Story Behind the Picture: Rain Boots

Life with young children makes an otherwise sane human being accept certain things as "normal" that the rest of the world views as "odd."

Like buying pants for your child specifically because they have extra pockets to hold all the treasures he's always finding.

Or walking through the aisles of the grocery store accompanied by children dressed in Halloween costumes. In April.

And, finally, going to the pool (and the beach, and the boardwalk) for an entire summer with children who insist on wearing rain boots.

One gets many strange looks from other adults when one is spotted calmly escorting their rain-boot-clad child in cloudless, 90-degree weather. To the pool. These looks are usually followed with a laugh and an understanding nod, as if to say "ah, I see you chose not to battle over the choice of footwear this morning."

Half of parenthood - motherhood, especially - is about knowing when to let go. Yes, my child's pants are laden with little toy cars, rocks, leaves, and a random plastic barrette of dubious origin. Yes, my child wore a full-body dinosaur costume to Acme last week. And yes, my child will probably once again insist on wearing rain boots to the pool this summer. He's not screaming, crying, or having a temper tantrum, is he? No? Then it's all good.

Parenthood is about learning to let go and realize what our children have know all along: rain boots aren't just for rainy days.

Story Behind the Picture: We Fly

Last night my computer died: literally crashed, burned, and lay in a pile of fragmented-hard-drive-rubble on my desk. The last back-up was four weeks ago, but as you all know, I create a lot of new work in the span of one month. I was particularly heartbroken because I thought this little collage that I created six days ago had been lost forever. Imagine my dance of delight when I realized I still had a copy that I emailed to my dear friends for consideration in their new nursery (is there any higher compliment than to have a friend choose your artwork for their home, especially for their new baby?).

I still haven't decided if the children have captured and are pulling the hot air balloon toward them, or if they are flying it like a kite...the details don't matter as much as the inspiration: don't let a tiny thing like reality get in the way of your dreams. Why settle for a little red balloon when you could capture and fly an aeronautical adventuring machine? Go and fly amidst the twinkling lights and enjoy every moment.

Story Behind the Picture: Go Green!

*Phone rings*
Me: "Hello?"
Colleen: "You HAVE to enter this contest."
Me: "What contest?"
Colleen: "The one I just emailed you about. If you win, Bloomimdale's will sell your design as a tote bag. Go come up with something!"

This is my friend Colleen. She calls/emails/Facebooks/tweets with all kinds of crazy ideas for me. She's like a one-woman brain trust for all things creative, and I always nod my head and do as she says, having long ago learned to trust her incredible judgment about these things.

So, Bloomies wants a design for their "Go Green" campaign, do they? I happened to be standing outside, barefoot in the grass, at the time she called me. As Sheba, the resident crazy dog and professional paw model galloped passed, this image popped into my mind.

One problem.

Have you ever tried to get one dog, two boys, and seven Scrabble tiles to sit/stand/lay nicely in the green grass on a beautiful sunny spring day? Let's just say I'm happy there are multiple "R" pieces in a Scrabble game, because Sheba nearly ate one (and wet, dog-saliva-covered wood tiles are not the same color as the nice clean, dry ones). The boys were, of course, complete angels and never once poked, prodded, or pushed one another. At ALL (please read that last part with all the sarcasm it implies).

I took about five or six shots before Sheba collapsed in exhaustion on top of the words "go green," Lucas discovered there were far more interesting things to do (like dig for ants at the base of a tree), and Danny informed me he had to take a call. On his cell phone. Which was really a twig he discovered in the yard.

Now it seems this little memoir of one sunny day and three marginally cooperative models has reached #4 in the country in the polls. If it wins and you see random women wandering around carrying my bag as they shop at Bloomingdales, you can tell them that the "R" is a replacement letter because Sheba slobbered all over the first. Then, please do come back here and tell me if they enjoyed the story. Or if they called mall security. I'd love to know which one it was.

Story Behind the Picture: Apples

My mother asked that I share a funny story this week. And, as you know, I always do what my mother says.

