Lens on Motherhood

Tramp time, and the livin' is easy...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 13:16:00 +0000

“Jump, and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall”
- Ray Bradbury

Chicago South Shore Triathlon

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 19:05:00 +0000

There's something incredibly moving about watching your child take another first. This time, it was his first triathlon.

Not wanting him to feel any performance pressure, all we talked about was having fun. Crossing the finish line, he definitely looked like he enjoyed it. As the awards started, we picked up our things and headed home. Ironically, when I checked the results on the drive home, he took 2nd Place!

Pre-race talk from Dad--explaining the course and calming the nerves.

Last check-in prior to the start. Although the words of wisdom might be given the other way around next time...Dad took 3rd place and his mini-me took 2nd. Way to go guys!

We found a "transition" that he enjoys...

Let Freedom Ring

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 23:24:00 +0000

Sharing some of my favorite 4th of July photos from today and from years' past.
Happy Birthday, America!

memorial day @home

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 30 May 2011 19:28:00 +0000

Twenty-One gun salute,
Taps.
High school band plays,
Vets in wheelchairs salute.
A prayer, a wreath, a microphone too muffled to hear.
Men in old uniforms with distant memories stand near me,
Never guessing that I share more with them than this town we call home.
Kids beg to leave for for ice cream...Americana lives on.
-ljh

On Valentine's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 16:04:00 +0000

An Epic Love...

One Mother of a Blizzard

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 03:09:00 +0000

Blizzard, 2011.

Already, we know this is one for the history books. Whether you counted inches of 24 or 28, it was a LOT of snow that rained down--frozen, fluffy, and blindingly white--on the first 2 days of February. And that doesn't even include the drifts. Before Blizzard 2011, I thought "snowed-in" was an expression reserved for the minor inconvenience of a driveway that needed a good shoveling. But when we woke up on Thursday morning to a back door impossible to open due to the 4 foot drift that held it shut, I learned the true definition of "snowed-in." Yes folks, that's a literal thing in these here parts of the hearty Midwest.

Preparing for Blizzard 2011 was a lot like preparing for a hurricane as a kid growing up in sunny south Florida: stock the pantry, line up the candles, find the flashlights, count the batteries, and hope for a day or two off from school. A blizzard, however, throws a few more curves to facing Mother Nature when she's got something to say, or roar, about.

First, there are no evacuation routes. You are where you are. The population of Chicago would no sooner be ordered to evacuate then they would hold an election without a controversy. All roads lead to home, sweet snow.

Second, as a kid, instead of less, you need more. More layers of clothes to venture out in the thick of it, more hot cocoa to warm your insides and lift your spirits, and definitely more physical strength to shovel, trudge, and move your wool-swaddled-self through the blowing blizzard white-out conditions.

Third, you don't run out into the streets and dance in your bathing suits during the "eye of the blizzard." Here's what the eye of the blizzard looked like on the morning of Wednesday, February 2nd:

In a word: white. And not just any white. This was the horizontal-blowing, down your jacket, in and around your long johns, chill-me-to-the-icy-bone, I think I'll go back in now, blowing-white.

Blizzard 2011 was the kind of experience that made you stop in your sleep--as the house swayed with the howl of the night winds, it begged the question...."OK, Mother (Nature), you have my attention, What???"

This is a question more pressing for our children's generation than any other before. What forces of Mother Nature and environmental woes--man-made and otherwise-- will they face, be challenged by, understand, and ultimately survive? What skills are they cultivating in today's lego play? Will they create the next oil spill prevention plan? Finally combat global warming with success? Will counting the glass Montessori beads in the palm of their small hands lead them to discover the next energy-independent culture? Will building their igloo forts translate into galaxy adobes someday?

Ultimately, I have one hope. That by venturing out into the zero-visibility, below-freezing conditions, and pressing their little bodies against the weight of the wind and snow to put one snowy boot in front of another snowy boot......that this experience deepens into their hearts in a way that 10, 20, or 30 years from now when they need that same strength to fight for and with Mother (nature)...they will call upon the strength of this blizzard that they each now hold a part of.

These are the questions that the raging night winds of Blizzard 2011 brought. Experiencing the sheer power and utter force of Mother in all her unbound volume was simply put: inspiring and generation-sized attention-getting.

