A mama. A camera. A dream.
(And a silly little girl)
Andy's new work schedule has changed our world. Gone are the days of late nights and breakfasts together at the big table while the sun streams in the window. Our morning starts at night, 4:30 a.m. to be exact, a time when the world is still buried under the covers.
Our house is small and the sounds of morning seem to have their own volume. A task that seems relatively soundless in the middle of the day echos off the walls at 4:30 a.m. These sounds call a little girl from her slumber to join the world of the moon and stars. How I love my curly topped fairy but often find myself feeling a tiny bit resentful at her early presence. "It's still nighttime," I remind her as I snuggle her up in hopes that her long lashes might come to rest again on her cheeks. "I'm hungry for breakfast," she replies.
This particular day, however, I decided to capitalize on the early. By the light of a candle (well, not really but it sounded rather poetic or antiquated or fancy or something) we pulled out a box of art supplies and a stack of colored paper. It was 6:30 a.m. and we had a banner to make.
A few hours and a good breakfast later our studio was ready to go. We have all the modern equipment here, vacuums and kitchen chairs stacked to hold the backdrop up nice and high and hair clips to keep it securely in place. Our fancy new banner, our trusty old Valentines sign, a chair and a girl who insisted on wearing her "cherry dress."
Gone were my dreams of sweet smiles and drippy Valentines sentiment. Fishing for that sweet smile was like a day on Lake Owasso with a pole and a can of worms. The lens on my camera found a girl who's silliness knows no end. She made the photos her own. Lots of crazy expressions. Lots of hats. Lots of poses and one shot in her jammies. We covered all the bases here.
And in the end, a sweet smile or two, though I've saved my favorite photo as a surprise for our Valentines card. Wouldn't want to share our wishes too early.
I left the room for a few minutes and returned to find a little curly topped girl in a cherry dress holding my camera while standing on a chair rather precariously. "I want to take your picture mama," she declared. We decided it might be better for her to sit on the chair while taking pictures so I held the camera while she climbed down.
She set up her subject and her shot with stern instructions. "Hold this sign dreadfully," she told me while handing me our valentines sign." Don't wander off or be disobedient while I take your picture." So I sat and smiled even wearing the hat when the time came. She snapped away, giggling as she worked, her laughing hands moving the camera about. I think it's what makes them so endearing. Looking at them, I can see and hear the sweet sound of her joy. To me, they look like laughter.
"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit.
"No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it.
"No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it.
It's just that something happened to it along the way."
