To my dear children:

I wish I could be one of those people who writes monthly updates to her children:  posts detailing life’s ever-so-rapidly changing nature.  I make lists of things I should do to help remember life as it exists right now – photos I should take, baby books I should update, anecdotes I should record.  But, given that I can barely find time to shower and get dressed each day, you will have to settle for periodic letters.  I’m sure this will be a source of great joy when you’re a teenager – the knowledge that your mom doesn’t have the time to record every detail of your life – but I assure you that once you are married with kids of your own, you too will fight as hard as you possibly can to preserve the moments, to keep them from slipping like sand through the proverbial hourglass.

I want to capture the way my son amazes me.  How he remembers everything and has me searching the internet for new puzzles because, after doing them once, the kid puzzles (even the big 48-piece one we just purchased) no longer pose a challenge and are completed in less time than it takes me to brush my teeth. Or how he uses words he’s heard once with absolute proficiency:  words like properly and absolutely.  Or about how, once he realized requests for Christmas presents could be replaced with requests for the much more immediate birthday presents, the requests have come fast and furious – almost exclusively for toys involving modes of transportation or methods of building.

Miles, you love your sister – just as fiercely as you promised you would while she was still in my belly. You dole out kisses and hugs frequently.  I’ll never forget the time you called her a “little angel” or how you try to console her using the same words I do, in your sweet little three-year-old voice: they’re rewarding moments of the greatest magnitude.  You’re her leader, her protector and her guardian and I couldn’t be more proud.

And I want to remember how much my daughter is growing, each milestone she’s reaching and how time races by even more quickly the second time around.

Ava, you change daily.  Literally.  While I doubt there’s anything about your father’s or my DNA that could produce a laid-back, chilled-out child, if we ever had a shot at one, you’d be it.  When we had your brother, we were ready for sleepless nights.  What we weren’t ready for were sleepless nights AND sleepless days.  With you, we were ready for anything – we’re forever grateful that you over-delivered on our expectations.

You’re a big puker and had horrid infant acne and cradle cap – just like your older brother.  You’re alert and ready to go:  I suspect that you’ll walk early -  again, like your brother.  And I’m thankful for EXIF data because otherwise I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to tell your baby pictures from your brother’s.  But the similarities end there.  You sleep:  most nights for a stretch of 7- 8 hours.  It hasn’t taken long for us to get back into a groove and you’ve fit into our lives with ease.

But the biggest event in your almost-two-months of existence – the one I want to remember forever – are the smiles.  The huge, wide-eyed, mouth open, all-gums smiles – the ones that, even when it’s 4 am and I can barely remember my own name, make me feel like I could lace up my shoes and run a marathon.  Those are the types of moments I wish I could bottle up and save forever.

Last week your father and I celebrated the 10th anniversary of our wedding day: a day spent outdoors, surrounded by friends and family in which we toasted, we laughed, and we danced.  It was perfect celebration.

And in the past 10 years I’ve learned so much.

Marriage is hard – that’s no secret.  But what nobody ever tells you is that it’s not always great.  Those Hollywood moments, filled with starry-eyed gazes and a perfectly scripted soundtrack, get replaced with errand running, bill paying and child-rearing.  To be totally honest, there may be moments when you don’t even like the other person.  But, ultimately, after the chaos subsides, marriage is being able to look at that other person and can say, “My life is better with you in it.”

I read an article recently that compared child-rearing to climbing Everest:  a daunting task that isn’t particularly enjoyable every single moment but that has very intense, incredibly rewarding payoffs.  I think it’s the perfect analogy for marriage as well.  You stick with it because of those summit moments – those glimpses of joy and satisfaction that wash over you in such a surreal way that words will never, ever do them justice.  And, surprisingly enough, they’re never when you expect it.  They’re the Saturday mornings when your father and I are on the couch, in our pajamas, snuggling with you or when we’re at the park on a perfect Sunday afternoon, holding hands while we watch the sun shine on our two perfect kids that we made together:  those make the I’m-ready-to-throw-the-contents-of-your-closet-into-the-street-and-light-them-on-fire moments in marriage worth it.

