A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

Not many kids get to have the first New York City experience like you and your sisters had. We did nothing touristy, but everything real, if not a bit above and beyond my typical previous city life. We lived the high life, partied on roof tops, basked in the unseasonably warm October sun on terraced balconies. We ran in party dresses through midtown at rush hour. We took over restaurants in the Meatpacking and asked every cab and Uber driver what their favorite Halloween candy was. We sat in giant picture windows and watched our street below become a flower and plant market everyday. We finagled our way into wholesale jewelry stores and bought more glittery baubles than should be allowed. And we danced.  Photo by Olivia Gatti Instagram :: Website

Not many kids get to have the first New York City experience like you and your sisters had. We did nothing touristy, but everything real, if not a bit above and beyond my typical previous city life. We lived the high life, partied on roof tops, basked in the unseasonably warm October sun on terraced balconies. We ran in party dresses through midtown at rush hour. We took over restaurants in the Meatpacking and asked every cab and Uber driver what their favorite Halloween candy was. We sat in giant picture windows and watched our street below become a flower and plant market everyday. We finagled our way into wholesale jewelry stores and bought more glittery baubles than should be allowed. And we danced. 

Photo by Olivia Gatti

Instagram :: Website


"adorning the creek house" you and i found some lovely lace curtains at the antique store today.  i wondered if they were going to provide enough privacy in that bedroom.  i said, "stand in front of the window.   i am going outside to look in and see if i can see you through the lace." Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

"adorning the creek house"

you and i found some lovely lace curtains at the antique store today.  i wondered if they were going to provide enough privacy in that bedroom.  i said, "stand in front of the window.   i am going outside to look in and see if i can see you through the lace."

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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September | 2017

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September | 2017

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

Now you are four. Photo by Olivia Gatti Instagram :: Website

Now you are four.

Photo by Olivia Gatti

Instagram :: Website

Now you are four. Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

Now you are four.

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

Blog :: Facebook

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

Lost in a dream. You and I. I'm getting closer to you, I can feel it. You have more to say now and even started asking questions that make sense in the moment. We practice human speech everyday, everywhere. It is happening. I really can feel it. But just as big and bright as this can feel, I also feel the opposite. I feel overwhelmed and scared for you. You can't relay your day or tell us if you are hurt and how. You disappear from us and don't meet our eyes. You speak nonsense to us and I feel the breath leave my body. I don't know how to express how scary this is. How beautiful this is. How much I love you. At least we are lost in this together. Photo by Olivia Gatti Instagram :: Website

Lost in a dream. You and I. I'm getting closer to you, I can feel it. You have more to say now and even started asking questions that make sense in the moment. We practice human speech everyday, everywhere. It is happening. I really can feel it. But just as big and bright as this can feel, I also feel the opposite. I feel overwhelmed and scared for you. You can't relay your day or tell us if you are hurt and how. You disappear from us and don't meet our eyes. You speak nonsense to us and I feel the breath leave my body. I don't know how to express how scary this is. How beautiful this is. How much I love you. At least we are lost in this together.

Photo by Olivia Gatti

Instagram :: Website


i grew up with a mother who could sew.  not only could she sew but she did it very well.  she sewed all of our halloween costumes.  she sewed our curtains.  she sewed to mend things.  she sewed for fun. i never once asked her to teach me to sew because it did not look like fun to me.  in fact, other than threading a needle, i didn’t know the first thing about using a sewing machine when i took a home ec class in junior high.  the teacher knew my mom.  they probably had fun sewing together before.  so she assumed that i would show my classmates a thing or two about sewing.  boy was she wrong.  i cried my way through the sewing of that ugly blue sweatshirt.  and then i cried some more as i sewed that autograph pillow.  i hated every single minute of sewing and couldn’t wait for the class to move on to the cooking section.  you learned early on that your weren’t going to grow up with a mother who could sew.  therefore, you gave up asking me to teach you.  instead, you figured it out on your own.  now you find whatever you can get your hands on and sew with it.  today it was leftover vinyl from the time that daddy recovered the dining room chairs.  the vinyl was so tough.  but that didn’t stop you.  you used scissors to make a row of tiny holes.  you couldn’t find any thread.  but that didn’t stop you.  you managed to thread a needle with yarn.  and there you sat with your good arm sprained sewing me a new purse.  Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

