The Present

So I have always been one of those people that when I would get an LL Bean or J. Crew catalog, I imagined myself in the rugged outdoors, sipping coffee on a pier, wearing wellies with my kids fishing, swinging their boot clad legs over the side. At least that was before J. Crew went vintage glam, when I owned more rollneck sweaters than I could wear. The truth is, I'm not outdoorsy, or rugged for that matter, and if my kids caught a fish I wouldn't know the first thing to do with it. Let alone, let them sit on the edge of the pier without a lifejacket and a firm hand on their shoulder. I would create these picture montages in my head of how life would be so perfect, if only I had the right setting, and accessories.

I had visions of my wedding pictures playing out like a Martha Stewart magazine. Black and white close-ups of us walking, him holding the train of my dress so it wouldn't drag. A shot of my perfectly pedicured foot in my Kenneth Cole stiletto. The best man's toast. Cut to reality. I have $2000 worth of random (not artsy) candids and the ridiculous 12x12 leather bound album of posed family shots. My bunion didn't fit in the stiletto. They went back to the store and I picked up white "satin" Totes ballet slippers to wear with my dress. And the toast was mostly about basketball and teamwork. I think. I am scowling into my champagne glass in those pictures. But there was one good thing that I remember the best man saying at the end of the toast, "Yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery, today is a gift, that's why it's called the present."  At the time I was so wrapped up in the fact that the toast really had nothing to do with me that it took me watching our wedding video to catch it.

Then I had kids. And the disillusionment only grew. Getting the perfect Christmas card, the perfect 1st birthday party, handprint and footprint plates to mark every 3 months of growth. Uh-uh. The thing that noone mentions in all of those baby books and magazines is that reality is messy, and forgetful, and tired, and sometimes throws up on things. The paint your own pottery plates never happened. I have no idea what my 9 year old's first word was. No idea what the 7 and 5 year olds' were either. Baby books? Never happened.

Now I have an inexpensive Kodak EasyShare camera. Best thing I ever bought for myself. I set that jammy on Sepia, and go to town, photographing life as I see it, through my sepia colored glasses. My sisters and I joke whenever I post my sepia pictures. We say that it "tells a story, every time". So I take pictures of my kids walking ahead of me, or squatting at the shoreline, or climbing on rocks. Everyone photographs better, because it's so forgiving, and it gives the illusion that you are looking back in time. Sharing a memory. And then I rush to post it on Facebook. "Look at all of my wonderful memories! What a picture perfect life!"

There was a time this summer, when my husband was deployed by the Coast Guard to Louisiana for 2 months. I was at the Cape with the kids, having a terrible day. I was tired. I missed Tom. I had absolutely had it, and I still had about 5 weeks to go before I would get any kind of break. And there I was, camera set on sepia, trying to get the perfect shot. At one point I put the camera back in my bag because I felt like a sham. Trying to create happy memories, when I was anything but happy. But then I took it back out, took a deep breath and went back to trying to get the kids to stand in the perfect light, casting the perfect shadow. Isn't that what we are all trying to do?