I hope that one day you can find that: that you can have a day spent with friends and family, laughing and celebrating the fact that you’ve found your life partner.  And that, after that day, you share many, many years with someone who, no matter how hard the struggles, you can know is your biggest advocate and best friend.

I love you both.

xoxo

December 12, 2011, 6:57 am

6 pounds, 12 ounces

19 inches long

There are a million things I want to write but right now I can only think of one:  perfection.

It’s Monday, December 5 – four days away from your due date.  Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.  At some point in my pregnancy I was issued a warning about low fluid and told that it would likely only continue to decrease which would then mean bed rest and, again, likely, an induction.

For the past three weeks, your fluid has been in the 13 range – not only satisfactory but high. Take note world:  nobody tells my daughter what to do.

You’ve been stubborn:  fighting our attempts at determining your gender during early ultrasounds and, later, causing us to worry about what we would do if you arrived early – how we would manage taking care of your brother while still attending to you, how we would manage without having your room ready, how we’d juggle the unknown.  I’m grateful we didn’t have to learn.  Your grandparents arrived yesterday, your room is done, my bag is packed, the car seat is installed, the diapers are all prepped, and your clothes are all sorted.   I can’t believe I’m able to write these words but… we’re ready.

I hope the intensity and dedication that I’ve attributed to you really is part of your personality.  I hope that you’re strong and sweet, gentle and proud, and smart but compassionate.

Naming you has been an adventure and has made me reconsider many names I swore I’d ruled out just because of their popularity.  I’ve learned that being unique isn’t about your name: it’s about you.  Silly conclusion but a distinction it’s taken me 37 years to make. And, while we still haven’t made a decision on your name, we’re closer than I ever thought we’d be.

I’m sure I will learn many, many more lessons as I travel down this path.  Like how it’s possible to love two children as intensely and deeply as I currently love one.  And how sometimes the universe smiles upon us and grants us everything we’ve ever wanted.  I know that’s how I feel right now as I get ready to welcome you into the world.  I’m so excited to meet you.

And, to my son,

I get a little weepy when I think about the past three and a half years.  Possibly because I know the chaos we’ve experienced is about to be multiplied (according to most accounts, exponentially) but mostly because of the amazing times we’ve shared together.  Your father and I have had the chance to devote our full attention to you and, while there have been moments that have made us look at each other as if to say, “Is it too late to give him back to the hospital?” – those moments are nestled between laughs, kisses and, as cliché as it may sound, moments of awe as we wonder how it’s possible to love someone so intensely.

While I make no secret of the fact that you were a miserable little infant, allergic to everything, a continually puking, refluxy, colicky mess, you’ve turned into an amazing little boy.   The word that comes to mind most often is proud: you make your parents so proud.  You’ve developed into an easy-going child who loves to share, remembers everything, never complains, smiles often, and loves life.

I’m grateful that we had Thanksgiving weekend to ourselves – just you, me and your daddy.  We spent the days relaxing and enjoying our time together, watching the Thanksgiving parade, cooking stuffing and cookies and snuggling on the couch while we watched way, way too much TV.  It was the perfect way to enjoy our last holiday as a family of three.

I hope the excitement you have about meeting your sister – the sweet way you point out babies and want to love them – continues after she arrives.  I hope that you always share a special bond – that you lead by example and love generously.  I hope that you’re the closest, most supportive, most loving kind of friends and siblings.

Most of all, I hope you know that through all of this, you’ll always be my little man, my firstborn, the one who taught me so many lessons.

I love you both.  More than is ever possible to put into words.  You make my life complete.

Love, Mama

Part of the definition of friendship is giving – giving of love, of time, of support. And sometimes it’s giving other things – like hand-me-down clothes or baby gear. And sometimes you want to return the favor but your friends insist – no, demand – that you don’t.

