Growing Up

He can’t wait to get home. To pull on his boots. No time to change out of the already stained and spotted school uniform. I get to slip his polo off occasionally. If I can even beat him to the door. Out he runs in his undershirt. “Mommy, let’s go!” he yells as he shoves his styrofoam sword down the back of his shirt. He runs to the backyard. The stray kitten that showed up under our porch this summer, Batman, tags along. There’s nothing else on his mind. No room to be an adult now. Only room to be a kid. Absolutely zero awareness (and that’s what’s wonderful) that the car is still loaded down with the morning’s breakfast, his...

I spend roughly eight hours a day with teenagers.  Most days of the year. For ten years.  As a high school teacher I have watched many young people grow and mature.  The majority have been blessings, but some have been challenges.  I have also endured the students that remained, dare I say it, immature.  Over the years I have had some moments in which I saw young men, 17 and 18 years old, portray chauvinism, racism, superiority, and entitlement.  Not my favorite days.  But, on the other hand, I have taught some young men that I proudly have said, “I hope that one day my sons can be like him.” Because of these experiences, I frequently consider what type of young men...

As I sit in the darkened silence nursing my infant son once more before bedtime, I realize that another day has passed. Another day at his age means growing leaps and bounds, and way too fast for this momma's heart to handle. In the past few days he's turned 6 months old, mastered rolling in both directions, started daycare and eaten his first baby food - lots of milestones for a little fella. I watch him and my 3 1/2 year old daughter as we go about our day and sometimes seriously contemplate Googling methods on how to make time stand still. Why does growing up have to be so tough on us as mommies?? Isn't that what we want...

This morning, I woke up of my own accord. My children woke up before me, scooped their own yogurt into a bowl, found a clamshell of blueberries, and were enjoying a show on LPB when I walked into the living room. I gave them each a kiss good morning, and told them to find some play clothes while I hopped into the shower. They were dressed when I was finished with my shower that I enjoyed alone. I scrambled some eggs for a more filling breakfast for all of us. They brushed their own teeth, found their own shoes, and even buckled themselves into their carseats (that I doubled checked). My children are ages seven and four and are learning...

I've been inspired. I had a conversation with my friend, Adriana. She's a mom and a photographer. The first time we met, we talked about our children. That conversation evolved into one about pictures of our children and pictures of us, as mothers. I'd like to think that our conversation helped to inspire her totally SPOT ON post convicting mothers to Exist in Photographs, but I'm pretty sure she had that in mind ages before we spoke. Well, I've been convicted and I'm going to try to convict you, too. When I think about all of those pictures that my mother stepped out of just in time - where I'm this cute kid, alone, in my awesome 80's Easter dress, I...