all again.

He was my friend first, but she became my friend shortly after her diagnosis.

It was right then and there that we scheduled a photo shoot with her family – just her, her husband, and the girls.  It was a very difficult session – she and I cried together more than once.  But it was an incredible session as well.

I had always known how important our job is – preserving moments and memories of life’s big events.  But it had always been about the big events.  What this session taught me was the value of everyday, the importance of the quiet moments that come between the big ones, the beauty of the personalities that make a family complete, the moments between the moments – the giggle, the smile, the pout – those are the moments that are most important.

And so we began a year of photographing the everyday moments.  Family would come visit and we would come over with our cameras – not to pose them, but to document them together, as they always are.  It wasn’t the posed moments that she cared about, it was the real moments, where they were together, natural in their interactions.  It tested our abilities as observers and our skills as documentarians and artists.

It was the hardest and easiest thing we had ever done.  It was the best thing we had ever done.

It culminates today, with a wall piece that combines her favorite moments, with our organic mounts.  Almost ten feet wide and over four feet high, this piece is going to sit on their bedroom wall, where she can see it everyday for the rest of her life.  At night, when the pain wakes her, she wants to see the faces of the people she loves.  As she lies in bed, barely able to move, she wants to relive the moments of her life.  When she finally goes, she wants those faces and those moments to be the last thing she sees.

He called me on Friday to let me know time was short.  And it seems crazy to me how quickly it can go from good to tolerable to difficult, to bad.

It’s bad now.

He was my friend first, and remains someone I care deeply about.

She and I became friends this past year.

She is not my best friend, I don’t see her every day or even every week.  We have laughed together and cried together, we have had many long talks.  She has thanked me for being her husband’s friend and asked me to be there for him when she can’t be.  She was one of the most vivacious and beautiful women I ever met – inside and out – bringing laughter and joy with her everywhere.

He loves her, with everything he has, pulling closer as time goes on, rather than away.  He isn’t preparing himself for her loss, although he knows it is coming, but is loving her with everything he has, right to the end.

I am in awe of the love they share.  And I am fortunate enough to have that with my own husband.  It is a humbling thing to witness and fills me with equal parts of sadness and joy.  He loves her, and will love her forever.  And he will be devastated when she is gone.

She is not my best friend, not someone I chat with regularly.  And yet, I am afraid of how I will feel when she is gone, afraid of the depth of my sadness (because I am already sad) and the reaction I might have.  What right do I have to mourn deeply, someone who is relatively new in my life…what is the right way to do this?

I don’t know how to handle the loss that is coming, looming ever closer like a storm on the horizon.  I’ve never lost anyone before.  It is like an ache in the pit of my stomach, growing larger everyday.  I desperately want to go see her one last time, yet I am so very afraid to do that.  I want to bring my cameras for the last few days or weeks and give these moments to her family.  But I don’t want to intrude.  I want to fix this, trade places with her, do anything to make it stop.  It is the most horrific thing I have ever seen, this end game, and I don’t want her to have to do it anymore.

If I had only one wish, for the rest of my life, I would use it here, on her, to make her well again, give her time with her children, to hear her laugh once more.

It is the laughter that has gone – the glint in her eye and the joy in her smile.  Now the effort to simply breathe from moment to moment is all there is.  Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…you can see how hard it is.  For everyone.

He was my friend first, but she has touched my heart in indelible ink, writing her story between the beats.  The ending is yet unwritten, but the story is coming to a close.  A life well lived, a family well loved.  I am better for having known her, and selfishly wish for more time.

He was my friend first…she is forever part of my soul.

steve

wow, babe, you’re getting old!

Here is another year, another birthday, another line or ache or pain to mark it with.  And yet, although another year has passed, you are still so very young.

My husband, Steve, is an interesting guy.  Most people really like him – he is outgoing, witty, kind hearted and charming.  He is also fiercely protective of what is his – especially the boys and I.  He is a guy’s guy, but he is also a sensitive guy.  He is able to fix anything or build anything, yet he is a photographer and creates art everyday.  He is generous with his time, yet enjoys cocooning himself at home and shutting out the world.  He is as smart as they come, yet never reads a book.