I have two boys. I think everyone who follows along here knows this by now. I think everyone also knows that they are not exactly quiet, reserved, timid little children. Lately, my job as mother primarily involves refereeing battles that start promptly at 4:04 p.m. (when the bus delivers my eldest at the end of the school day) and don't end until bed time. Or later. And by "referee" I mean actually pulling children off one another when it starts to get ugly. I should wear a mouth guard and collect a stipend.

So what's with the apples? I was trying to harness a little creativity during the epic snowstorms that have pummeled us since January. After a few days of snow-induced captivity, apples were the only colorful thing I could could find in the house. That and lots of tiny Legos that I accidentally found with my feet. Very comfortable.

As I'm lining up apples on my windowsill, I hear the fight begin to brew:

"No, Danny, noooooooo!"

Then, silence.
I decide to continue on with the apples.

"Danny!!!!! Stop it!!!!" *heavy thumping noises from above*

I'm still debating as to whether my referee skills are required, when I hear Lucas yell (at decibel 11):

"Danny! I do not belong in the hamper! I am not clothes, I am SOMEBODY!"

It was, at this point, that I was actually proud of my loud, brawling, scrappy 3 year-old. That's right, Lucas, you ARE somebody. Nobody's going to put YOU in a hamper. Unless it's your big brother, who still managed to get one of your legs in the aforementioned hamper before I reached the bedroom and, once again, had to pull you children off of one another.

Great art is not created while your children are trying to shove one another in a dirty clothes receptacle. The apples, above, are not great art. We ate them later for snack (out of desperation because we were out of cookies and there was 97 feet of snow on the ground). I'm okay with sharing the not-great-art here. It happens. This week was about the story, about my boys who love one another with great devotion, and about always trying to be creative, even if people are shoving one another in hampers while you try to work.

Story Behind the Picture: Good or Bad?

I love the Wizard of Oz. I love the Wizard of Oz, even though I once had nightmares about a witch's legs shriveling up under a house, and sparkling ruby slippers that were coming to get me.

When I saw these shoes on the feet of my two-year-old niece, I began thinking of my favorite phrases from the movie. If you knew my two-year-old niece, saw her impish smile and clever eyes, ran after her as she tried to repeatedly dart into oncoming traffic, or watched her scale furniture of frightening heights in order to retrieve a cookie from the counter, you would know why I chose this particular quote.

Sometimes the only story I have to tell is the one about the sunny day, the Scrabble letters, and my niece's little ruby slippers. So, I ask you all: are you a good witch, or a bad witch?

Story Behind the Picture: Dandelion

It was a delightful summer afternoon. I gathered up the boys and we took a lazy stroll around the neighborhood, enjoying the shade of the trees and the sounds of the birds and tree frogs singing as we walked underneath. I think we only actually walked a few hundred meters, but it took almost an hour - curious little boys love to stop and investigate every leaf, flower, and blade of grass they encounter. As we walked back up the hill to our house, I saw this dandelion glowing in our front yard as the sun began to dip low in the sky. Danny squealed with delight and raced ahead to grab it, but I begged him to wait until I took a picture. He and Lucas stood patiently while I took my usual ridiculous number of photographs, and when I was finished, I gave them a smile. Danny raced to the dandelion and blew the little fluffy seeds all over our front lawn. I watched him dancing around as they fell to the ground, knowing there would soon be a new, larger crop of weeds for him to enjoy. My husband finds it odd that I photographed a weed. I told him he needs to look at it from a child’s point of view.

Story Behind the Picture: All in a Row

I'm always surprised by how my personal life gently colors even the most simple photograph. Two weeks ago, I brought home a huge bundle of pears. As I placed them on the kitchen counter, I was struck by the personality each little pear seemed to exude. I chose six of the pears, set them in a row, and started shooting.

Not until I saw the images on my computer did I realize I had chosen the same number of pears as the children in my husband's family. I'm an only child, but I married a man with five siblings. Those six children are the most wonderful, yet diverse set of individuals: each is an incredibly unique personality, each has their own set of gifts and strengths, each leans their own way. The way these pears are sitting mirrors the personalities and the relationships of all six brothers and sisters, yet the effect was entirely unintentional. A dear friend just told me it reminded him of "The Last Supper." With fruit.

