Joy-ography

A rerun and a new story why I need to attend the Joy-ography photography workshop:

The rerun

In September I wrote of a fun afternoon playing with this praying mantis, that releasing it back into the grass was like a farewell to summer.

The new story

Last summer my children often commented that the bugs they collected in jars were their only pets. We remedied this somewhat with Elise's Christmas gift of a gray hamster she named Buddy.

She has been in love! She wanted to show Buddy to her second grade class, so enlisted me to bring his entire habitat for show and tell. I brought the camera, too, knowing Elise's enthusiasm would be golden.

Elise opened Buddy's cage and lovingly cupped him in her hands for his celebrity tour 'round the desks. I readied the camera. But instead of the expected quick, efficient click, the shutter slowly shuddered, offering me one measly picture before freezing altogether.

Aargh!

The camera's control window said "Err." It probably stood for "Error," but I felt like the camera was casting judgment. As in, "Err, you don't know what you're doing, do you?"  Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah.

And just like that the camera wouldn't let me take a single shot. I missed:  precious looks of wonder; Elise's confident carriage; faces framed by the white metal wires of Buddy's cage as the students eagerly peered inside; the hilarious way Elise flipped her hair to demonstrate Buddy cleaning himself.

I turned the camera off and on, off and on. Pushed buttons, removed the lens, reset. No amount of dial turning was restoring life into the machine, which is such an important (and expensive!) part of recording my family's story. I was so discouraged -- distraught almost --  that I called my husband as soon as I got home to tell him what happened at the school.

"Wait," he interrupted me. "Does this story end with the hamster dying?"

No, I laughed, flooding with the relief that comes from a new perspective. "Just the camera."

It did, inexplicably, come back to life, but I am tired of it taking the upper hand.

What I really need is the real-life mentoring I could get from the Joy-ography workshop, presented by two great photographers I know.

I want to earn a chance to attend this workshop because:

1. I love to take pictures of the everyday moments with my children, but want the quality of the shots to be, well ... more than everyday.

2. I struggle with my camera. I want to be in charge of my it, not the other way around.

3. My rudimentary knowledge frustrates me. I think I have a good eye for composition, but often don't know how to turn my vision into results. I know enough to know I need to learn more.

4. Attending the workshop will get me out of the house for the day!

5. Photography helps me see all that is worthwhile.

6. I want my children to have a beautiful record of their lives. I don't want them to see snapshots, I want them to see memories.

Waffling

I'm reading a book called Becoming a Humor Being by comedian Steve Rizzo, who promotes laughter as a way to replace fear and anger as we deal with life's challenges. I think the book's message could have been bottled into one concise chapter, but each sip as I pick the volume off my nightstand again reminds me that I could be much happier if only I laughed more. Maybe the repetition is good.

Sometimes, Rizzo says, we need to create something absurd to invite laughter in.

Someone left a messy waffle iron on the kitchen counter. Someone cooked bacon in it, and didn't drain the grease before it hardened. In his defense, Someone said the Food Network told him to cook bacon this way. Probably a great idea -- bacon gets cooked very evenly top and bottom this method, a great idea -- IF your waffle iron grills can be submersed in water, or if you never care to use that particular appliance again. AARGH!! I hate bacon grease with a passion. I asked Someone two days ago to please, please clean this mess.

This afternoon, resigned to my waffle iron fate, I could have been angry. Instead I laughed at the neatly printed invoice I would create, detailing the number of minutes I spent cleaning the appliance, payable in equal minutes of back-scratching.

Ridiculous? Absurd? You betcha. But for the nine minutes I was scraping grease from dozens of grooves with an ittty bitty spoon, my mind was in a happy place, far from angry.

I hope Someone laughs too.

Testimony

I wanted to bear my testimony last Sunday
of the power of temples.
I wanted to share how
just the sight of one
through his car window
quieted my cranky 2-year-old.

We headed there, with time to spare
between our hotel check-out
and the St. George sacrament meeting
we were attending.

I wanted to share the peace I felt
on the grounds,
the intuitive reverence I saw
in my children.

I wanted to share
so I found audience
in the eager visitor's center
tour guide.
I related what Samuel said
as he pulled his sister
toward the temple steps.
"Come on, Emma,
let's go find Jesus!
Come on!"
My heart had twinged.

"Oh, yes," the tour guide
matter-of-factly replied
to my retelling.
"All of the children love
the statue of Jesus."

But I had not known this
visitor's center
housed a model of the Christus
and
I am sure that is
not
what Samuel had in mind.