My friend Windy is one of those friends. But last weekend – between our boys pulling every toy out of the playroom, running screaming through the house and racing cars down the slide in the backyard – I figured out a way to pay her back and snapped a few photos of her son, Jack.

Yes, I’m supposed to be on sabbatical. Yes, I’m supposed to be resting. Yes, I’m hugely pregnant. And, yes, it was incredibly awesome to forget about all of that and memorialize a few moments in the life of a dear friend’s son.

Payback feels good.

On September 2, 2011, my in-laws celebrated 50 years of marriage and my closest friends celebrated their 5th wedding anniversary. I celebrated by photographing an amazing couple and the start of their life together.

It was apropos: to celebrate a day that has such personal significance by photographing a couple who has a special bond and whose wedding was a true celebration of everything a wedding should be.

I could list a hundred reasons why it was one of the most special events I’ve ever witnessed: the point in the ceremony when Patroski stopped, stepped over and hugged a teary-eyed Kerryn, the toasts filled with everything the couple embodies:  humor, joy and love, or the way the focus wasn’t on the cake, the decorations or the other insignificant details that are forgotten shortly after the day passes but, instead, on Kerryn and Patroski, their journey to this point and the celebration of the start of their life together.

It was a perfect day, a perfect wedding and a perfect way to celebrate.

(A huge thanks to my second shooter and assistant, Dave Martinez without whom I couldn’t do this ordinarily but especially at 6 months pregnant – you rock, my friend.)

When I think about the wedding industry, the word glut comes to mind.  Wedding magazines tout overdone weddings as their way of stressing that each and every aspect must be just right.  Shoes, party favors, photo booths, entertainment, snacks… The list of ways in which brides and grooms must impress guests and ensure their spot as the best wedding is exhausting.

Kerry and Patroski’s wedding celebration was the exact opposite of that.  And, it wasn’t just right:  it was perfect.

On Thursday night, a small group of family and close friends gathered at Local Three to share in a special rehearsal dinner.  In between the wines – which were hand-picked by Kerryn and Patroski – and the course after course of delicious food, guests were treated to movie clips from the Kerryn and Patroski’s favorite movies, stories about friends and family, and many, many thanks for the roles that everyone in the room has played in their lives.

It was a group of people who all love each other dearly: who love each other’s company, love spending time together, love celebrating each other.

Course after course. Wine after wine. Movie clip after movie clip.  Stories were told and laughter and tears flowed in equal measure. It was a true celebration of a beautiful couple.

My answer: I’m taking a break – stepping away & prioritizing. Making sure my vision matches what I need & who I am.

As I write this, I’m midway through editing my last wedding.

Perhaps the last wedding of the year.  Or, perhaps, my last wedding ever.

When I booked a wedding over Labor Day weekend, I decided it would be my last shoot for a while.  I knew I’d be reaching that stage in pregnancy where I’d be big, less mobile and tired and that life with a newborn on top of a job, and a traveling husband, and a preschooler… well, I’d need a bit of time to adjust.  Plus, if I’m being totally honest, I wanted a break.

Last month, somewhere between my last session and my last wedding of the year, I turned 37 and spent the day in a bit of a funk.

I’m over scheduled. I’m trying too hard to push myself in directions in which I’m not so sure I want to go.  So, on the first day of what a friend dubs my “Personal New Year”, I made a list of what I want out of the next week, next month and next year and thought hard about what I wanted.  I’m talking really, really hard.

I’ve spent what feels like a lifetime making lists of things I want to do in my life, boxes I want to check, without asking myself how badly I want them. And, I’m finally in a place in my life where I need to make some choices about those boxes – if I keep trying to check boxes, it’s going to be at the expense of other areas of my life – other, previously-checked boxes. So, as I made my new list, I knew that each thing on that list had to be so important that I’d be willing to sacrifice something else.