i grew up with a mother who could sew.  not only could she sew but she did it very well.  she sewed all of our halloween costumes.  she sewed our curtains.  she sewed to mend things.  she sewed for fun. i never once asked her to teach me to sew because it did not look like fun to me.  in fact, other than threading a needle, i didn’t know the first thing about using a sewing machine when i took a home ec class in junior high.  the teacher knew my mom.  they probably had fun sewing together before.  so she assumed that i would show my classmates a thing or two about sewing.  boy was she wrong.  i cried my way through the sewing of that ugly blue sweatshirt.  and then i cried some more as i sewed that autograph pillow.  i hated every single minute of sewing and couldn’t wait for the class to move on to the cooking section.  you learned early on that your weren’t going to grow up with a mother who could sew.  therefore, you gave up asking me to teach you.  instead, you figured it out on your own.  now you find whatever you can get your hands on and sew with it.  today it was leftover vinyl from the time that daddy recovered the dining room chairs.  the vinyl was so tough.  but that didn’t stop you.  you used scissors to make a row of tiny holes.  you couldn’t find any thread.  but that didn’t stop you.  you managed to thread a needle with yarn.  and there you sat with your good arm sprained sewing me a new purse. 

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

I married a man who is a doer. He can't sit still. He's incredibly active. And he takes this and gives it so whole-heartedly and creatively to our children. Current project: turning our yard into a mountain bike park. I support this. This is for him. This is for them. This is a shared experience I love to witness. Photo by Olivia Gatti Instagram :: Website

I married a man who is a doer. He can't sit still. He's incredibly active. And he takes this and gives it so whole-heartedly and creatively to our children. Current project: turning our yard into a mountain bike park. I support this. This is for him. This is for them. This is a shared experience I love to witness.

Photo by Olivia Gatti

Instagram :: Website


the safety valve.  that is what we should call daddy.  i fear that i might cause you to feel even more pressure on top of all that you already feel all day trying to sit still and follow the rules in kindergarten.  i have been so distracted with work over the past month that i haven't been there for you like you need me to be.  and now with my sister's wedding in days, i feel like i am swimming in a sea of stress.  today i felt like i might go under.  luckily for me and equally so for you, your daddy is an excellent swimmer.  he used to be a lifeguard, remember?  of course you remember.  the lifeguarding days contain some of your favorite daddy stories.   i love seeing how proud you are when he tells you about those days from his past.  in your eyes, daddy was cooler than a superhero.  maybe not quite as cool as a firefighter but still pretty awesome.  i didn't know daddy back in those days.   i try to imagine him before you, before me.  my brain struggles a bit to paint those pictures.  maybe this is because i have so many pictures of daddy the way he is now and the pictures all show me that daddy still is way cooler than a superhero.   he might not be saving drowning people in the ocean.  but he is keeping his family afloat day after day.  he is there for you when you need to release all that pressure that has been building inside your little body.  and is there for me pulling me back to shore when my arms are too tired to swim anymore. Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

the safety valve.  that is what we should call daddy.  i fear that i might cause you to feel even more pressure on top of all that you already feel all day trying to sit still and follow the rules in kindergarten.  i have been so distracted with work over the past month that i haven't been there for you like you need me to be.  and now with my sister's wedding in days, i feel like i am swimming in a sea of stress.  today i felt like i might go under.  luckily for me and equally so for you, your daddy is an excellent swimmer.  he used to be a lifeguard, remember?  of course you remember.  the lifeguarding days contain some of your favorite daddy stories.   i love seeing how proud you are when he tells you about those days from his past.  in your eyes, daddy was cooler than a superhero.  maybe not quite as cool as a firefighter but still pretty awesome.  i didn't know daddy back in those days.   i try to imagine him before you, before me.  my brain struggles a bit to paint those pictures.  maybe this is because i have so many pictures of daddy the way he is now and the pictures all show me that daddy still is way cooler than a superhero.   he might not be saving drowning people in the ocean.  but he is keeping his family afloat day after day.  he is there for you when you need to release all that pressure that has been building inside your little body.  and is there for me pulling me back to shore when my arms are too tired to swim anymore.