Samuel raced ahead
in the visitor's building,
down hallways
and around bends.
I found him sitting,
transfixed,
at the feet
of the statue of Jesus.

I wanted to bear my testimony in church last Sunday
of the power of temples,
but I was in foyer exile,
carting a loud, cranky 2-year-old
like a slippery football
at my waist
where he could not reach
my face to hit.

I bear testimony here that
Jesus loves this little boy
more than I can ever know,

and I can draw
from His power.

Cake drama

AUDITION NOTICE: Seeking male actor with impressive vocals and imposing stage presence. Character in family comedy-drama is charming yet strong-willed, prone to speak his mind. Come to audition with a short, prepared sketch; plan on also showcasing improvisation skills. Part will be double-cast.

Act I, Scene I: Samuel helping himself to the cooling cake layers, what was to be brother Kyle's birthday cake.

Director's Notes:

The first thing I thought upon seeing this scene unfold today (OK, make that second thing; first I screamed!) was that Kyle finally got his due.

Jeff was in a similar vein when I told him of the incident. "Samuel's revenge," he titled it.

You see, Kyle has had a ruinous hand (finger!) in every single birthday cake in our family. He sneaks his mark on foodstuffs everywhere. On Christmas Eve I toiled to finish neighbor gifts of mini bread loaves, and Kyle found them. 

It's enough to drive me crazy!

I almost expect it from Samuel, but surely 14-year-old Kyle is above such behavior. Right?

Kyle and Samuel are very much alike, not just in the sense of Samuel physically resembling the toddler Kyle once was. They are impulsively alike in the here and now.  In button-pushing, boundary-defining, will-asserting and even tantrum-throwing, they get equal billing. It just comes with the ages.

I remember one article in the type of cheerful parenting magazine I devoured when Kyle was a baby calling the toddler age "a first adolescence." Perhaps, then, this tricky patch in Kyle's life could be considered "a second toddler period."

As such I must lovingly help him navigate it. "Be gentle," those glossy baby mags counseled. With teens it ought to be the same. Just because I think Kyle should know better most of the time is no reason for me to be more harsh than kind when I teach him.

So, Happy Birthday, Kyle! You are a special young man. My gift to you is to work on being a more patient, gentle, loving mother, the kind that you deserve.

Think of Samuel as cross-training.

Photo of Kyle and Samuel from 2009.

Happy Blue Year!

Our town hosted a fantastic New Year's Eve celebration in the buildings surrounding City Hall. I took Emma, Elise, James and Samuel; Kyle wanted nothing to do with it, and Jeff said he had work to do. There were carnival games and prizes at the elementary school, fire cans and music in the parking lots, story-telling at the library, burgers and hot dogs at the rec. center, and more, more, more. It was all free! The carnival games were staffed by gentle, polite youths who had smiles for even irritable Samuel. The whole operation had a friendly, community vibe. Awesome.

At the elementary school we waited in line for face painting behind a bunch of excitable teenage boys. (Because nothing says COOL and attracts the ladies like painted faces! At the kiddie carnival!) When James saw that they were all getting dolled up like the movie Avatar, he wanted to follow suit. I asked the face painter, "So, how many Avatar faces have you done tonight?" About seven, he said. I counted the group of young men now leaving through the front doors. Ah, so just their group. And James. We later ran into this Blue Boy Group in the food building. I couldn't help but chuckle when the leader stared at James with a pained look, as if he had stolen their thunder.

It was a fun night, but after hours of solo greco-Sam wrestling, I was ready to go. Battered black and blue. 


Back home I promised the older children they still could stay up until midnight, if they wanted. Once in a blue moon. They were thrilled. Kyle had, by this time, gone to a friend's house. I got Samuel to bed and tended to laundry and dishes while the kids started games. When I passed by my room I was stunned and hurt to see that Jeff had already gone to bed. What? Without saying goodnight? On New Year's Eve no less?


So that's how I entered 2010, feeling blue.


Today I've thought of lots of ways blue makes it into our language. Blue states and blue plates. Talking a blue streak. Shouting till he's blue in the face. Men in blue. Singing the blues. 


You know what? Blue is actually my favorite color.

One of my most pressing New Year's resolutions is to search for the bright side in everything, like seeing dishes and laundry for the bounty they represent. Seeing not a lump beneath blankets, but a hard-working husband who just needed his rest. That's all. The brightest side is knowing his love for me extends well beyond an 11:59 command-performance embrace. I really am a lucky gal.

I wish all of you a wondrous 2010, filled with blue skies, or vistas of whatever color you hold dear.

Happy New Year!