Steve is a Gemini, and that invariably weaves itself through the contrary sides of his personality.

The one thing that has no opposite is Steve’s capacity to love.  First his mom and dad, and now the boys and I, Steve doesn’t hold back.  When he loves, it is forever.  And that is one of the best things about my husband.

Through the past 11 years of marriage, we’ve had our ups and downs.  Some have been pretty bad…really bad.  But Steve has never wavered in his commitment to us.  It’s been hard for him, I imagine, but through all the tough times, his desire for our success has never been in doubt.

That’s kind of amazing – in 11 years of marriage, two kids, a wife as a business partner, some scary health stuff, and long hours to make a business work, he has never faltered from wanting to make us work.

And we do, work I mean.  In our way, we are the perfect couple.  Mutual love and respect, a deep and lasting friendship underlying it all, an intimate understanding of each other’s faults and goodness, a desire to be together, and the knowledge that one of us without the other, just wouldn’t be the same…all this comes together to provide the backbone for the life that we live.

I don’t tell my husband enough, what a great person he is.  He is my rock, and without him I would have crumbled a long time ago.  He is my biggest fan – nothing in my life is real until he knows about it.  He is everything I’m not, and has helped me become the person I am today.  He is gracious in his support of me, happily standing in the shadows of any acknowledgment I receive. And he forces me to experience life in a way that I might not without him.

He can be a jerk too, don’t get me wrong (LOL).  There are plenty of times that I want to hammer him on the head, want him to feel the way I do about something, want him to handle Logan in a different way.  God forbid I leave the impression that he isn’t a human being – he most certainly is.

But what’s amazing is his willingness to acknowledge his shortcomings and to try and fix his mistakes.  He is a very smart man, smarter than most people think.  He hides that intelligence behind a quick wit and a serious wife, but it is always there, waiting to surprise me with exactly what I need, at exactly the right time.

An imperfect creature, it is what make him imperfect that makes me love him more.  He is a gift to have in anyone’s life, and I’ll share him with you all, in little bits.  But this man is mine and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

self-obsessed

I think, in many ways, we are all somewhat self-obsessed.  After all, there are very few people in this world that are so altruistic as to always put themselves last all the time.  Sure, we do it with our kids when they are babies and need us to give them everything.  We do it when people are sick or in need.  But I would guess that most of us, while altruistic at times, are selfish as well.

I’m no different.  Both Steve and I work very hard to ensure that we give our kids, and ourselves, a fantastic life.  And sometimes that means we have to make a selfish choice.  And I’m ok with that.  I think some selfishness is important for survival.  After all, if we were never selfish, we certainly wouldn’t charge for the work we do – we would give it away.  And in doing so would sacrifice the opportunities we give our children.

So, I don’t think being selfish is a bad thing, as long as it is tempered with altruism.

Self-obsessed, on the other hand, is another story.

I have had the good fortune to meet a lot of people through the course of my career, and personal life.  Most of them are good people, or at the very least, people that seem good.  There are few people I dislike on a personal level and fewer people that I won’t speak with anymore.  I’m pretty relaxed, although I have a pretty tight moral center, and have no problem with most people.

There are those people, however, who are so completely self absorbed that I cannot even imagine how they function in a community.  I’m talking about the kind of people that always have to be right, always have to feel like they are winning the argument, always turn the conversation to themselves, always have the loudest voice, always share their discontent and who always make everything about them.  Everything.

That drives me a little bit crazy, especially when those same people want my opinion.  Yeah…because you’ll listen, right?

I was caught up in a situation recently that got me thinking about this.  I think I’m a fairly nice person and people have always opened up to me.  I listen, without comment, when appropriate, and give advice when asked.  But the truth is that I don’t really have the time or desire to solve anyone else’s problems for them.  Does that make me selfish?  Hmm…

….anyway, there are some people in my life that never live without drama, and always share.  With everyone.  And I don’t really understand why.  After all, no one really cares.  Or if they do, it is for that quick thrill that some people get by knowing the latest piece of gossip first, and then quietly sharing it out amongst friends, neighbors and colleagues.  I’ve been guilty of that before – getting caught up in someone else’s drama, and sometimes speaking out of turn.  I also learned pretty fast that getting involved in that kind of thing invariably comes back to haunt you.

