Last month hundreds of these women (I don’t mean to be sexist, but I can’t actually think of any men in my network) took part in an annual ritual of thanksgiving. We counted our blessings in images every day for thirty days. We went about our days considering what we had to be thankful for (and photographing some of them). And while I’d like to tell you that I spend my entire life like this, it wouldn’t be true. But for one month all the nit-picky crap was overshadowed by the small blessings of every day. And of those, there are many.

At the onset, I thought of it as a useful exercise in creative photography. Before long, though, my thinking had begun to change. New habits perhaps? A movement toward a glass-half-full mentality? I’m hoping.

Insert reality check: the things which annoy me daily did not go away. Scrubbing toilets did not become a joy and long dark cold afternoons did not suddenly become light and warm. But truth be told, things I may have previously ignored became drops filling my glass beyond that halfway line. So today, though I might not write about it, or even photograph it, I will walk through my day looking for the things I’m grateful for.

And I’ll start here. With you, my friends.

i’ve got cookies in the oven—it’s a sunday thing. my family, set in their ways as they are, is suspicious of any recipe that takes them away from our standard chocolate chip—time honored and committed to memory. and yet, i can’t help but venture out in search of something greater. today’s experiment comes to us from the most lovely of blogs. do visit molly and come back and thank me.

as i write, there is a small child skipping around the sofa clad only in superhero underpants and a backpack. he is in the midst of a running dialog with himself and, although i can’t hear every word, i’m confident it includes the fighting of evil forces in the universe. where does the fascination with superheros come from, i wonder. i’m told that ‘boys will be boys’ but just between you and me, i’m not buying that—i believe that parenting can prevail (somewhat) over such stereotypes. having said that, however, i let my boys play with dolls and yet they often choose weapons. can you explain this?

as i look up now i think it’s only right to tell you that he has changed into a batman costume with a surgical mask covering his mouth and now is armed with a helicopter.

i danced with my father last night.

there is no feeling in friendship quite like the feeling of being known. and no matter how insightful or magnetic a connection, nothing can take the place of longevity.

i’ve been busy of late with projects that all came to a head at the same time. the involvement has been a pleasure but i’m somewhat overburdened and believe i need a stern lesson in saying ‘no’.

tomorrow we embark on a journey. an annual pilgrimage of sorts. bathing suits and sweatshirts and jeans packed tightly into the car which heads to a ferry. a week of sandy toes and salty air. a week of navigating the politics of a nine year age difference and two children. it’s no different, really, from what we do every day. but on vacation things are heightened. the joy and relaxation right along side with the bickering of boys. i read this and frankly, don’t have much to add right now.

I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. I love days when we get to wake up and let our moods dictate our activities. To me, the two scariest words in the English language are ‘office job’. Now, don’t misunderstand here, I’m a creature of habit to be sure. If there isn’t a cup of coffee within the first five minutes of my morning, my entire day will be off. And I believe wholeheartedly in the value of certain routines for my kids (stories before bed are crucial for example)—but I’ll be the first to tell you that there’s no rhyme or reason to which ones give me comfort and which ones make me shiver with anxiety.

As much as I love the summer routine of having no routine at all—with each passing day in August, as the sun sets a few moments earlier, there is an anxious undercurrent of knowledge that it’s going to end. That soon, all the going-with-the-flow and doing-what-we-feel is going to give way to alarm clocks and set schedules. Certainly it all has it’s virtues: new beginnings and fresh starts among them. In our religion it’s the season for repenting to those you’ve sinned against and (my interpretation) contemplating your goals for improvement in the current year. All worthy.

This particular autumn brings change for my family. A new school for Jake. A solo trip across the country for Niall and I. More designated working hours for me. Growth and forward movement.

And so I take my anxiety and swallow hard. Step forward into the next season and set that alarm clock.

Any parent knows that the word vacation is a misnomer. There’s no vacation from early rising toddlers or moody adolescent ‘tweens. I don’t know about your kids but mine need to be fed (at least) three times a day and even with the overwhelming success of my first vegetable garden—someone still needs to go grocery shopping (apparently cherry tomatoes and cucumbers aren’t enough to live on).  Laundry doesn’t clean itself just because it’s vacation and toilet training tushies need wiping even in paradise. (Too much information?) It doesn’t matter where we are, someone needs to intervene when my children are bickering, and traveling or not, if someone is sick, I’m the designated nurse.