Irish Blessing for the New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 20:23:00 +0000

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colors,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.

~ John Donahue

"of magical things..."

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 16:49:00 +0000

Like star dust glistening on fairies' wings
Little girls dreams are of magical things.
-- Sherry Larson

Get Your Green On

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 13:28:00 +0000

No, it's not St. Patrick's Day...but we could sure use some of Erie's green around the schoolyard! Locals, anyone want to join me at the HP Library on October 14th? The daily view of our schoolyard from my office sure does inspire me to help our school get our green on!

CREATING & SUSTAINING GREEN SCHOOLYARDSJoin Sharon Danks and Rachel Pringle, the authors of two new books - Asphalt to Ecosystems: Design Ideas for Schoolyard Transformation and How to Grow a School Garden: A Complete Guide for Parents and Teachers - as they discuss how to conceive, design and sustain green schoolyards and school gardens. Books will be for sale and a book signing will follow. Bring a brown bag lunch. Beverages and dessert provided by Moraine Township.Thursday, October 14, 12 p.m.-1:30 p.m. RSVP (847) 432-3240.Presented with Moraine Township, School Districts 112 and 113, and Climate Cycle.

P.S. No, we are not having an early winter (knock on wood, knock on wood)...that snow is from last March.

J on J

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 03:24:00 +0000

Twilight at the "Fall Frolic" next door.

Silly bands, pony tails, and bare feet--that's what little girls are made of...

The Fitting

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 02:57:00 +0000

The Quiet(er) House

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 15:01:00 +0000

Everyone tells you how fast it will all go--that they grow up before you know it. But it doesn't mean anything until they wave, rounding the corner into the old brick school house--and you return to a much quieter house.

Goodbye Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 02:59:00 +0000

Goodbye Summer,

You were as long as the wait in the kickball line,

as short as the ice cream's melt-time,

as sweet as the watermelon on the front porch,

as lazy as the breezes off Lake Michigan,

as feisty as the mosquitoes at dusk,

as kind as the luck of the game,

and as elusive as a photograph that tries to hold these beings still and young and ours, if only for a frame.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 21:05:00 +0000

A powerhouse fly ball soared into right field toward the end of the last game of the season. I was one of the many exclaiming "WOW" as the opponent's ball soared up, up, and up. It was hit by a kid I remembered from an earlier game--he's three times as big as any of the other kids--always has looked like he's on the wrong team level. But a surprise to all the "Wow-ing" spectators: The sweet sound of the ball's smack into a mitt left our crowd cheering instead...it was caught by a Met!!!

And what to my surprise, when I peered around the beam blocking my view, when I looked out yonder to right field and saw the ball in Liam's mitt. And a huge grin across his face.

It was a familiar scene to sports fans at that point: team members rushing to their teammate, surrounding him in hugs and high-fives for a job well done--the catch meant a third out, which sent them running into the bleachers where the celebration continued.

A familiar scene indeed, all except that it was someone I knew all too well this time bearing the signature lucky mitt. The same little fellow who has been relentless all summer with "Mom, will you play catch with me?", "Dad, can we go to the field?", and the ritual Saturday morning question upon first waking: "How many minutes to my game?" Answered with, "5 hours, honey."

I learned later from the coaches that Liam had to really reach for it. They called it, "The play of the season." I had tears in my eyes watching him being the center of the team's affections on the bench. My friends all had goose bumps.

It could have been luck. It could have been practice. It could have been simply being the right person in the right place. But in that moment, on this day, it didn't matter: it was our guy's dream come true. And he walked away with the "game ball" still clenched in his mitt.

On Father's Day...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 20:29:00 +0000

To my awesome Dad, on Father's Day~

There are a many things I'm grateful for, but a few thoughts come to mind today.

Thank you for...

1. Flying out immediately once you heard your first grandchild was born, despite all my protests not to have ANY visitors during the days immediately after his birth. I'll say it again, You were right.

1a. Following all my bizarre NewMom rules on that visit like "No talking in the car on the way home from the hospital." Dad, I said no talking. Shhhhh...you're going to wake him up.

2. Saving all my 'letters home' from the Air Force Academy. What I once thought was a waste of drawer space, I'm now excited to read some day...although probably not before my children are grown and my house is clean.

