my heart breaks

An important person in our lives, especially in the life of my daughter, lost her son in a car accident Friday night. Her only child. Her pride and joy. My heart breaks for her. He was young and in college. He was transitioning in to the man he was meant to be, but now will never be.

I held my kids a little tighter last night after I found out the news. I held them longer too. My son saw the tears and sadness in my eyes and I saw how he was perplexed by it. But he took it as a cue to hug and kiss me, and hold ME a little tighter. And I thought about how this mom, in her anguish, is probably re-living similar moments she once had with her son.

My heart is so heavy...

I don't ever want to forget...

Ethan's Easter egg hunt at preschool, especially the way his ears flew back when he took off running for the eggs!


Our first Easter egg hunt at home, how we had new-grown grass, and how the sun shone bright for us that day.


How I actually got smiles from all the kids right off the bat, and how it doesn't bother me that our yard didn't look perfect this year because it will be exciting to watch it evolve over the years to come.


How Daniel earned the "father of the year" award that day. And "uncle of the year" is fitting too.



The kids' Easter baskets and how they were book heavy and not candy heavy.


How we enjoyed church that morning and the beautiful cross display.


How it rained Easter Sunday, for the first time I can remember.


And how the rain didn't keep us from going to a picnic with good friends and playing in the rain.


I don't ever want to forget my family at this moment and the joy we have in being with each other.

my little boy at 4.5 years

... is growing up. Plain and simple. And as fast as that.



Can't slow it down. Can't keep it from happening. But I can make the effort to freeze what I am seeing. Every once in a while, though not often enough.

All that sweet little boy goodness. That is my son.

it's nice to have a family

I was out last night on an errand to the grocery store and when I came home I found two things ~

1. My daughter was practically sitting in the dark doing her homework (and had no idea why I found this to be a problem).

2. This super sweet and thoughtful sentiment written on our chalkboard. At the time it didn't have any other decorations around it, only the words in a box and I was quite moved by this. She came up with it on her own, out of the blue... And I think that is pretty special.

being the historian

Scrapbooking.

Some people actually do this. And love it. And find extreme value in it. And somehow make time for it.

Lots of people don't. Scrapbook, I mean.
Because they don't have time for it.
They don't feel creative enough.
They feel overwhelmed with the idea and so they just don't.
Some people even cringe at the word because they think the people who do so are kind of freaky or cultish (at least my former boss thought this).

And both are okay, whether you do or not. Its for some, but not for all. I get this.

I have almost given up on it several times in the last so many years. But its my mind that wants to give up. Not my heart. My heart keeps pulling me back because I do find extreme value in it. It's just a matter of finding a way.

I started scrapbooking at a very early age. Grade school. Not of personal family photos or anything like that. I cut pictures out of magazines and such of famous people - favorite models, actors, cute "Outsiders", and so on. Scott Baio and Brooke Shields stand out in my mind at this moment... I even clipped out photos of cute animals, random attractive people, and images that I thought were beautiful for whatever hallmark type of reasons. I had at least two full binders of this type of scrapbooking and if I wanted to, I could still find stashes of clippings out in my garage. I eventually ended this type of "scrapbooking", but I was still clipping long after. I keep a lot of this because I can't separate myself from the images quite yet. Yes, I've purged some of it, a little bit each time I come across it. But the last time I found this stash I found that the images (whatever they were of) really resonated with me and who I was at that time in my young life - The boys I thought were cute, the women I deemed as attractive, the images I found beautiful.

Oh man, was that last paragraph an unexpected tangent, but the short of it is, I found beauty in very simple things. And I still do. I think this is a gift. I think this is what drives me to photograph and capture the details of my life and the lives of my family.

Back to scrapbooking. A means of documenting one's life... That's what it is to me. It's not just about the pretty paper, the embellishments and the latest trends in paper-crafting.

Documenting. Capturing. Sharing those moments that were thankfully frozen in time by photos. But with words too. If there is one thing that I have come to realize in the last five or so years (and keep in mind that Emma is seven years old) is that photos are not enough. They don't tell the whole story. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Yes. And no. It happens, when you get that one perfect shot that totally sums up whatever... But I have too many photos of my childhood or from my parent's lives where there are no words to refer to and I am saddened by that. I would love to know the stories or even just a little tid-bit about how someone felt about that moment.

Let's just take Emma. I took tons of photos through her babyhood and since. TONS. In fact, when she would hit a milestone, I was much more likely to make sure I snapped photos in the moment, but I hardly wrote them down or expressed how I felt at that time. Photos can't capture everything. They don't tell me what that first word was or how she pronounced it. Or how I felt when she said it. And I'll be honest, I'm not even sure if I wrote down what the first word was. I will hope I did write it down somewhere because I'm drawing a blank. I have been terrible about writing things down. For both my children. I am very upset by this. I thought the photos were enough. But they weren't. They aren't.

Scrapbooking is about documenting through photos and words. It's about sharing the stories of our lives. it's about sharing how things made us feel. And what we want our kids to know. About themselves. And about us.

I feel I have failed my children in my lack of documentation. I take a ton of photos and for the most part, the photos (and their stories) sit on a computer. Or on a DVD.

So what am I doing about this?

Well, this post, as much as it feels like this weird, disconnected, tangent-like rambling, is actually a start. I have so much story to tell. So much love to document. And SO MANY great photos to visually support my words... I need to get on it! I need to find a way. I need to let go of whatever this is that holds me back from sharing. Here on the blog included.

Scrapbooking.

Yeah, I don't have much time for it.

The thing is, I don't have much time to waste either. Not when it comes to documenting our lives.

Its my lot in life, this need to appoint myself as the historian in the family. I was given the gift of freezing moments with my camera. And I was given the gift of seeing the simple beauty in things around me. And in moments. Some even say that I have a gift with words - I am very uncomfortable with accepting that compliment because writing can be a huge struggle for me. And for the most part, a very uncomfortable process. But I commit to trying to find comfort and strength in my voice and thoughts. I commit to letting go and not being afraid to share. Even if its only a little at a time.

I have to find a way. For my children.

Without further delay.