Shockingly fun

My family is so over my photographs.

They really are.

I can see the "OK now I've got to act interested in catchlights

and composition" look when I ask them

to come and see a client session

that I've just edited.

They just don't get it.

They don't speak my language.

But I really can understand this because

I don't speak my husband's or son's language

when it comes to football either.

I do love the sport and I enjoy

watching key games and cheering as loudly

as the next person,

but to spend two or three whole months of

Saturdays on the couch watching

game after game after game

while so many other things are going on

around town

or being stuck to the phone updates

when you are dragged out of the house.....

well, that's just not my language.

Madison is emersed in her own photography,

so unless she is telling me that I need

to up the contrast on one of my photos,

she'd rather spend her free time pouring over the

1.5 million photographs that she has of herself and her friends.

I get that too.

She's 14 and her own little world

is all there is right now.

What I don't get though is

how shocked my own family members are

that my photo sessions are actually fun events

to participate in.

They've seen my smile upon returning home from a shoot.

They've heard me tell stories of funny things that happened.

They've even acted like they've heard me when they ask,

"How was the shoot mom?" and

I answer back, "It was soooo fun!"

For Thanksgiving this year,

we had my brother and his family in town.

Jeremy and Ashley have the only other grandchildren

on my side of the family,

so I could not pass up the opportunity

to do a shoot while everyone was together.

Trying to get everyone excited,

I pushed the shoot for a week before the event.

It had to take place on Thanksgiving afternoon

because of flight schedules,

so I heard alot about how stressful it was gonna be

right smack in the middle of cooking chaos,

but I insisted that this shoot MUST happen.

I told them that the resulting images from a shoot like this

would be well worth any stress that they anticipate happening.

We put the turkey and everything else in a holding pattern

and off we went.

It seemed fitting that we were doing the shoot

at an abandoned mental hospital.

Upon arrival,

I arranged everyone for the group shots and

snapped away.

Before long everyone was laughing and joking

and having the best time.

I was able to get some excellent shots of my mom and all

of her grandchildren gathered around her.

These are memories that she will cherish for many years to come.

I took a few of Ashley, Jeremy, Zane and Easton too.

I was even able to hand the camera to Jeremy and

let him take a few of our family with me in them.

Upon leaving, my boys kept saying

over and over again how much fun they had.

They sounded surprised that this was not a torturous event.

My husband even told me that he had more fun than he expected.

My mom was thrilled with the shoot and had a good time as well.

I don't know what they thought

my shoots were like

or why most of them thought that this would be a stressful

frustrating afternoon,

but I'm glad they were able to experience

a laid back, natural, fun session with me.

So now they know what I do

and why I love it so much....

even if I still can't get them to sit down

and let me show them a client session

without seeing them roll their eyes

or heaving a big sigh of dread.

Here are some highlights

from our {apparently} shockingly fun family session:

My mom and all her grandkids!

My grandmother and
all of the great grandkids from her daughter Joyce's kids.
My cousin Leah has the other two greats.

My favorite from the shoot...

Ashley and Jeremy.

My three men all together!

Our oldest three.

My favorite of our kids.
This is such a precious photograph

to me because Zach lives in Seattle

and I can't see this everyday in real life.

The family shot!

Another good one of the six of us.

And finally one of David and I.

I've got lots of ordering to do from this shoot!

Beyond the images,

the memories of the time we spent together

as a family laughing and having fun

will be held close to my heart

for a long, long time.

Yesterday's green

Last night the wind blew a

great deal of the remaining leaves from the trees

surrounding our house.

Our yard is inches deep

in yesterday's green.

Soon we will use our leaf blower
to gather them up in piles
and send them whirling down the revine.
Gone.
Discarded.
Forgotten.
If we leave them laying on the ground,
they will rot and our grass will die.

This process is vital to new growth.
In order for new tender green buds to appear
with the warming sun,
the old must be stripped away.
Dead and falling to the ground below,
the old leaf is serving it's
final purpose in the circle of life.


Sometimes I am the wind
blowing strong against the things
that need to fall.
Assisting in the emergence of newness.