3. Answering the phone at 6am every morning I rang in those dark days that followed September 11th, 2001...for a few weeks that was the brightest part of my day.

5. Thinking I'm the best photographer in the world, and making me feel like it's as important ("or more") than being a pilot.

6. And most of all, dear Dad, thanks for teaching me how to brew the perfect cup of English tea. I would truly be lost in life without the lesson that all things get better over a cup of tea...as long as it is strong and brewed with love.

Yellow Belt Brothers

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 29 May 2010 01:07:00 +0000

When I lost my 4 Gigs of photos over 2 months ago, there was one shot I pined for.

Thanks to PhotoRecovery, I don't have to pine any longer...

"For every beauty..."

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 14 May 2010 21:28:00 +0000

For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it.

For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it.

For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.

-Ivan Panin

The Barbershop: Just Do it

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 18:49:00 +0000

The last time we took our boys to get their hair cuts at the "kid cutter" place it dawned on me...this was not a place where children's hair was cut. This was a toy store, a DVD preview store, and, oh by the way, they happen to have a few people equipped with scissors. Those wearing aprons would cut your kids hair in 30 seconds after enticing them with some random movie--one that you'd probably rather they not watch in the first place.

And let's be clear...no parent, not even on their best parenting-game-day, would be seen walking out of those specialty kid-cutters without a plastic toy that would be lucky to stay intact long enough to make the drive home without breaking.

So on our recent vacation, we were more than pleased to take our boys to a real Barbershop. You might remember those types of establishments...they are staffed with pleasant gentlemen who will treat your lad like a prince. They will not entice them into the seat with multi-media props. They will, however, talk with them. They'll engaged them in conversation and in the process, give them a marvelous hair-cut.

This gave me pause for thought on how much I really do prefer the Barbershop experience.

Reason #1.

Instead of looking at a DVD the whole time, they actually admire their "before" locks because they are looking into a mirror instead of a t.v. screen.

After...

What makes a hair cut complete? The lollipop, of course. But that's not all at a Barbershop...

Reason #2. At a Barbershop, the finishing touch is the soft brush of the talcum powder...instead of the requisite toy purchase.

Reason #3. Who doesn't like to get their hair cut from cool guys from New Jersey?

When all is said and done--wet and combed, cut and brushed--I still find myself admiring their locks scattered on the ground beneath them. At ages 7 and 4, I no longer save them in tiny ziploc bags like those first precious curls, but I do find that I still have to take a quick shot. Our Barbers understood. They are parents, too.

The rite of passage of a grown-up hair cut and the ritual of becoming little men...well, in a Barbershop you actually have the quiet to appreciate these moments--instead of battling over whether to buy the plastic tadpole or the styrofoam sword as you are trying to check-out.

Two haircuts, 52 photos, and zero meltdowns. Sounds like a new tradition in the making.

Give a Girl the Right Shoes...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 21:48:00 +0000

"Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world." - Marilyn Monroe

I grew up barefoot living on a sail boat, but I always remember the pair of black patent leather 'dress shoes' that my mom gave me. I didn't conquer the world, but I sure learned to dance.

Pilgrims, Precious Gift, and Pumpkin Pie

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 20:52:00 +0000

Dateline: T's Classroom.

Continent: North America

Country: USA

Why: Thanksgiving

What: Gratitude Bowl.

Introduced our family tradition of naming something you are grateful for, writing it down, and placing it in the gratitude bowl. We read these before meals during this season of the Great Feast.

What they said:

"I'm thankful for my Mom giving me money when I clean up my room."

"I'm thankful for hockey."

"I'm thankful for Max."

What we said:

Native Americans were the first Americans to greet the Pilgrims. Lloyd read his illustrator-sister, Woodleigh's book (The Precious Gift). Navaho myth that kept the children entertained and amazingly attentive. I sliced thick, velvety pumpkin pie and delicately placed tiny slices on small plates with sporks. Wished my camera was completely silent so I could take more photos. Put the camera down in the name of no distractions.

What they left:

Not a crumb.

Smiles.

Pleas for "seconds."

We left:

Giving thanks for the children in our midst. All of them. These little beings keep us in the present. Each is truly, a Precious Gift.