I love to see my own children growing into their little unique selves: diversity is a beautiful thing. Just like these little pears.

Story Behind the Picture: Fern

Grocery shopping with two young children is, frankly, a nightmare. Now that he can read, Danny spends the majority of the time asking if we need certain items:

"Mommy, do we need Lima beans? Do we need toasted sesame oil? Do we need Twinkies? Do we need Smartfood? Will that really make us smart? Do we need denture adhesive?" and Lucas spends his time reaching for the most breakable items, trying to swat them off the shelves before I can intercept with my Matrix reflexes. In between answering "no, sweetie, we do not need any Imodium AD" and diving for the jar of grape jelly before it hits the floor, I also referee the fights that ensue over the shopping cart handle:

"I'm helping push!"

"No, MEEEEEE!"

"Ow, stop pulling my hair!"

"Let GOOOOOOOOO!"

(What, you ask, does this have to do with a fern? I'll get there...)

This past week, after surviving the barrage of questions, the fights, and saving the glass items from destruction, we took our place in the self-checkout lane of the store. There were two people ahead of us, each with overflowing carts. I sighed in anticipation of a long wait, refereed yet another fight with one hand, and looked down for literally two seconds to check the time on my cell phone.

*tap tap tap*

A bony finger belonging to the woman behind me pecked away at my shoulder.

Me: Yes?

Woman: "Are you in LINE?"

Me: *confused, as clearly I was, in fact, in line* "Er, yeees..."

Woman: *in shrill, rude, condescending tone* "Well, that register is open! It's your turn! Hurry UP!"

I looked ahead to see that, indeed, the two people ahead of me had ninja-like checkout skills and had managed to ring up cartloads of groceries in under two nanoseconds. This did not, however, lower my blood pressure. At this moment, I had two options. My first (and frankly, the one I truly wanted to choose after a long afternoon in the crowded grocery store) was to smack Hanna Helpful and tell her to remove her finger from my shoulder blade before I did it for her. My second (and frankly, the one I knew to be better for my children to witness) was to channel my inner Tina Fey and pile on the sarcasm.

Me: "My goodness, thank you SO very much for letting me know."

Woman: *looks confused*

Me: "Truly, I am so very, deeply appreciative" *holding hand over heart for more dramatic emphasis*

Woman: *looks more confused*

Me: "I would never, EVER have noticed that the register was available for use, and I am so thankful that you took the time to let me know."

Woman: *backs away very slowly*

My blood pressure was still a bit high even after I returned home, fueled by Danny's constant questions:

"Mommy, why was that lady tapping you on the shoulder?"

"Mommy, why was the lady talking to you like you were in trouble?"

"Mommy, why is your face all red?"

After I unpacked the car and put the groceries away, I noticed the late afternoon sunlight was making the ferns in our backyard glow with the most beautiful shade of green. Green has a calming effect on the human mind I certainly needed a little of that. I took my camera and we all headed back outside to capture a little soothing summer magic. It worked.

Story Behind the Picture: Flags on the Boardwalk

Motherhood is a strange dichotomy: it simultaneously hardens and softens us. Having two boys has made me mentally tougher than I ever was, even during the most grueling training and racing of my rowing career. I thought life was tough, what with the constant injuries, hunger, and mental fatigue of competition. And then I became a mother. If I estimate correctly, it has been five years and thirty-two days since I last had a day – or a night – to myself. Since I slept soundly without being roused from bed by cries or my own worries. Since I spoke on the phone, drove in a car, or bought paper towels without the constant din of baby-toddler-preschooler-mayhem. Since I walked out of the house without a bag resembling that of the migrant workers heading west during the “Grapes of Wrath.” I’m amused by the recent debate over methods of torture used to extract information from prisoners. Why? Because I have a solution. Put them in a house with my children and a broken coffee maker for three days with no reprieve and I promise you, they will gladly spill the beans.

At the same time as I’ve been honing my tuning-out-the-screaming skills and the mediation-between-warring-factions-while-on-the-phone skills, I find my work has been affected – for the better – by being a mother. I used to photograph strictly in black-and-white: I had no desire to work in color or veer away from the moody, contemplative images I created. I have changed. I listen to advice of my littlest assistants. I see the colors. I climb into tents built from sofa cushions and blankets. I remember the rainy afternoons when I hunted for that magical closet that would finally lead me to Narnia.

