Lately I’m bringing my larger camera everywhere with me. Along with my iPhone that is saddled with a camera roll holding over 10,000 photos on it, I carry a digital SLR with a somewhat larger lens that makes it a very heavy and awkward accessory. Slung over my shoulder with my heavy diaper bag/backpack/purse I carry this camera, always chasing after various children with one plopped on my hip.
I never want to forget what this feels like. It’s a combination of exasperation in realizing that I’m in a very pack mule-esque stage of my life, leading the pack of our family at the same time as desperately hanging on to their heels like Robin Hood scooping up the jewels flying off of King Richard’s carriage. My camera is a trusted companion, one that has been by my side for nearly seven years. I rely on this work horse to grasp the moments that I might otherwise forget or miss during the moments flying by.
I’ve created a balance between the stories that my photos tell without any words at all, a self painted scripture that I couldn’t possibly lay down the notes for if I tried, and a running dialogue within my heart that I’m jotting down within a cohesive diary of our life. I don’t want to be the mom that always has devices dripping off of her, but having my camera close to me brings a feeling of security as well as giving me a creative outlet to really grasp a moment in time.
Photos tell the stories that our hearts record.
It is the greatest gift to be able to capture moments of these ever changing little beings that are moving and growing one day to the next, a lifetime in a single snapshot.
It’s a hobby for me, an art form in the truest way and something that is a challenging and ever-intruguing process, one that has become one of my life’s more meaningful, tangible benchmarks.