Rain, Rain Go Away

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 02:58:00 +0000

Don't you know it's party day?

Preparations

Ingredients

Show time!

27 kids, 36 cupcakes, 64 slices of pizza = 1 hugely happy halloweeny crowd.

Out of the [eyes] of babes...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 01:27:00 +0000

Today was one of those memory book days...the beauty of fall in the blue of the sky, the pleasant chill in the air, and the unbelievable color of leaves lining every path. And, of course, the requisite pumpkin patch.

But you will not see in this post orange rows of over-sized pumpkins with little lads propped up on them...save that one (you know its coming) for another day. No, this is about the photos I didn't take.

When it came time to use the pumpkin-patch-port-a-potties, I did a double-take at my dangling camera...do I really want to risk this baby in the over-used toilet shack? No, better to risk it in the hands of my beloveds. So L went on a photo spree while I was busy practicing Mama Preach: For the love of God, Don't touch anything in there...all the while wishing I had a gallon of Purell in my backpack.

When I emerged from the green plastic vault, I took an overdue inhale. Looking like a Superfund site that refused to be fully contained, the ports were a popular docking station for young and old alike visiting the patch. Ye ol' necessary evil for any serious patch visitor. And there was L...happpily snapping away at all the goings-on in and around the ports.

L was handling my wide angle lens like a little pro. I was so impressed with what he took. I could not believe how level all his shots were. Especially considering this camera around his neck was like a 50 pound sack of gourds around ours!

It was such a great reminder about seeing the world through their eyes, their perspective, and their height. Never in a million patch outings would it have interested me to photograph these "portable sinks" that go with the "portable potties" like he did.

But at his height, they are strangely cool. It was so neat for me to view a little portion of our day through his vantage. Especially when you think about just how much kids are told to wash their hands these days. The Swine, damnit, the Swine. Get under your finger nails, Billy Bob.

Of course, siblings being siblings....T had to have a try once I got out. He needed a little bit of help to support the lens.

I promptly forgot about their photo sprees until I downloaded the card onto my computer. I instantly recognized a face, but simultaneously observed an expression that I didn'trecognize...even though I've shot him a thousand times too many to count.

Here are T's shots of his brother. L's face is decidedly a face just for bro...expressions, sentiments, and sauciness reserved just for him...certainly not for Mama.

I call this one: "Who's your Big Bad Brother?"

Looks like there's soon to be more cameras in da haus. Oy!

Tall as...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 21:24:00 +0000

...the red fire hydrant on the corner of our street.

Happy as...

the autumn breezes that we greet.

Light as...

sprinkles on an October day.

Sweet as...

a tiny pink bow of Love that came to stay.

Scale

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 03:25:00 +0000

Scale...photography principals deepen my parenting with both patience and perspective.

Post-script

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 03:22:00 +0000

Yesterday I wrote about my first-grader and his hopes that were dashed of lunching with Mr. Principal following the school's fundraiser.

As Gomer Pyle would say, "Surprise, surprise, surprise!"

I wrote a note to Mr. Principal suggesting that next year they should consider putting things (the almighty prize credits, for instance) into a handout for the younger grades to take home when the fundraiser arrives...lest another lad (or lassie's) stroll down Paul Harvey Lane, which meanders a bit before curving a slight right, and eventually landing on Disappointment Alley. Of course, it is not that I don't simply adore midnight shopping for wrapping paper and lavender-scented travel accessories that will sit in the closet for the next decade...or purchasing chocolates well-intended as gifts that will no doubt end up along my waistline for same decade. Heavens, NO! It's all in the name of school support, of course! I treasure those opportunities to learn what cello bags are, in fact, and look forward to our 16 packets of Cocoa Amore gourmet flavors and my Think It, Ink It sketch pad.

Much to my surprise, however, Mr. Principal said that despite the fact that we are not home to Top Seller, that he does like to eat lunch with the students as often as he can and that (drum roll), our L. would be welcome to bring a friend and join him for lunch someday...unrelated to the fundraiser, of course. OF COURSE!

Well you know it--we're dancin' in our rainboots today, folks! Dancin' and a howlin' with the blustery winds...thank you, Mr. Principal, thank you!!!!