It’s funny, as I write this, I can already imagine the emails or calls I’m going to get from some people, concerned that I’m talking about them.  Uh…no.  I’m not going to call anyone out on my blog, not am I referring to any one person or any one event.  The irony is that if you do see yourself in my words, maybe you should consider why….;)

But I digress.

Back to what prompted this thought process today…there is someone I know that walks through his life thinking that everyone really likes him.  He is gregarious, funny, loud, quick to offer a hand, and generally a nice guy.  He tries really hard – too hard really, to fit in.  And people can see through that, and don’t like it, because while he is all of those good things, he is also self righteous, nosy, rude, loud (in a not-so-great way), self absorbed, disrespectful and occasionally unkind.

Many people I know have distanced themselves from him, some going to far as to cut all ties beyond a smile or nod.  Yet I have stayed in touch with him, listening when needed, and offering a word of support here and there.  And I have found that people who don’t know me, assume that I am just like him.

Ouch.

I guess that is guilt by association.  And so, I have to work hard to undo a first impression that was never generated by me in the first place, unjustly tarred with the same brush as this other person.

This happens all the time, not just to me.  We see someone and immediately judge them, by what they are wearing, how they are acting, and who they are with.  Crazy.

So, a little selfishness is a good and necessary coping mechanism…I encourage everyone to be a little selfish sometimes.  But just as important is the way we interact with the rest of the world, tempering our desire to always focus on ourselves with the knowledge that other people walk through this world as well.

Being too self-obsessed means missing the opportunity to see others and participate in their lives.  And that seems very sad to me.

ethan

Tomorrow my youngest son turns 7.  And apparently, that’s a pretty big deal (or so he tells me).  As much as I am excited to celebrate with him, these birthdays always give me pause as I think about my children and the men they are growing into.

Now, my little man is only 7, so not even close to being a man yet.  But I can see traits in him that I know will carry forward into his teen and then adult years.  It is pretty amazing to be able to look at your children and have a sense about what kind of grown ups they will be.  I know there are about a million things that could change the path he’s on, but today is my day to dream about his future.

Ethan is my people pleaser.  He is the kind of kid that lives his life with joy and abandon, unlike me or my oldest son who are afraid to let go sometimes.  When he commits, he does it wholeheartedly, but sometimes it takes him a while to make that commitment.  He’s a bit of a ‘fraidy cat – choosing to let others take the lead on things he is uncertain of.  Roller coasters scare the pants off him and he prefers to try and squeeze into those kiddy rides still.

Hi smile might just be the most incredible thing I have ever seen – it will light up any room!  I know I’m biased, but I’m not  the only one that feels that way.  The light in his eyes is still full of childhood innocence and sincerity and is coupled with just a touch of mischief.

He is still my baby, willing to cuddle with me or ask me to push him on the swing.  He loves to read to both Steve and I, and asks nothing more than our presence near him.  He still looks to see if we’re watching whenever he scores a goal or runs down the field – and we are.

His brother is his best friend, which is exactly what I hoped for when Ethan was born.  I have seen the bond between brothers and know that it can be a tight one.  I want the knowledge that his family is always there to be secure in his heart.

Ethan is, without a doubt, uniquely Ethan.  He has his father wrapped around his little finger, and has from birth.

He makes me smile, even when I am mad, or trying to discipline him.  He just gives me that look which says, “Mommy, you love me way too much to be mad at me, don’t you just want to hug me?” and I melt, every single time.  It is this trait of his, his ability to disarm and charm just about anyone, that will serve him well as an adult.

Ethan may be the most generous boy I know.  He will always offer someone else the last cookie or popsicle, standing with his fingers crossed, hoping no one actually accepts it.  If we’re doing something around the house, he always offers to lend a hand, and we always let him, despite the fact that it takes three times longer to do the job.

His dog and he are joined at the hip.  He has a way of speaking to our 6 month old puppy that causes her to do exactly what he asks.  He is patient, yet persistent, never losing his temper even when her puppy teeth grab his hand or his shoelaces.