This isn’t a list of complaints, and I’m sure none of it is news to you. (It is, however, the reason that I’m in favor of leaving the kids with the in-laws or, in our crazy flavor of blended family madness, my ex-husband, and escaping real life for a weekend every now and again. But I digress.)

So we go on vacation and we don’t exactly take a break, but—and here’s the thing—we do it all in a different place.

In the past I’ve made no secret here that our lives are full of compromise. We don’t live in our perfect house or work at our dream jobs and times are tough. We’ve made choices and we’re making them work. Mostly. And it’s not always pretty. When we can, we go pretty places. Like this month. We went here:

I’ve been coming to this place or some place just like it since I was a child. Visiting with my own children carries with it equal elements of peace and longing. Hard as I try I still haven’t mastered the art of soaking enough of it in to be able to draw it back to the surface in the heavy darkness of a January afternoon. When I’m in it I spend rather a lot of time trying to come to terms with why we ever have to go home. The dichotomy between vacation and real life doesn’t make any sense when we’re standing on the beach at sunset.

How does vacation mean places that that inspire our senses and ignite our spent fires, and home means compromising on such things?

But it does. And we do.

I’m hoping this year when the inevitable weight of that January afternoon settles on my chest these photos* will bring me back. And if not? Well, there’s always next summer.

*Please note that if you aren’t interested in more photos of my lost month of August you may wish to avert your eyes for the next few posts since that’s mostly what I’ve got in store.

when i first started taking pictures—and for years afterward—my best images were made when i stepped closer to my subject. possibly, maybe even probably,  composing the shot to exclude the ‘main’ activity and hone in on some small detail. (lately i believe i’ve begun to achieve some success with a wider range of subject matter, but still, only with a narrower angle lens). this might be why i like to shoot with my aperture wide open—so that i don’t get too distracted by the background.

it’s (yet another) way I find photography to be a metaphor for life.

too much information is difficult for me to process.

the front page of a newspaper becomes a giant blur and i end up retaining nothing.

or a city street assaults my senses and i retreat.

i’ve learned that one story at a time is how i process best.

this made school difficult and it isn’t any easier now that i’m living in the real world.

try telling three boys at the dinner table not to talk over each other when they’re excited about something because mommy’s senses are overloaded.

or changing lanes in traffic while they are bickering in the back seat and the music is too loud and your husband is on the phone.

i wish i could tell you that i’ve developed a sophisticated coping strategy but—not so much.

i get pushed out of balance easily. always have.

it’s not all bad though. this intensity. it forces me inward. to pay close attention. to look closer and see the details. of everything.

i love this about photography and about writing, and i love it about how writing and photography intersect. And I’m learning to love it about myself.

This weekend my littlest monster turned three. How I managed to be parenting one boy who is transitioning to puberty while the other is transitioning to underpants, seems either to be sheer genius, or a huge planning mishap. Either way, here we are.

There were birthday festivities.

And peaches and tomatoes. There will be peaches and tomatoes—and zucchini—from now until September. But it still won’t be enough for me.

And we will travel on a ferry and swim in The Atlantic. And the children will bring sand into the house.

But it won’t matter.

And the evenings will start earlier then they did last month. And we will play scrabble and sleep on the porch. And we will wear pajamas until noon and never put on shoes. And visit with friends and worry about seventh grade and cook everything on the grill and eat outdoors. And we will fret over how quickly it’s passing us by.

And we will savor every delicious moment of it.

And I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve been invited by Molly and Emily to guest post over at Habit this month so I’ll be spending some time over there. Won’t you stop by?

August.

As my dear friend Stephanie once said about my house: ‘it’s a three-ring circus of batshit crazy’. And she was right. Most days it’s a conglomerate of blended family chaos and stay-home mom, work-from-home-designer and just plain too-many-projects-going-on-at-once-stew. Please note here that these projects are largely self imposed and that I am not complaining. I love it. I love the noise. I love the revolving door of neighbors and friends and scheduling and organizing and endless undertakings. But not today. Today the universe conspired to keep me from my appointed rounds. Everything went wrong and nothing went right. And I just thought I’d vent about it with you all, my dear supportive friends. I had a frustrating crappy day. And mostly it was all my fault. I set myself up with too much to do and my knees buckled under the pressure. I should have known better.

Anyway. Thanks for listening. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming and some photos from a delightful day spent at the beach last weekend.