A resounding component of each item on my new list was to spend more time with family, stop trying to hard, stop trying to prove I can do it all.

Honestly, photography wasn’t anywhere on the list.

When faced with the question of whether I’d like to push my photography career further at the expense of time with family, time relaxing on Saturday with a glass of wine – after having worked a 60 hour week at my legal job, or to spend my weeknights – the only time I get to see my husband – in front of the computer editing, the answer was easy: no. It wasn’t even a hard call.

I’m tired of not having the time to carry out the great ideas I have for my business.  I’m tired from the constant pressure from not doing enough:  enough shooting, enough business development, enough marketing. I’m tired of beating myself up for not wanting to all of my weekends shooting.  I’m tired of spending all day in front of the computer reading contracts and all night in front of the computer editing.  And, really, I’m just plain tired.

It’s scary admitting that I need a break - as though it will close some door that I can never reopen.  But it’s also freeing.  I love photography – it’s a love I’ve had for as long as I can remember.  But that love has been a bit tarnished from the crap this industry puts out there – the facade of perpetual happiness and the belief that all photographers love their jobs all the time.  This business is tough – chew you up and spit you out tough.  It’s physically grueling and emotionally taxing.  Made even tougher by a saturated market and a crappy economy, and sometimes?  That makes some of us want to take a little break.

I look forward to completing the last wedding I shot – a celebration of everything a wedding should be and the perfect high on which to bow out of the industry for a bit.

I write this for a host of reasons: to let people know it’s acceptable to need a break, to do my part to stop the incessant rainbows and unicorns talk that surrounds the photography industry and, most of all, to keep myself honest – to ensure that I give myself the break I need. 

I still love capturing life with a camera and I still love to write so I think it’s fair to say that I’ll still blather here, oftentimes with photos.  And, I suspect that when I come back to my business – if I come back – I’ll have a pretty darn clear vision of what I want and, more importantly, what I need.

Until then…

While most of us were settling into 2011 and making plans for what we would accomplish in the new year, all of the fun times we’d have with our families, all of the activities ahead of us, Heather and Alan were saying goodbye.

For the past 8 months Alan has been stationed overseas – away from his family:  his wife and his 11-month-old baby.   Imagine not being able to kiss your child for 8 months or not having seen your family’s faces since April - and then only via Skype over a spotty internet connection.

I had the pleasure of documenting Alan’s homecoming.  It was an emotional day:  a reunion with his wife at the airport followed by some time at home with an adorable, blue-eyed 11-month bundle of sweetness.

It was a  day that made being a photographer, being able to document and give back so incredibly worth it.  I know it’s a small token – a few hours, a set of images – but I’m glad I was able to do something, no matter how small, to help show my gratitude.

Welcome back Alan.  Thank you to you and your family for your sacrifice.

Sometimes we’d go on trips.  In the early days we’d travel from South Florida to Maine – from almost as far south to as far north as one can go on the East Coast – the whole time in a white, pop-top Volkswagen.  We’d drive for most of the day, stop for lunch at a rest-stop, drive a bit more and, around 3 in the afternoon, pull into a campground – but only after we were sure it met our two requirements:  a pool and a video arcade.

My parents would sip a cocktail by the pool while my brother and I swam until our fingers looked like raisins.  Once we had our fill of the pool, with eyes red and blurry from the chlorine, we’d head back to the camper, collect our belongings and head to the showers – I can still remember the type of soap we’d carry in our caddies and the sound of our flip-flops against the gravel campground roads.  The evening was always topped off with a trip to the video arcade and, if we were really lucky, some ice cream from the campground general store.  Then, when ready to settle in for the night, my brother and I would climb up into the pop-top and fall asleep to the sound of crickets and cicadas.

Maine was equally enlightening:  spending time with family, going lobstering, and eating lobster we’d caught that day with my mother’s Italian family seated around the table:  everyone loud, laughing and gesturing in the way that only Italians can.  And Arcadia National Park… I don’t know if, to this day, I’ve ever seen anything quite so pristine and beautiful.  Those trips hold some of my fondest childhood memories.

