A Commonplace Life

Kids with Kids

Amy — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 23:58:27 +0000

I live and work in a small town. It’s the kind of place where you can’t make a quick trip to the store in your pajamas if you don’t want to run into one or six people you know. (If you know me, you’ll also know that being seen in my pajamas in town isn’t something I wrestle too much with myself about.) It’s the kind of place where shopkeepers ask after your family and know how you like your coffee. If you’re a photographer who specializes in kids (and have two in local schools) and spend an afternoon at the children’s bookstore (which is the sort of place that invites baby goats from a local farm in for story time) you’re likely to know a majority of the children by name.

I love all these things about this small town.

It’s official, I’m a Soccer Mom.

Amy — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 00:11:30 +0000

untitled

Amy — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 23:29:27 +0000

You know that moment when something goes wrong, when something happens, and before you have time to consider the implications or wallow in the muck, you kick into Mom-gear? In case you’re unaware, Mom-gear is the gear where you just start dealing and checking shit off your list? It’s the one right after high speed and right before exhaustion. I’ve had that week. Dodging curve-balls left and right and bobbing and weaving as the punches came my way. And now it’s Saturday and the universe isn’t showing any signs of letting up anytime soon. And yet, I managed two visits with my recuperating father (thank you for asking, he’s going to be fine). And two separate lunches with friends. One good long walk in the city of my childhood and two big jobs signed. My desk resembles my teenager’s room and we’re out of boxed macaroni and cheese. It’s a mess and I’m tired. But Niall is in the other room playing cards with Quinn and Jake is spending the night with his Dad. All’s well. And tomorrow, maybe, we’ll get some good news.

lost pictures

Amy — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 12:50:44 +0000

one of the pitfalls of a 365 project for me has been the pictures i overlook. sometimes the image i choose to represent any given day isn’t actually the best picture i made that day. looking through the archives is both a delight of forgotten moments and an embarrassment of photographic mistakes. occasionally i pick a day or a month and pour over the raw images. sometimes i process them. sometimes i re-process them. sometimes i send them to my mother. today i’m dreaming of summer and looking through lost images from last august.

As it Does,

Amy — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 00:16:16 +0000

the sun came up again and I put one foot in front of the other. Projects on the horizon have me preoccupied and I find myself more than a little anxious to move things along. Being acutely aware of how quickly my firstborn became a teenager I usually try not to hurry days. No small task for me. Today I spent a few hours happily in the moment, however. Breakfast with a friend, in from away. Put your own oxygen mask on before assisting your young traveling companions . You’re no good to them if you can’t breathe.

indulgence

Amy — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 01:07:57 +0000

today everyone’s life is better than mine. i wake before dawn and scroll through the loveliness on instagram and flickr, each image sweeter than the next. the day goes on and i run into laughing neighbors in town. i consider how easy their lives are. i imagine their drama-free worlds and i forget that one must be careful for what one wishes for. that no one’s life is what it seems. freaking beautiful blogs about perfection—even in it’s most imperfect forms. enlightened folks finding joy in the mess of toys on their living room floors. i forget to feel grateful for what i have. the weight of what i don’t have has won out.

just for today i allow this.

no. it’s not like me to let these thoughts seep into my consciousness. banished some years ago with the combination of the proper dose of antidepressants and that first look at my baby’s clear eyes, i’m usually the one expounding on the virtues of how beautiful the mess can be. but some days it fills up too high and one last drop falls in. the bucket overflows. of course, i have it all. my children are wondrous beings and i’m growing closer to being their perfect mother every day. but just for today i’ve eked every last ounce of beauty out of the crap that’s flung around my less-than-perfect home. just for today i feel sorry for myself and how much harder this all is than i ever imagined. just for right now i want to go back to the safety of my parents’ home and have them make everything okay again.

i’m told that the aging and eventual illness of our parents causes fear to seep into even the safest aspects of our lives. the idea, maybe, that one day we’ll really be the only grownups left. today it’s too much and i don’t want to see how you’ve found just the right sunbeam to photograph that giggling child. i embrace the darkness.

and i know, because i’ve been here before, that tomorrow i’ll be grateful too, for today’s weight. i will allow that light to shine again and it will be that much brighter as it illuminates the beautiful mess on my kitchen table. but just for today, please indulge me.

postscript: the lapse between this post and my last one is due to a computer hacking which resulted in the loss of a few months worth of posting. i gave up trying to save them and am marching onward. shit happens.

confessions of a natural light photographer

Amy — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 13:40:03 +0000

i’m writing over at clickin’ moms today – come have a read.

Yes, I’m doing it again.

Amy — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 13:38:19 +0000

It was an easy choice to keep my photo-a-day project going in to the new year.

A big part of it was just habit. Stuff I do every day: shower; eat; take a photo. Part of the routine. But the other part was the window. The view it has provided into so many parts of our lives. Keeping memories. Marking time. Finding beauty. Learning techniques—testing styles.

Last year was tough, no doubt. We were touched by death, unemployment, tragedy, storms of all kinds and worry. And yet there was so much lovely. So much to remember. We persevered and triumphed and we were happy in the midst of it all. The boys flourished and we all moved forward. There was new life and success and growth. There was laughter and progress and luck.

I choose to remember it all and I’m grateful for the lens that helps keep me in focus.

December | 2011

Amy — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 21:19:50 +0000

November | 2011

Amy — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 13:16:42 +0000