His laugh will warm even the coldest heart.  It is big and it is contagious.  It is the kind of laugh that is filled with sincere joy – nothing but his amusement fills that moment.  It’s the kind of laughter that I wish for him as a grown up, because being able to laugh like that bodes well for a contented life.

We share all of these things with him, letting him know how proud we are of his choices and generosity, nurturing that kind, yet independent spirit, pushing him to experience new things, at his own pace.

What we don’t tell him is that, in all probability, he saved my life.  Ethan was a surprise pregnancy, we were actually still negotiating about a second child when I found out I was pregnant.  We had planned to get pregnant around the time he was born – after all we’re wedding photographers and having a baby in June is just not great planning.

But, pregnant I was, so we just carried on.  At my 19 week ultrasound, all we wanted to hear was that the baby was ok, and hopefully find out his sex.  What we heard instead was that I had a huge growth in one of my ovaries.  Off we went to the maternity doctor (a GP) who told me I needed to see a specialist immediately.  Within three days, I had seen the OB/GYN and been told that I most likely had ovarian cancer.  The only option available, they told us, was immediate surgery.

At 20 weeks, Ethan and I had surgery.  Well, he slept through the entire thing, of course, as did I, but there he was, right beside the area they were operating on.  They merely pushed him aside to ensure they could remove a grapefruit sized tumor from my body.  Fortunately, the tumor was fully encased within my ovary, and they were able to remove both without rupture.

I woke a few hours later, to Ethan kicking me.  No one believed that I could feel him moving at 20 weeks, but this was my second child and I had felt him for a while.  Once I was up on the maternity ward I was told that I had to stay in the hospital for 4 days – not for my recovery, but to ensure I didn’t miscarry my baby.  It was at that point that they told me, for the very first time, that if I miscarried, they wouldn’t be able to save him – 20 weeks was just too early.

Obviously, since I am writing this nearly 7 and a half years later, everything worked out.  He was born 9 days early weighing a substantial 8 pounds, 4 ounces. My labour was short – only 4 hours, but it was rough.  No medication to help me along, it was a very long 4 hours for me.

We left the hospital the very next day, choosing to bring Ethan home as soon as we could.  And we have been blessed with his place in our family ever since.

So, my boy, I pledge to you my heart for as long as it beats, my support for as long as you need it, and my love until the end of your days.  You are a rare soul, full of kindness and love.  You are going to live a good and rich life, surrounded by love, for you give love so freely.  Your dad and I know that you, somehow, will change this world.  It might be a small change, or it might be huge, but the mere fact that you live in this world means that change will come.  You are too big a soul to do anything else.

Happy Birthday baby boy,  I love you,

Mommy.

shaking it off

It seems as though we often comment on the bad things we experience – the outrages and the small hurts that we confront daily.  I’m certainly guilty of the same thing, and I’ve started to wonder why that might be.

One reason, which may apply to everyone, is that no one likes to hear someone brag.  And today, for whatever reason, celebration is often perceived as bragging.  So it’s very rare that you will see me tweet or update my facebook status with all the good things I have going on.  And the truth is that that is kind of silly.

If something amazing happens in my day and makes me smile, that is something I should celebrate, and celebrate with pride.  So what if the moron down the road doesn’t share in my delight.  Or the lady reading my blog is having a bad day.  Or someone doesn’t feel that I deserve to celebrate.  Who the heck are they?

Not everything I share on my social networking sites needs to be profound, or about marketing myself.

I say that we all start to celebrate all the little things that make us happy – our children’s smiles, our pet’s antics, our spouses love, and our own little joys.  After all, if we don’t celebrate them, who will.

Go away Grumpies and misery-lovers, go away meanies and bullies.  My mood and my attitude is no longer going to be affected by you.  You dictate your own circumstances and if you put that much energy into tearing others down, then I simply feel sorry for you.  I won’t waste anymore outrage on you, or give you a moment’s thought.  Because, really, the only person you hurt in the long run is yourself.

Today I celebrate the little things in my life:  my husband who still likes to kiss me after 12 years, my children who make me smile every morning, my puppy who reminds me to move, my friends who keep things in perspective, my business that allows me to live my perfect life, my clients who appreciate the value of what we give and that it increases over time, and everyone else who takes time out of their day to smile at someone else.

