I didn't even see it coming.

It just hit me--WHAM!--just like that with no head's up. No warning.

I knew this day would get here eventually, but I didn't expect it to be here this fast. I mean, shouldn't they send you some sort of paper warning you that it's coming? Even the government sends you tax forms.

Today, I officially became the mom of a teenager. Pick me up of the floor.

Today, my baby turned 13.

Just yesterday she had grown out of kids' shoes and into the women's section. And I could've sworn it was only last month that she was a preschooler drawing me pictures of things I couldn't recognize....or was the cute little thing with fat rolls that would fall asleep on my chest...or was the 3-year-old whose dimples would throw a fit for princess snacks at the grocery store.

And now....

Now she is this young, independent woman. She no longer needs me to help her up on a step-stool to get her Cheerios in the morning or put her hair up into a ponytail. She does it all by herself. And somewhere along the line, she taught herself how to get up on her own in the mornings -- I no longer sneak into her room and rub her face until she starts to giggle. She's developed all of these amazing relationships with her peers and her own personality at the same time.

She's outgoing and yet can be reserved. She can be timid and out of control. She's incredibly kind-hearted and has such a soft soul. She lights up a room just by walking into it. And her smile could melt concrete like some form of Superhero kryptonite.

There is no way God could have given me a better kid in her. She is laid back and eager to please. She sets an incredible example for her younger brothers and sister (most of the time). =) She helps out when it's not expected and tries her absolute hardest when it IS expected.

I tell Chris all the time about my excitement watching our kids grow up. What will they become in their adult lives? What profession will they get into? What dreams will they follow?

I'm sure I'll blink my eyes and I'll be sitting at their college graduation ceremony. Time seems to go that fast some days. Against my will and all.

Happy birthday sweet girl.

Oh Happy Day

The day started out being like every other day.

But not.

It was our day.

Since the boys were at their mom's house, and the girls were at their dad's, we woke up to a fairly quiet house that morning. Chris got up that morning with a little work to do and left the house relatively early. I woke up earlier than normal with butterflies already in my stomach. I managed to keep busy with my normal morning routine and a quick trip to the store for belts for the boys.

By late morning everyone was back at home. It was the most beautiful day of the year (so far) and the kids took advantage of it outside. Other than the hand towels prominently displayed in the master bathroom, you never would have suspected a wedding was going to take place that day. The song of a slamming front door and kids giggling danced through the house on the breeze from the wide open windows.

But their was a wedding that day. Our wedding.

There is something fun about the element of surprise. No one had a clue what we were up to that day. Not our parents, not our friends, and certainly not our kids. It's a plan we had had in place for nearly a month, and with the exception of our photographer disguised as one of our best friends, no one was none the wiser.

We didn't start out planning our wedding like this. Originally we wanted a traditional wedding, with a pastor reading our vows, our parents in attendance, and fancy dresses. But the more we started planning, the less meaningful it was quickly becoming. We thought our kids wanted the "normal wedding" -- as they so called it -- only to find out the only thing they really wanted was the party.

So, after a wonderful conversation with my Aunt Leah, the plans changed. We had decided to go to the courthouse -- just the six of us -- and exchange our vows in front of the Justice of the Peace.

Everyone had brand new outfits for the occasion, right down to Bryce's skull-and-crossbone tie. (Those of you that know him, know how fitting it is.) The girls were in cute polka-dotted dresses and each wore a flower in their hair. The boys -- all three of them -- had crisply ironed shirts and coordinating ties. I wore a blue satin blouse and black pencil skirt (to which Bryce affectionately commented on my resemblance to Erkel). We were a good looking bunch. And we looked like we belonged together.

About 12:30 on Wednesday, March 31st, we all piled in the truck and headed to the courthouse in New Lebanon. The ride was only 30 minutes but felt like 3 hours. I was anxious and excited and the drive was nearly stress-free. No worries about DJs, bridesmaids missing jewelry, groomsmen drinking too much in the parking lot, or what time the cakelady was arriving. It was just us, our happy kids, our photographer, and our marriage certificate.

We were greeted by the judge's bailiff, Amy, who showed us into the courtroom. None of the kids had ever seen a courtroom -- however I'm pretty sure it won't be the last visit for at least 2 of them -- and were excited to be in such a cool place. Amy explained how the ceremony would unfold and moments later the judge came into the room.

He was an older gentleman with glasses and white hair. He wore a dark green robe and a tender look on his face. And although he kept our ceremony serious, you could tell he was a family man with a soft heart.

