She won't answer you; she's a bobcat

Oh, little neglected blog. Will I ever make you a priority again?

Here's hoping.

I have the best of intentions. What I lack lately is time.

Every day when the Husband calls at about four -- smack dab in the middle of the witching hour, mind you -- he asks what I did that day. And every day, for the past three weeks, I have boringly said, "Work."

Oh lazy days of novels, workouts, lunches, and movies, where have you gone?

Work is a good thing. Being so busy your head spins is a blessing when you're a self-employed photographer. This week alone, I've got five sessions. FIVE! Can you believe it? I'm literally booked solid until the end of October. It's insane.

But mama's got a new set of lights to pay for not feel guilty about, so the work is coming in handy.

And in lieu of anything remotely interesting, funny, or entertaining out of my psyche, I give you the genius that is Christopher Walken and SNL.



You're welcome.

My face, the math lesson

Today at church, I noticed Hannah staring at me out of the corner of my eye. At first I ignored it, as she is sometimes fond of counting my freckles.

Which, by the way, is great practice for her to learn counting into the hundreds of thousands. The freckles and I are just doing our part to help with the math skills, you know. We're generous that way.

When she eyeballed me longer than normal, I turned to her and asked her what she was staring at. She crinkled up her little nose and said, "Mama, you have these weird bumps all over your face."

I immediately reached up and began to brush at my cheeks, trying to wipe the offending bumps away. Thinking it was merely makeup gone awry, I asked her if that better.

She stared for a minute more, then said, "Oh, nevermind. It's just your wrinkles."

Great.

At least maybe counting the freckle to wrinkle ratio will help with her fraction skills.

I'll never say no to you, whatever you say or do...

Internets, I married a good man.

A man who doesn't hesitate to say yes. A man who supports me in whatever I do. A man who selflessly gives time and time again.

And recently, when I mentioned my desire to [someday] get this, he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and told me I should get it.

I don't have to be told twice.

And now, as a result, my basement currently looks like this:

Not everyone is as excited as me. Clearly.

And some of us are a little TOO excited for my taste:

While others of us will use any excuse to throw their brother into a wickedly awesome headlock:

Though ultimately, with promises of chocolate chip cookies, I eventually get something closer to what I'm looking for:

And even though I have some idea no clue what I am doing, I think it's going to be a whole lot of fun figuring it out.

P.S. Anyone know the name of the movie that the title comes from? Hint: It's a musical. And a good one at that.

A letter to my son

Dear Chase,

Please consider yourself very fortunate that you inherited genetics which would assemble in such a way as to provide you with a ridiculously cute face.

Were it not for that, my darling son, I do believe at this very minute you might not be alive.

You see, Chase, your Mama saved all her bad TV watching until such time as you were back in school. Not wanting to take away precious time spent with you this summer, Mama selflessly gave up her Bravo Housewives, her TLC Sister Wives, and her I'm-Really-Too-Crazy-To-Be-Believed-Jeff Lewis.

And this week, after you went back to school, Mama sat down to edit pictures with her beloved trash TV in the background. What Mama discovered was, tragically, that the DVR was full.

And not full of the trashy TV Mama likes, either.

IT WAS CHOCK-FULL OF THE SHARK WEEK.

Rest assured that the scream heard 'round the world at approximately ten thirty a.m. last Wednesday was me. And while I am proud as punch of your quest for knowledge, I must question the need for all 900 hours of shark-related television programming. Surely four or five hours would have sufficed?

Know this, sweet boy, should you ever entertain the idea of deleting ANY of Mama's shows from the DVR again, you will most certainly not make it to your next birthday.

And since I know how fond you are of birthdays in general, I suggest not touching the Mama's DVR.

All my love,

Mama

P.S. Please also remember to wear the deodorant. I hear sharks are attracted to B.O.

Mama's melancholy smile

The morning started smooth and easy, a familiarity to the long-forgotten routine of showers, lunches, and backpacks. It was maybe an exceptional morning in that they were served a hot breakfast, instead of fending for themselves with the cold cereal and the eggo waffles.

They seemed so comfortable with what lay ahead. No nervous chatter. No endless questions. Their serene state and happy attitudes filled the air like a thick, warm blanket.

Yes, they both answered for the fourth time, they had everything.



The oldest boy politely inquired about exactly where the first-day photos would be taken. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed and slightly worried that he'd hurt his mama's feelings. Knowing the bus stop has been off limits for several years now, she reassured him that all the photos would be taken from afar.

The boys laughed at each other, and hugged their mama tight. Glancing nervously around to be sure there were no witnesses, they posed for the obligatory photos outside.

They turned without another thought and walked to the bus stop, chatting together.

Their mama's heart broke just a little bit.

One boy forgot his schedule and came tearing home to get it with a sheepish grin on his face. His mama laughed and told him to hurry, shaking her head in just that way mamas do when they know they were right.

And then, the big, yellow bus came and took them away. As it seems to do with increasing frequency every year.

The little girl was surprisingly easy to rouse from her sleep. In spite of her pleas to be home schooled forever, she was ushered downstairs and fed a hot breakfast of her own. She moaned and complained, worrying needlessly about lunch table assignments. She debated out loud about various hair styles for the day. She happily slipped into her new clothes.

She sat on the driveway waiting for the bus, not afraid to take the pictures with her mama. She posed in several spots and offered suggestions for the best angles. Her mama smiled, hugged her, and laughed at the little girl who seems to know it all.

They talked for a few minutes, and then in the distance, a familiar rumbling was heard. The squeaky brakes left no doubt that her turn was soon upon them.

She hugged her mama one last time, put on her very best smile, and climbed aboard.

With summer freckles on their noses, excitement in their toes, and melancholy in their mama's heart, they begin another year.

Back from the dead, baby

Oh, the fun we have been having around here.

And out west, as evidenced by one of the mere handful of photos I took on our two-week vacation to the Beehive State. It's shameful, I know. But sometimes you just gotta take a break from documenting life to live it. We did a bike tour in Moab. It was hands-down, one of the funnest things we've ever done. (Unless your name is Hannah. Then it's one of the worst. Girlfriend was terrified and exhausted the entire time.)

All in all, this has been a surprisingly fantastic summer. Giving myself permission to unplug was one of the best things I could have done for myself. My focus every day was on the three little people that walk around here calling me Mama. There were late night movies in my big bed. Hours logged at the pool with friends. Chocolate chip cookie dough. Lazy mornings. Ice-cold popsicles. Visits from favorite cousins. Photo shoots. It's been glorious.

But it's time to reconnect and start blogging again. I've really missed it.

Also? School starts in three days. And I am in serious mourning.

But exciting things are happening around here that I can't wait to show you.

Give me a day or two, will you?

I'm coming back, baby.