Imagine if we filled the world with the little joys of life…what a wonderful world it would be.

snake oil

There are many things in this world that drive me crazy.  And there are a lot of things that I can let slide.

I’m actually a pretty relaxed person – I can let a lot go.  But there are some things that I just cannot ignore.  I have worked too hard, for too long, to be good at what I do, and who I am, to let someone else call that into question.

I was made aware of a situation recently, that truly threw me.  Steve and I are not only photographers, but we are also educators within the photography industry.  We reluctantly fell into that side of things and we determined that, if we educated, we did it with the best of intentions.  And so we watched as many others shot past us, fueled by personal ambition, rather than a desire to actually give back.  Along the way we have met other like-minded educators, but find that they are the exception rather than the norm.

Because we have worked so hard to take ourselves out of the equation, I find myself left slack-jawed when people comment on our motivations (like they know what they are) and our integrity.  One such person even went so far as to suggest that Steve and I are selling snake oil.

Nice, huh?  What makes it even better is that we thought this person was a friend.

Now, if you have been to one of our workshops, seen us speak at a convention, or bought our DVD, and wish to comment on those specific things – have at it.  If we have failed to meet your expectations along the way, we apologize.  If we have exceeded them, even better.

But if you have not seen the very thing you are commenting on, and you choose to subsequently pass judgment without information, then you are, quite simply, an idiot.  Other words that might fit are dumbass, loser, moron, jerk, blockhead, cretin, dimwit, dork, dunce, fool, imbecile, simpleton, nitwit, ignoramus, and so on.  Seriously, do you have nothing better to do with your time?

Everyone that puts themselves out there will be subject to ridicule.  I know that.  But to make statements without fact just makes  the other guys look stupid, in my opinion.

It’s only snake oil if it doesn’t work.

What we sell works just fine!

sore arms

a couple of days ago, a very kind and well intentioned (sarcasm intended) blog reader left a comment on my blog.  He (I’m assuming it is a he) asked if my arms ever get sore from patting myself on the back.  He asked this on the post entitled “growth” which is kind of funny given the content of that post.  And, if you have read that post, you know that these kinds of comments sit with me.

True to form, I sat with this one awhile, determined not to let it get to me.  And it didn’t.  Actually, it made me laugh a little.

Do my arms ever get sore from patting myself on the back so much?

No.  They don’t.

I don’t think I pat myself on the back enough, anonymous commenter, so thank you for helping me realize that.  I don’t shamelessly self promote to win a wedding photography popularity contest.  I don’t share my successes with the world until they are commented on by someone else.  I don’t tell you how much I do for charity every year, how I help other photographers (free of charge), how I work to bring change to the world, or at least my corner of it.

I don’t tell you how fabulous I am, how wonderful and smart my kids are, how great my life is.  Nor do I share what parties I go to, what my social status may or may not be.

I don’t share all the things I do for free, the knowledge I share or the time I take to help interested neighbours and acquaintances.  And did I mention the shoots I do free of charge, or the legacy project I am working on for a dying friend, or the things we do for less fortunate families?  No, I didn’t mention those either, did I?

So, no, my anonymous commenter,  my arm doesn’t get sore at all.  In fact, I think that you may have encouraged me to share more of my good works and to ask for accolades and praise more often.  After all, I must be driven by ego and the need to be noticed.  Why else would I share such intensely private feelings on this, my personal blog?

My intentions, with this blog, couldn’t possibly by good or altruistic.  Of course not, they must be driven by narcissism and my passive aggressive need to feed my own ego.

Duh…why didn’t I realize that sooner.

Go away, anonymous commenter, and take your useless comments with you.  This is my blog and you are not welcome here.  If you don’t like what I have to say, don’t read.  No one is forcing you, and frankly, I don’t really want to share how I feel with you.  It must be very sad to go through life always subscribing the worst of motives to people.  But don’t tar me with any brush you might hold, I’m not the one making negative comments on people’s blog, and hiding behind the anonymity of my keyboard.

If  you want to stick around, with an open mind, feel free.  But do me a favour, take the time to get to know who I am before commenting.   It’s like your mother said – if you can’t say something nice, shut up.