As the ceremony began, I remember looking at Chris thanking God that he put him in my life, and the girls' lives. I remember thinking "gosh, I'm so lucky to have all of this for the rest of my life". For richer or poorer, I have 4 incredible kids, I get kitchen-table-conversations with my 17 year old son about his girlfriend, I get the joyous phone call of our oldest daughter when she's giving us the news of our first grandchild. In sickness and in health, there will be deaths to mourn through, births to celebrate, heartaches to heal and disappointment to defeat. Until death do us part, we will stand by one another happily traveling down God's path He laid for us.

All the days of our life.

Although it only lasted 5 minutes (tops), it will forever be etched in my mind. It was absolutely perfect. We stripped it down to what was important to the most important people. It was sentimental, it was intimate, it was romantic.

It was the day that six became one.

Game of the Year

I never would have thought I'd ever pick up a glove again (or bat), I mean, I haven't played softball since I was 13. But when I got an email yesterday afternoon from Taylor's softball coach, it was obvious that I didn't have a choice. I HAD to play whether I liked it or not -- regardless of my athletic skill.....or lack thereof.

So, last night Taylor's softball team (um, did I mention it was a FAST-PITCH softball team!?) and the moms of all the kids, played in our own version of a Pros vs. Joes game. Which was realistically more like 10-year-old-Pros vs. Middle-aged-out-of-shape Joes. We struggled with almost every aspect of the game, except our team name. We started out as the "Kid Crushers" but then affectionately turned that into the "Cannon Crushers".

It's hard to put your finger on the best part of the whole evening. Sure, it was fun to be out there playing with your daughter in a sport that they love to play, and it was emphatically hysterical seeing moms with batting helmets 6 sizes too small. But, I think the funniest part of the night was realizing how out of shape us Mom's really are. I mean, I fully support anyone that claims that Chasing Kids should be an Olympic event, but carting your kids to and from practice twice a week doesn't really stretch out your hamstrings. (And let's be honest here, I was probably the one that did the LEAST physical activity since I pretty much had a camera in my hands most of the night.) I'm sure there are other Crusher teammates that really struggled to get outta bed this morning. Our "cat-like reflexes" were more like tortoise reactions. Our feet stopped when we wanted them to, but our bodies didn't.

Lucky for us, our salary cap wasn't even close to being extinguished, so we were able to scout and draft a few "young'uns" to help us out. (Thanks Gabby, Haley and Erin -- and anyone else that stayed over from the 12u practice to play!!)

(yes, I was totally playing left field at the time I took this picture. C'mon....photographers never sleep.)

(that's me and Taylor in the bottom left-hand corner)

I can't decide on my Play of the Game yet….it's a toss-up between Audra (Kara -- the pitcher's -- mom) getting a hit off her daughter (that girl throws a mean change-up, too) or Jess (a Young'un we acquired in a trade early this spring) cranking one clear out to the fence.

I'm sure the girls enjoyed as much as us Moms did. I mean, when's the last time you got to talk smack to YOUR mom and not get in trouble for it?!? Plus, they ended up winning the game 10-8. I'm sure they'll be gloating about that for a while. At least until this bruise on my ankle from a wild pitch goes away.

Delicious light and broken rules

While I was posting one of my last blogs, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I did a shoot with my own kids. I mean, I have the big moments on file -- birthdays, games, etc. -- and a few random moments captured. But, I can't, for the life of me, remember when was the last time I took them out and did a fun shoot.

So, tonight I had a couple of hours to kill -- just us "ladies". Chris was at a coaches meeting and the boys were at their mom's house. So, for a little while, it was back to the three of us, searching for a way to keep busy. Any way other than dishes or laundry.

As a photographer, my favorite time of day is the very last hour of daylight. That hour where the light turns into this delicious golden blanket that covers every crevice of the horizon. The kind of light that makes you want to stand facing it, with your eyes closed, just soaking up every last ray. That light does magical things to the colors in the sky and does it's own sort of mojo in images.

That light makes me want to sop that creamy, butter-y mess up with a biscuit.

As a photographer, I have broken more rules than I can count here. I've cut appendages off, I have blown highlights, I've over-exposed my skies (intentionally) and I've broken THE #1 rule.

The Mack Daddy.

"Do not, for whatever reason, shoot toward the sun. Keep it behind the lens."

My professors are probably blogstalking me right now, steamingly irrate at the fact that I've broken the sacred Backlight Law of OIP facilty and staff. They are probably all sitting at a Round Table meeting, severely disappointed, contemplating how to revoke my Golden Gallery award. Ok, maybe not that much.

But I love love love love (infinity) what that backlit sun-full-ness does to my images. I love what happens to the colors, the lensflare, the golden cast that everything soaks up. I just love it. I love it when single strands of hair sparkle and catchlights in the eyes are sparkly. I love the halos of light that envelope your subject.

I do. I love it. And I will continue to break those rules so long as I get these kinds of images.

Now.......if I could just get the boys to give in to a shoot like this....