In later years the white Volkswagen was replaced with an old Winnebago and trips to Maine replaced with trips to miscellaneous Florida amusement parks, fishing at Chokoloskee Island or college visits but it still felt the same.  As silly as it may sound, it felt exactly how summer should feel.

As I walked the dog the other night, I saw our neighbors’ kids out playing basketball – more than likely allowed to play outside a bit longer, to enjoy the school-free days a bit more, since it was summer.

My husband and I work now.  If we’re lucky, we can take a week off but, most often, vacations mean a long weekend, a trip to Florida to spend holidays with family, or tagging along if my husband’s band has a few days in one city.

Summer feels just like the rest of the year – plus about 30 degrees.  We go to bed at the same time, my son goes to school (same place, same days, same time) and the term “summer vacation” has been eradicated from my vocabulary all together.

I worry that my son won’t have the same experiences I did;  that he will grow up without that sense of you-can-stay-up-a-little-later-because-there’s-no-school-tomorrow excitement. Or that his summers will be filled with daycare and summer school instead of long carefree days at home.

Perhaps it’s just nostalgia but I hope that one day I can give my children a good summer vacation.  That we can have the time to unwind, to enjoy the places we visit – hell, that we can even have the time and money to consider vacation.

After all, I want a summer vacation too.

(Photos of my brother and me from my summer vacations as a child)

A little over a year ago, I was in a bad place.

Funny, because I should have been on top of the world.  I’d just left my legal job and was working at an absolutely amazing studio for a man who I consider one of (if not the) best photographers, teachers and mentors in the industry.  But, I was floundering.

I wasn’t shooting much and when I was shooting, I wasn’t giving it much thought;  I shot whatever came my way, trying to supplement our income, running myself into the ground physically and emotionally trying to make things work. I shot what I knew, what was comfortable, what was easy but not what I enjoyed, what challenged me or what would push me further.

By the time July came along, the workshop I’d signed up for almost a year ago didn’t sound so exciting.  I considered not going.  I felt insecure about my ability, my place in the group.  And, I wondered if it would be worth three days away from my family.

But I went.  And it turned out to be one of the best photographic experiences of my life.

For three days I shot: without worries about income, without worries about whether I was building my business appropriately, without a child tugging at my leg, without feeling guilty for neglecting some other area of my life.  At night, after a full day of shooting when I ordinarily would have wanted to crawl up in bed and go to sleep, I was energized sat as I listened to two great mentors reiterate things I knew but had forgotten or neglected over the past few years.  As they critiqued everyone’s work from the day, we were all challenged to do better, work harder, make better images.  For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt like a photographer again.  And, for the first time ever, I knew who I wanted to be as a photographer.

I  took a photo of my feet on one of the last days in Cape Cod.  Silly, I know but I wanted to always remember where I was standing and how I felt when I knew what I wanted to do.  I vowed at that moment to make a difference and to pursue my dream – a dream that finally had shape and vision.

The past year hasn’t really been the testament to my pursuit of that dream and the change I swore I’d make happen?  Well, it happened – just not how I’d originally anticipated.

But I haven’t given up on that dream.   Last year I made the decision to change the way I shoot and I lived up to that.  I’ve said no to jobs that I didn’t think would further my goals as a photographer and I’ve remained true to how I shoot.  I have a long way to go to get to where I want to be as a photographer and as a business but I’m patient and know that I can and will get there one day when the time is right.

Last week as I read through the posts from this year’s Roots Workshop, I felt a rush of emotion again:  thanks for the experience, gratitude for being able to recognize my value as a photographer.  I wish all photographers could have the same type of defining experience.

(Photos from my time at Roots Workshop and my assignment at the Cape Cod Central Railroad: such an amazing group of people, an incredibly fun time and an experience I will never, ever forget.)