Sometimes I am the tree,
being tossed and beaten
until the dead things fall away.
Until I am prepared for
bearing new fruit.

A time or two I have been the leaf,
my influence being pulled from
another for a greater purpose.



I've also been the leaf blower
encouraging another to disguard the dead and rotting
in order to preserve new life.

All four bring a degree of discomfort.
Being a relentless catalyst for change,
being stripped of yesterday's success,
being necessarily removed
for the greater good
or holding the wind steady
long enough for the ground to be free
are all uncomfortable places to be.
All require focused effort,
and all of them are necessary
for new growth.
Each an important process in achieving the next
crop of fruit.
Through pain comes life for
there is no Spring without a Fall.

Rev. 21:5
"Behold, I am making all things new!"

The Trappings of Childhood.....

Most trees don't have names beyond Elm

or Dogwood or Pine.

But ours does.

Most trees don't hold within their branches

the echo of laughter

and the enchantment of childhood,

but ours does.

Most trees aren't marked by

carefully carved proclaimations

of generations of love.

But ours is.

The "Love Tree" isn't just any other tree.

It's ours.

She still stands in an untouched lot with houses built all around her.

She is a symbol that we were there.

That we ran through those woods,

our pigtails trailing behind us

our arms outstretched in the wind.

She still stands

and we still remember

the innocence and wonderment

of our childhood.

Across the woods stands another grouping of trees.

These held no inscriptions of love,

but were the support for our tree house.

My brother Jason and I

spent countless hours hammering nails

into wood and constructing our

magnificent two story tree house.

Our cousins Leah, Scott and Carrie

can also stake a claim here as

they are responsible for more than one nail

in those wooden planks

and more than a million

romps through those woods.

The rope from our swing still

hangs from branches that have grown taller

just as we have.

What a treat it was to retrace the paths of the past

with my brother leading the way.

Rediscovery is one of the best parts of leaving things behind.

Reliving joyful moments is a priceless gift.

As we left Wilson's woods that day

I could almost hear the ferns and ivy calling out to us,

because they were once filled with magic.

"Come back! Be carefree

and get lost in your imagination again!"

I wonder,

how can one stand growing up and leaving

the delight of childhood behind?

The answer is simple:

Embrace the stories of days gone by

and find the best moments to tuck away in your heart

so that you can retell them to your

children and watch their eyes fill with the same

fascination that once captivated you.

In this way,

you will never really grow up

not in your heart.

In the words of Captain Hook:

"Growing up is such barbarous business,

full of inconvenience....

and pimples!"

*

First tree to the right and straight on til morning!

I have IAN disorder.

I have Internally Audible Narrative disorder.

I really do.

I don't know if I should be alarmed or not

but that's just the way I think.

No matter what the situation,

I'm thinking in a narrative 90% of the time.

Take for instance a potentially

emotional event like

the first day of school for your last child.

This is what plays in my head

as I walk Bren to class the first day,

"Her little heart pounds as she enters the classroom

for the first time.

she has been the new girl so often in her

young life,

but she never gets used to it.

She is thankful that her mom is with her

and gives her hand a squeeze.

As the goodbye nears, her grip gets tighter,

but she fights back

the tears welling up in her

big green eyes and

puts on a brave face.

One quick embrace and she's on her own."

If I try hard enough,

I can even hear the music

playing in the background

begging every last drop of emotion out of the scene!

See?

Is that normal?

It's like I'm living in the moment,

(really, I am!)

but I'm preparing to retell it on demand

in a way that puts people right in my shoes.

It's sorta like a tool for me to grab

a hold of every emotion happening

in and around me

and organize them into a flow of words

so that I won't forget it.

Should I seek help?

Wait there's more....

I also think this way about important

or meaningful future events.

I will anticipate it in story form.

Like right now,

I am anticipating the arrival of

my oldest son

who will be here for 10 days in November.

I will admit to this narrative,

"Her fingers moved over the plates

as she pulled them out of the drawer.

Six again.

Always six.

She still hadn't gotten used to

just pulling out five.

But soon six will be the right number again.