Edit:

I'm not sure when they got to be so gorgeous. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've always thought I had cute kids, but when did that transition happen with Taylor???? Have I been in a coma the last year and been completely unobservant of the whole thing? She went from "cute kid with dimples" to "daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang!!!" right before my very eyes!!! Seeing these images makes me want to lock her in her bedroom until she's 40 or beat her up just so the boys aren't interested in her amazing green eyes and darling freckles. What will the next 10 years be like for me?!!??!

Seriously.

Supersoftballmom

One of my best friends calls me "supersoftballmom". Which is a title appropriately warranted from chasing Taylor around to a gazillion (that's really a word) softball games, practices, etc.

She plays fast-pitch for the Cross County Cannons -- a traveling team based in our hometown. And we spend our entire summer at the ball parks cheering them on.

Now, let's keep in mind that I'm not sports photographer by any stretch of the imagination, but I did get my gear out last weekend to snap a few pictures.....and by "a few", I really mean 221.

Here are 120 of them in a 3:34 video:

"It has senitmental value!"

So.....I've realized -- and admitted -- that I have a packrat issue. I have a serious problem trashing things that I've deemed having "sentimental value".....even if I long forgot what that sentimental value was.

Last night I was going thru our storage down in the basement with the goal of getting rid of some of my "stuff". We've started this whole "put it in a garage sale" phase and I was on a roll last night. Now, mind you, I've moved 3 times in the last 3 years and there are boxes that I chose to just move instead of going thru them and pitching what needed to be trashed. And that all stopped last night. It's a more massive nightmare than I had originally anticipated. Waaaaay more massive.

I blame my mom and BEING a mom with this whole problem. After I lost my mom when I was younger (15) I wanted to save every single thing that reminded me of her. I feared that if I threw away something that had a memory of her attached to it, I'd begin to forget about her. I'd forget the smell of her skin, the way her eyes would light up when she'd smile, the sound of her laughter, or the way she made her j's when she'd write. So I saved everything.

And when I became a mom....well, let's just say it had a violent shove into overdrive. I have 3 boxes of Taylor's school papers from preschool, kindergarten, and 1st grade. 3. What on earth do I need 3 boxes of that stuff for???! I saved every coloring book, every doodle, every time she tried to write her name and every napkin I traced her hand on. You name it, I saved it. I wanted to preserve her being my little girl....so when I pulled all these papers out years and eons from now (which was then), I'd remember how her dimples were deeper than her eyesockets, and how her toothless smile made her s's and f's sound funny, and how she used to say "juice bosk" instead of 'juice box', or "yogrit" instead of 'yogurt'. So....again....I saved everything.

So, back to last night.... I was doing a pretty good job of consolidating things I could bare to part with, things that we had duplicates of, and things we just simply do not use. I had a pretty good pile going when I pulled out a square flat box that read 'girls clothes' and the word 'save' written on it. I opened it and found this:



And my heart melted with the memory of Taylor in these red shoes.

One of my best friends, Martha, bought them for her before a trip to Chuck E. Cheese one afternoon. Martha was the best aunt to Taylor when she was little (not that she's not now). She'd call on Friday nights and ask if Taylor could spend the night with her. Martha and my other best friend, Heather, had a bond with Taylor beyond anything I could ever put into words. They taught her words to N'Sync songs and how to dance to Fifty Cent. They'd take her shopping and buy her sparkly belts and cute shoes.

Taylor wore these shoes continuously. And by that, I mean she even wore them to bed. The instant she got out of the bathtub she'd put them on. Even if they didn't match her outfit, she had to have these shoes on. She wore them to the point where they had no tread on the bottoms....you could even see where her little toes were. They are permanenty curled and the rubber is pulling away from the canvas. I bet I bought 6 pairs of shoestrings for this poor pair of shoes. I knew it was finally time to retire them when she couldn't walk normal. Her toes were so smashed in the ends of them that she went from walking heel-to-toe to more of a waddle. She refused to give those shoes up.

And for the first time, what I wanted to happen when I opened one of these boxes....when I saved something that was going to remind me of my past.....did just that. 7 years later....

Hard Lesson

I still can remember sitting in that chair, filling out more paperwork as tears dripped on the papers in my lap. I was in complete shock. "They're just wrong -- we shouldn't be here. Surely, this neurologist had something wrong somewhere. He had to be mistaken...there's just no way." The worry and the "what if's" consumed me to the point of nausea. I had created just about every scenario in my head and the only thing I could do is cry.

I glanced over at Taylor sitting next to me and just stared at her while she read a book. She was so little that her feet barely hung over the seat of the chair. For a minute or two the worry that had consumed me just minutes before was overpowered by pride. I sat there a few minutes more, watching her turn through the pages with her thick, pudgy hands. She was far too young to read but her imagination still told her a good story. And as quick as I was overwhelmed with adoration and pride, the worry resided again.