This photograph, while taken on a perfectly ordinary day on a perfectly ordinary boardwalk, is anything but ordinary for me. It is the techni-color dream of castles and kings, captured by my eye, inspired by my (energetic, sleep-deprived, imaginative) life with children.

Story Behind the Picture: Fledgling

Our backyard is a virtual aviary – the songs of jays, robins, doves, sparrows (and a myriad of other birds I can’t identify) happily drown out the noisy city traffic. I was surprised, however, when a robin family chose to deposit their newest fledgling in our yard. We have two dogs and two boys – not really a tranquil setting for baby birds – but perhaps they thought he’d fit in with us. He wandered about, hopping onto a deflated soccer ball (favorite dog toy), perching on the little slide (usually inhabited by Lucas), investigating the wiffle ball that went sailing past him (Danny’s home run for the day). He let the boys come within three feet before he’d lift his fluffy body and use his impossibly long legs to scurry for cover under the ivy that adorns our fence. He was, however, a true toddler: three second later he’d come back, braver than one his size ought to be. I watched his mom and dad perch high above on the power lines that connect the garage to the main house. When he called out in his cranky “hungry voice,” they’d swoop down with worms, and occasionally make a fighter-plane-style pass over a dog’s head if they thought one wandered too close. We said goodnight as the sun set and I watched him wander about, enjoying his first evening out of the nest.

This morning he let the boys come within inches of his tiny yellow beak and he seemed oddly calm. A few hours later he was still in the same position: fluffy little body snuggled down into a patch of long green grass, his eyes barely open. I looked around for mom and dad, but did not see either one, which made me terribly sad: they would never have left a healthy fledgling unattended. “Mommy,” said Danny with a frown, “the baby bird seems really sleepy.” I found a pair of gardening gloves and gently picked him up, checking to see if he’d been injured. He seemed to be fine, other than the fact that he settled down into my gloved hands and closed his eyes. The boys gathered around and we watched him sleep, Lucas’ breath so close that it ruffled the baby down still peeking out from under the new adult feathers.

I came back out to the yard as the boys napped and stayed with him until he stopped breathing. I buried him in our flower bed and hoped, as I patted the damp earth back into place, that he enjoyed his day of freedom in our little yard.

Story Behind the Picture: "Little Toes"

"I'd love a picture of the boys' feet."

This was my mother's opening comment, several phone calls ago, not-so-subtly hinting at her Mother's Day gift. It made me a little nervous, frankly. I've stood on narrow, wobbly boat decks, laid in the gnat-infested grass near the hooves of a very protective momma horse, and climbed atop my husband's shoulders to capture my images. Taking a photograph of my own children's feet should be no problem, right?

HA.

Me: "Danny, Lucas, come stand here by mommy."
Lucas: "I waaaaaant my SHOES on!!!!!"
Me: "No, sweetie, grandmom wants a picture of your toes. Without shoes."
Danny: "Gee Lucas, a bee might sting your foot if you step on it without your shoes..."
Me: "Daniel! Don't scare your brother!"
Lucas: *clinging to my leg* "are der bees out here, mommy?"
Me: "No sweetie, no bees. Daniel, get back over here!"

I finally decided against photographing bare toes in grass, and when I spotted the old white Adirondack chair with the peeling paint that sits in a shady corner of our yard, I had a moment of inspiration: I could trap the children in it!

Danny: "Mommy, I can't get out of here! I keep sliding back!"
Lucas: "Stop touching meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Me: "I'll let you out when you both stop complaining."

It worked. For fifteen whole seconds I had two silent children glaring at me from the depths of their slope-seated prison, chubby bare feet perfectly placed for my photography efforts. This was the last shot I took, the one where Lucas decided to tickle his big brother's foot and they both laughed and held hands. For a nanosecond.

Danny and Lucas in unison: "Are we done YET? OW, he hit me! STOP IT!!!!!!!"

Ah, the joys of motherhood...