For a little while anyway."

Now

before you campaign to have me admitted

to the funny-farm,

let me further explain......

It's not like a detached male voice

like the movie trailer voice over guy

and it's not like everytime I go grocery shopping

I'm hearing,

"List in hand, she walks into the store

headed straight for the frozen food section

to gather meat for her starving family!"

It's not that bad yet.

Please tell me I am not the weirdest person you know.

Perhaps I am subconsciously preparing

to write an award winning epic novel.

Perhaps I drink too much caffeine.

It could be that I've dyed my hair one too many times

or that I need more fiber in my diet.

Whatever the cause,

I think this abnormality

may actually help me

in the things I do.

Take photography for example.

When I drive by a wall with peeling paint,

an old weathered barn,

abandoned buildings with vines growing on the walls,

brightly colored doors,

unique staircases

or quaint side streets,

This is what happens to my soul...

well, first I squeal and almost

drive off the road,

but then

I automatically place a person there

whether it be

a bride with a flowing vail,

a family,

a little girl in a tu-tu

or even a tiny newborn

and I create a photo in my mind

that tells the story of the scene that

has distracted me enough to risk fatal injury.

I don't necessarily hear a narrative,

ok well, sometimes I do,

but it's more like the components of a

story yet to be told.

I may never actually get to shoot the

photograph that my mind insist must happen

because the location could be inaccessible

(without colossal effort)

and I don't currently know any brides

plus I doubt anyone would let me

put their tiny little newborn on a dirty

brick and weathered wood window sill

of a mental hospital.

But whether it happens or not

doesn't matter.

The fact is that the scene haunts me

everytime I pass the spot

and is very possibly responsible for fueling my

photo session location choices

and shooting style.

I love to put newness next to broken down,

clean next to dirty

and softness next to hardness.

I think that creating that contrast makes the

most interesting story.

During my sessions,

I find that I am trying to create that

contrast as often as I can

without risking bodily injury

of course.

Here are a few examples

from my most recent sessions

and how "IAN"

transfers to my

photo vision.

This one was just way too easy!

This turquoise grocery cart was sitting off to the side of this wall

just waiting to be filled with little girls

in petticoats!

Score!

This was my clients idea,

but fits in very well with my style.

Pink bare feet with rolled up jeans

on hard concrete steps,

yup...right up my alley!

Brightly colored doors....I just had to shoot here!


More colored doors
with an urban feel.



Another cool door,
a little gothic looking.
A ruffled little girl and a kiss
was the perfect way to go.



As soon as I saw this rusted metal wall
I knew exactly what I was gonna do with it
and it turned out to be one of my favorite shots of the shoot.
Thanks IAN!


It took a few shots to get the "mood" I wanted
for this couple,
but I got it.
When I shoot couples,
I try to create an emotion with the photo.
Sometimes I want it to be smoldering
and sexy,
other times I'm just after fun!
I want the photos to tell the story of them.
(without disembodied voices)


I've always wanted to do a "cafe shot"
and alas, we happened upon a table and chairs.



What else could you do with a brick
alley way
except maybe put a newborn in a basket
right in the middle of it?

(DUH!)

There's the old wall with the vine growing
on it. More couple love stories!



This staircase
was made for these two!
There's a whole story in my mind
about the boy in the blue shoes
and his ruffly little sister.



I have driven past this old staircase
several times since we've lived here
and I always saw two little girls on it.
Just my luck that
I had two little clients with me
when shooting at this location.



The rusted out wall again.
It's the perfect compliment to her
sweetness.


Who can resist
the giggles of little kids?
Place it up against a weathered trailor
and it's magic to me.



This is one of my new favorite locations.
It is an old abandoned store with the
most fabulous peeling blue paint.
It makes my pink rug pop
and showcases another giggly girl
perfectly.

*
I know this isn't rocket science
and I'm not the most creative person alive,
although I might just be the craziest,
but I just thought you might
enjoy a little peek into what goes on
inside my brain when
I pick my locations and backgrounds.
And as for that little abnormality I have?
I'm just going to embrace IAN
and call it what it is...
voices inside my head!




*

The Walmart Oath

When I was pregnant with my first child,

I would carefully observe other moms

in a store like Walmart or Target.

These moms probably were pretty at some point.

They might have had light in their eyes

a few months ago,

But now their eyes were glazed over

and their faces were twisted into

an expression that can only be described as

a mix of an anger, frustration

confusion and sleep exhaustion.

The one thing these moms all had in common

was a little person or two

or three in tow.

These little people had long since outgrown

the glory days of their bassinets and booties

and now doned light up tennis shoes

and the beginnings of one or two adult teeth.

They were curious two year olds, demanding four year olds

and often know it all seven year olds.

The tiredest of moms had a combination of all three

with her at one time.

I'd see these women,

but I didn't really seeeeee them.

I would pat my belly and smile

thinking I was way smarter than they were

and that I would never be dragging a screaming child

whose legs had turned to jello

down the frozen food aisle.

Never would my little cherub go into public

wearing pajamas, or a costume of any sort, or mismatched socks.

They'd never pull down displays,

scream for candy at the top of their lungs

or stick their tongues out at little old ladies

who came up to pinch their cheeks.

Nope!

My parenting skills would combat all of this.

After all I had read dozens of books

and had done my research on

how to raise delightful children.

It didn't take long for my bubble to burst.

I actually held it together pretty well with the

first little guy.

Except for a few knock down drag outs over

what fast food restaurant

we would go to

I'd say we had a pretty smooth first 20 months or so.

The addition of my second son brought

a little bit more of a challenge

because now I was out numbered.

During my days of wrangling my two little lion cubs,

we only had a few near unconscious grocery cart plunges,

about a million toy aisle freak outs,

some candy aisle fit throwing

and one or two display topples.

And I had read books!

Imagine how bad it would have been

had I not been well read!

Enter Princess number one.

She was such a good little baby,

and by "good" I mean

that I could bring her into the house in her carseat

and set her on the floor in the foyer

and she would not utter a peep until I had unloaded and put away

4.8 million bags of groceries.

That's good in my book!

But with the addition of baby number three

came the twisted face.

Inevitably, I was that mom in the store

with her hair thrown up in a ponytail

wearing a t-shirt and jeans,

chasing after three very mobile kids

and saying the same few phrases over and over.

"Don't touch that!"

"Get over here right now!"

"Don't throw that apple!"

"Stop pulling your sister's hair!"

"You are not gonna get a prize

if you don't staighten up!"

That last one works everytime I might add.

Well, if you say it 14 times in each aisle,

they will straighten up as soon as you buy the prize.

Somewhere along the line,

I stopped trying to be the perfect mother

with the most well behaved children

and just started enjoying them,

praying ALOT

and having a sense of humor.

When we were free of most of the antics

of my first three,

my husband and I decided that it would be

"fun"

to have one single baby on the tail end

of our reproductive years

(and by "end" I mean early 30's).

Just one little bundle to shower with love

and attention while the other three began to develope

interests of their own apart from mom and dad.

Enter Brendell.

You'd think,

being the veteran mom that I am,

that I would have shed my delusions over

how my child would be.

I imagined a little tu-tu clad princess

with golden ringletts

who was loved and adored by her older siblings.

Yeah, that lasted for approximately 21.5 months

and then her will kicked in!

Suddenly I found myself

"that mom" in the supermarket again.

Only this time,

I wasn't as spry as I had been in my twenties

and it only took one little tyrant

to twist my face up!

It took me a few years,

okay 7 years and a couple months,

but I suddenly was hit with a stroke of genius.

I developed

"The Walmart Oath".

Any store can be substituted,

because we all know that children are not

descretionary when it comes to where

they decide to throw a fit,

but Walmart seemed relateable to most moms.

Here is my sweet Princess Brendell Faith.

Darling isn't she?

But if I am not careful,

this.......

can turn into this....

which very quickly spirals down

to this.......

So to avoid public displays of

seven year old drama,

I have employed

"The Walmart Oath"

which Brendell must recite once

before we leave the house on any

shopping excursion

and twice if she's tired.





"I, Brendell Faith Cleary
do promise, promise, promise
to behave like a lady in the store.
I will not throw a fit, cross my arms,
stomp my foot,
give the stink eye,
stick out my tongue,
ask for something more than once,
roll my eyes,
annoy my siblings,
walk off in a huff,
cry, complain, whine,
sulk or pout.
I will walk beside my mom
and happily help her when she asks me to.
So help me
Hannah Montanna, Taylor Swift
and iCarly.
(God just seemed too sacred to use
in jest)

Sometimes it works
sometimes it doesn't.

The end.

rib searching

This kid is such a nut!

From the time he could talk,

he has brought so much laughter into our lives.

His comedic timing is dead on

and his humor is universal.

He's just naturally funny without

even having to try.

I was recently reminded of this when we stumbled upon

an old family website that I had built.

I hadn't posted to it since

Brendell was an infant,

but it's still there.

I have to share this story from 2001.

"The other night at dinner, one of the kids asked me how God made people.

I explained how God made Adam out of dust and then Eve from Adam's rib.

David also told them that boys have one less rib than girls.

I added that when the boys get married, it is like finding their other rib.

We told them that God had a perfect match out there for each of them

and that they would someday belong to someone just like David and I

belong to eachother.

Michael was very curious and asked, "Mom, who do I belong to?"

I told him that none of us knew right now who that girl would be but that

we would pray for her whenever we thought of it.

The next night at bedtime prayer I heard Michael say his usual

"Thank you God for everything you have done for me....."

but he ended it differently this time.

He said, "And take care of that girl that gots my other rib. Amen!"

Someday we will meet this special girl and I will tell her that Michael

has been praying for her since he was seven and boy is he

happy to have found his rib!"

*

At almost 17 years old,

he's definitely stepped up his rib search!

This story was a reminder to me to cover

both him and his future mate in prayer.

It's a very hard thing to be obedient

in a disobedient world,

but the payoff of self control is

monumental.

God has more blessings for us

than we can fathom

and his timing is perfect.

Hang in there son!

God knows who you belong to

and I'm certain that she is worth the wait!

Restoring Honor

Restore {verb} :

To bring back to a former, original or normal condition.

Honor {noun}:

Honesty, fairness or integrity in one's beliefs and actions.

I started listening to Glenn Beck on the radio

many years ago.

He would keep me company as I dropped Brendell off at

Happy Apple in Saint Marys, Ga.

His views intrigued me and while they were not

all exactly like mine,

he was saying things that no one else on the radio was saying

and he made me think.

When he joined Fox News I started watching him regularly

and while again, some of the things he said

did not exactly line up with what I hold to be true,

I still respected his knowlege of history

and his love for our country.

When we heard of the 8/28 rally
and what it's purpose was,
we thought about going.
When we heard that Sarah Palin was going to speak.
we knew we had to be there!



Living close to Washington DC is bonus in

such a time as this.

We sat with people who had traveled in from

North Carolina, Florida,

Ohio and even New Mexico!

The crowds were thick, but kind.

Excited, yet respectful.

Fired up, but not frenzied.

I was so proud to be there!

Observing the sea of people from all walks of life

who were there for one common purpose was

overwhelming!

The military was honored,

those who had given their lives in this war

and in other wars

were honored

and civilians who were living an example

of Faith, Hope and Love

were honored.

The mood was decidedly uplifiting and encouraging.

No one was bashed.

No political lines were drawn in the sand.

We were a mixed lot of Americans

standing together for the purpose of restoring our country

back to her roots.

To return to the founding principles

of our forefathers

and to turn our hearts back to God.

I don't think I have ever seen

a larger gathering of people

anywhere else!

Based on the land mass covered

there were at least a half a million

people there!

The line just to get metro tickets into Washington

was thousands deep at 7 am when David and I

first attempted to get our tickets

at the New Carrollton station.

We ended up driving in to Suitland, MD

where David works and got right on the

metro station there with no trouble at all.
It was a long and exhausting day

but it was so awesome to be there

and to be a part of an event that

I believe in!