"She's only 4. How is this fair? If it IS a tumor, what happens next? What if it happens at school...all the kids will make fun of her. Would she ever be able to drive? What about swimming and sports? What are our treatment options? Medication? Is it harmful? Did I give this to her? Are my genes responsible for this?"

Just the week before Taylor had had a seizure. Our pediatrician insisted we bring her in and in the course of the hours (and numerous tests) to follow, we were told it was epilepsy. The days between her first seizure and that day in the neurologist's office, were endlessly spent in long bouts of crying, worry, and self-pity.

I must've been lost somewhere in my wondering mind and lack of sleep when I was startled by the waiting room door opening. The window in the top half of the door framed a young mom, maybe in her late thirties, cumbersomely opening the door. After a few minutes wrestling the bags on her shoulder and the doorknob, the door slowly swung open, and she pushed thru her wheelchair-confined son. It seemed like an hour, but it couldn't have been more than 30 seconds that I watched her glide him into the waiting room and park him almost directly in front of me. I know I had to have been staring at them, and I know she knew -- she had to have felt my eyes fixed on the two of them.

He was reclined in his black wheelchair with his hands folded neatly in his lap, his legs slightly elevated. He wore a dark blue sweat suit but was covered up with a Batman blanket tucked clear to his chin. He must've been eight years old. Maybe nine. His sandy blonde hair was barely peeking out of the red helmet strapped firmly to his little head.

His mom walked over to the receptionist to check them in and then returned to her son, sitting in the chair next to him. She had short dark hair and skin and her cheeks were rosy. She removed her coat to reveal a crisp, white, button-down shirt tucked neatly into her jeans.

She leaned over to her son, flashed him a warm smile and pulled down his blanket. Having seen an episode in the same waiting room the week before, I knew the straps around his chest were for his own safety...his seizures were obviously far worse than Taylor's and were responsible for the restraints and the helmet. She adjusted the bib around his neck and sat back in her chair. I forced myself to look away, choosing to look at Taylor as a distraction to what was before me. And as if she knew of my discomfort, the nurse appeared and called us back to the exam room.

I gathered our coats, and as I passed, I glanced at the mom who had been rustling in her purse. There she sat with a compact mirror in her hand, beginning to apply her lipstick.

The next hour was a blur and when the fog finally lifted, I found myself in my car, crying hysterically. I was so ashamed at myself and disappointed for the way I had been acting.

"ERICKA!!! What are you doing?!? Taylor is fine! She’ll outgrow it!! She'll have a normal life. THAT Mom in there will never see her son ride a bike, or run to first base. You don't have it so bad! This is not the end of the world!! Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

I learned a hard, hard lesson that day. I cried the entire way home...thankful that I would never know what that mom in that waiting room experienced on a day to day basis. I would never know the heartache, the discourage, or the loneliness. I would never know what it’s like to try to bathe a child with a physical impairment. Or have to purchase a van that’s wheelchair accessible. I would never know.

There are still times when I find myself reminded of that day....and how lucky I am. Taylor WAS fine, and she IS perfectly normal. She outgrew the epilepsy and is (thank God!) healthy. She plays sports -- too many sometimes -- and she swims like a fish. She's smart and she's absolutely beautiful.

But every so often, when I feel like I've been beaten in my life, when things just aren't going my way -- regardless of the situation -- I'm taken back to that long car ride home, when I was hysterically sobbing, promising myself that I would never, ever, let myself forget that someone, somewhere, could trump the hand that I was dealt and would trade places with me in a heartbeat.

Last week was one of those weeks. Every time I turned around, I was facing another battle that defeated me. I was broken down and overwhelmed. But at the end of every day, when I laid my head down on the pillow, I remembered this day and the mom who, despite her own battles, still put on her lipstick.

Easter

I realized this morning that I haven't even posted pictures of us on Easter. I suffered from a migraine the entire day, but unless I've lost an appendage, I'll still take pictures.





I can remember playing the egg and spoon game with my Grandma and Mom. And once, my sister and I wanted tried to play it...but the egg wasn't hard boiled. We tried to hide the broken-egg evidence under a mat. That didn't go over well....

xo,
e

Taylor and the Roundball

About two weeks ago Taylor decided (at the drop of a hat, mind you) to start playing basketball. It's just an intramural basketball league and is instructed by our high school girls' basketball coach. So it's more about learning the rules than about the competition.

She LOVES it (and so does her mom). They had their first game on Saturday so me, Harley, Chris and the Boys, Grandma Barker and Grandpa Reck made ourselves her personal fan section. And I only managed to get three pictures thru all the excitement: