The first day we went out, the sun was fading fast and they weren’t exactly feeling cooperative.  So I decided we’d try it again.

It wasn’t looking good for this day either.

Then they warmed up a little–but for that dastardly hat!

Of course by then they had behaved for more than two consecutive minutes…

Finally!  Everyone looking at me.  No one scowling.  No tongues hanging out of mouths…

But does it show them as they are at this moment in their lives?  That’s always my conundrum.  These are boys.  Only one of them is remotely concerned about his odor or clothes.  They are funny and goofy and regularly dirty.  The photographer in me wants to wow you with some gorgeous photo of spit-shined boys dressed in Ralph Lauren resisting sugar plums placed on the table next to them with Martha Stewart styling.  But those aren’t my boys–and thank g*d!

What I love about capturing people through my lens is showing them as they are–how beautiful I see them as themselves.  So it will be the last photo above or the final one from the last session (honestly I’m leaning toward that one).

When you are trying to decide what photo to use for you holiday card this year, I urge you to select the one that shows the world who you are right now.  What is going on with your family today.  Those shots are the most sincere and most immune from mocking.  Cause really?  I don’t believe you and your entire family kept those matching white shirts clean for one minute after that session at Pennys was over.

I have to make a decision today because I need to give Tiny Prints a fighting chance to get me my cards before Christmas (actually I just noticed that I can get 20% off any order over $49 and only $5 shipping and get my cards by 12/16 if I order by tonight–what are they?  Miracle workers?)   I think I’m going with these:

Which one do you like the best?  Let me know in the comments.

*I attended a great party hosted by Tiny Prints a few weeks back and I got to have a new head shot taken, see some of my favorite DC Moms and see the new holiday options from Tiny Prints.  They offered me 50 free prints if I wrote a post.  But here’s the thing…I ordered from Tiny Prints last year and my cards got such rave reviews so there wasn’t really any decision about where I was ordering from this year.

The first time I saw the Elf on the Shelf I was intrigued.  He looks so much like an elf my grandmother had in her house every year, so his face brought be back immediately to the magic of Christmas as a kid.

But I hesitated adding the tradition to our house.  Maybe the price point of the “package” made me hesitate–not sure.

Flash forward a few years to last week when I realized that after 14 straight years of having a “believer” in my house I have only a few years left before we stop leaving cookies out for Santa.  Tears immediately sprung to my eyes.  I began to re-think the Elf.  Would it be too late to introduce the tradition?  Would they buy it?

The answer is a resounding YES!

Remember these are all boys here.  Cheers went up when the Elf was pulled out of the bag.  The book was read twice the moment it was opened.  He was immediately named Canoodle (you have to name him to give him his magic).  They* hear him doing things–trying to kick out of the package the first day, notice small changes–when he turns in his position.  THEY HAVE NOT TOUCHED HIM ONCE.  And the best part?  I hear my youngest talking to him (I have to get this on video).

The first morning he was found in a tree.

This morning he was getting in a little reading.

There’s a bit of stressed involved in figuring out what to do with him each night, but having the boys bound out of bed wondering aloud where Canoodle will be this morning??

*Should anyone reading this know my teenager, I’m am sure he would want me to clarify that he is not taking part in this Elf thing.  As his mom, I want to clarify that he is so amazing about keeping the secret.

They don’t like to cooperate–they are three boys.  The wearing of hats was an enticement.  The teenager was annoyed.

They wanted to pretend they were the Beatles.

They dress themselves.

We may have to try this again tomorrow–preferably when I have wardrobe veto power.

“J, c’mere!  Look at this,” says my 7 year old as he walks out of the bathroom with his pants around his ankles and used toilet paper in his hand.

“My poop is green!”

Makes a mother proud.

Something about driving for an hour and a half sitting through two baseball games and driving another hour and a half back makes us all a little tired.

I walked into the gym for the pep rally and found a spot on the bleachers at the bottom left corner.  There are a lot of kids in here–and I don’t know one of them.  Oh wait, there’s Lisa.  Our neighbor introduced her to me over the summer.  She babysits for them and they thought it would be nice for me to know at least one person at school.  Nice of her to wave.  How obvious is it that I’m sitting here by myself listening to conversations all around me?

I’ve spent all day listening.  Homeroom was interesting.  Everyone bounding into the classroom excited to see who would be there, to catch up over summer.  It didn’t take long to figure out who the popular kids in the room were.  If the squeals and hugs hadn’t given it away, the gawking and fawning were impossible to miss.  And there was plenty of time piece it all together.  Time truly slows down when you’re the 14 year old new kid sitting in the middle of a room of your peers.  Is the teacher ever going to show up?  Will I finally get a chance to use my voice to at least say “here.”

But that was hours ago.  Since then I’ve wandered through halls trying to find classrooms on this sprawl of a campus.  My friends from home won’t ever believe that the hallways are outside.  Guess we don’t have to worry about the snow here.  I suffered through lunch trying not to seem so obviously alone.  There is no way I can come back and do this all again tomorrow.  Two thousand kids laughing and joking and rushing around, and I’m being carried by the current like a salmon that’s given up.

…to be continued

Why is a blank page so intimidating?  Whether it’s here or at work, the blank screen sends my heart racing.  Sometimes I will write words–words of no significant meaning on the page just to fill it up a bit and take the pressure off.  An outline, notes, old documents to use as a starting point, anything will do.

With photography, I begin a shoot with test shots.  I aim at the ground, adjust my white balance, focus on a few inanimate objects to check my exposure and focus.

It takes a while for me to begin to see.  Whether it’s to find the words to shape what I want to communicate or to find the light to create the image I want to capture, I have to mess up things a little bit before I get started.  In complete opposition to my approach to housekeeping, I find it easier to organize and clean up my thoughts/ideas once I shake them all up and splash them around a bit.  Actually, upon writing that that’s how I clean too.  I have to get things all out in my vision so I can organize them and find their homes.

Assuming not everyone approaches their creative process this way, but it works for me.  As I’m sloshing around poking at things from different directions, all of the sudden I find what I was looking for.

I wish I had come up with the name Amy Farrah Fowler.  I like to say it.  I like to hear Jim Parsons say it.

Amy Farrah Fowler

Amy Farrah Fowler

Amy Farrah Fowler

Is 41 too late to change your name?  It wouldn’t be my first time.  I’m on my second first name, my third last name and what seems to be only my first middle name unless you count the fact that I use my second maiden name as a middle name as well as my given one.  Though since my second maiden name is a second then it really can’t count as a second middle name because it was a last name before it became a middle name and well I’m just not sure what to call that name now.  Let’s call it my first third name.  I’m sure it would prefer to be a first.

What the hell am I talking about?

I was adopted.  What I found out in my 20′s is that I had been given a different first name at birth.  So while I always thought Amie was my first first name, it’s really my second.  As for Adams–married name.  Hurst was my maiden when I got married, but Hurst wasn’t my first last name.  I had another before that but had it changed legally in 7th grade.  Yeah, yeah mom wanted us all to share a last name and seeing how she got remarried and my dad was getting ready to make scarce (not that he gave me a head’s up or anything) and well if you knew my first last name, you would have changed it too.

Got it?

So while I probably can’t go by Amy Farrah Fowler maybe Elizabeth is the name I should latch onto.  It’s the only one that is still my original–and maybe that’s why I kept it when I got married.  I’m like a royal princess or something with four names, though if you ask the federal government I really only have two and one stinking single letter in the middle, but that’s a whole different story.

PS-If you don’t know who Amy Farrah Fowler is…I just feel bad for you.

BEWARE:  Blogger navel-gazing ahead!

Okay, so I’m here putting words on (virtual) paper, writing novels in my head and staring at photos for inspiration.

Lately I’ve been living in my head.  I’ve missed exits–to my own home!  Reliving things so you can exorcise them is a little tough on the gas tank sometimes.

I forgot about writing and how it makes the trip to work so much faster.  Have I lost the sense of humor I gained when I knew that no matter what embarrassing situation I got myself into it would make good fodder for a post in the end?

I miss blogging, but it’s changed so much since the early days.  The BlogHerWriters conference inspired me again to think in words.  There I found people who loved them with me–and there was no expo floor!  I don’t resent the relationships developed with brands the opportunities gained–I’ve benefited too.  What I began to miss were the relationships and the conversations that I felt were given up in lieu of traffic.  But maybe that’s just sour grapes.  Who knows.  Now the words?  Let’s see if there are any more here.

Back in high school, I rebelled.  I didn’t swoon over popular boys found on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine.

I refused.  I saved my sighs for the boys I could see every day walking the halls.

But I loved music.  Challenge me on any 80′s tune and you will lose.  Lose I say!  I am the queen of 80′s music.  So do you have any idea how much fun I’m going to have tonight??  I’m going to see Duran Duran!

When I found I was going I thought first of my friend Andrea.  Poor Andrea was one of those girls who argued with others over which of the band members she was going to marry–lengthy conversations at the lunch table ensued. Why do I refer to Andrea with sympathy?  I wasn’t part of the conversation, and that pissed me off.  So one day I raged at Andrea.

“You’re never going to meet Duran Duran!  You will never marry any of them!  So SHUT UP!”

I still feel guilty about that today.

So tonight I will take my friend Deb to the concert with me, and you know why?  Because she told me she had a poster of Roger Taylor in her room throughout high school and she kissed him good night every single night of high school.  I can’t take Andrea because she doesn’t live close by, but Deb will enjoy the concert as much as Andrea would.

Tonight I will sing every word (okay to all the songs from the 80′s) and I will dance and I will scream and I will sigh over the boys I should have given my attention to in high school.   They would have gotten me in a lot less trouble.