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

You've been asking us to hold you a lot lately. Asking me, especially. Hold you at the bus stop. Hold you in the kitchen. Hold you at the park. Hold you on the stairs. And I love it, but you are a big kid. No denying that. You are big and solid and my body is terribly weak and often tired. So I hold you, but not for very long. I wonder if you can sense you are entering big-kid territory, and need the extra comfort? Or now I leave for work in the mornings and our routine around the house is very different and maybe you are missing me? Maybe there is no real reason at all, except who doesn't like to be held from time to time? If daddy is around, I pass you off, and feel a pang of guilt and a little sadness that I can't hold you for very long. But then, I catch this face, and that smile, and I know his arms are just as good as mine. His love is just as real. And you are held, in our arms and in our hearts and in that space we create where we all can go back to fitting on someone's hip, in someone's arm, on someone's shoulder.  Photo by Olivia Gatti Instagram :: Website

You've been asking us to hold you a lot lately. Asking me, especially. Hold you at the bus stop. Hold you in the kitchen. Hold you at the park. Hold you on the stairs. And I love it, but you are a big kid. No denying that. You are big and solid and my body is terribly weak and often tired. So I hold you, but not for very long. I wonder if you can sense you are entering big-kid territory, and need the extra comfort? Or now I leave for work in the mornings and our routine around the house is very different and maybe you are missing me? Maybe there is no real reason at all, except who doesn't like to be held from time to time? If daddy is around, I pass you off, and feel a pang of guilt and a little sadness that I can't hold you for very long. But then, I catch this face, and that smile, and I know his arms are just as good as mine. His love is just as real. And you are held, in our arms and in our hearts and in that space we create where we all can go back to fitting on someone's hip, in someone's arm, on someone's shoulder. 

Photo by Olivia Gatti

Instagram :: Website


 i was just about to turn at the corner.  that corner that leads us out of our neighborhood.  the one that takes us to the busy streets that we must travel on to get you to school.  some mornings are harder than others for me to make this drive.  it isn't a long one.  just an emotional one.  i always wondered if i sent your siblings off into the world too quickly.  you have wanted it for what seems like forever though.  it is just me that is doing the feet dragging.  and there is always something that i can't live without preserving.  so instead of turning at the corner, i do a u-turn.  back home we go so i can retrieve my camera.  so i can make sure to always remember these bittersweet morning drives.  "but we'll be late" you say.  you think i am crazy.  the truth is my love, i am crazy.  crazy in love with you.  Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

 i was just about to turn at the corner.  that corner that leads us out of our neighborhood.  the one that takes us to the busy streets that we must travel on to get you to school.  some mornings are harder than others for me to make this drive.  it isn't a long one.  just an emotional one.  i always wondered if i sent your siblings off into the world too quickly.  you have wanted it for what seems like forever though.  it is just me that is doing the feet dragging.  and there is always something that i can't live without preserving.  so instead of turning at the corner, i do a u-turn.  back home we go so i can retrieve my camera.  so i can make sure to always remember these bittersweet morning drives.  "but we'll be late" you say.  you think i am crazy.  the truth is my love, i am crazy.  crazy in love with you. 

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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August | 2017

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August | 2017

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July | 2017

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July | 2017

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

 Grace has escaped me. It's beginning to show in the things I do, my daily life. For two years I have felt it slipping, and wasn't even sure what to call it then. In fact, the closer I came to defining my grace, the more I could see it was growing thinner and what passed as grace was an exhausting act of kindness and patience with no deep roots. I've started and stopped so many times now, to get better, to get rooted, to give myself the care that grace needs to grow again. I have the maps. I have the plans, the chants, the songs, the hope, the desire, the fear. I read the books, the cards, the skies. And when it feels the messiest, and usually is the messiest, it is with these girls who first gave me the glimpse of grace that I know I'm going to make it. We ran to the ocean, in less than ten minutes we left the house behind and all our activities paused mid-play, and we ran into the water and it was so cold it was shocking. It was the perfect kick in the ass to get my head on straight and hold onto my grace and get it to grow again. Photo by Olivia Gatti Facebook :: Website

 Grace has escaped me. It's beginning to show in the things I do, my daily life. For two years I have felt it slipping, and wasn't even sure what to call it then. In fact, the closer I came to defining my grace, the more I could see it was growing thinner and what passed as grace was an exhausting act of kindness and patience with no deep roots. I've started and stopped so many times now, to get better, to get rooted, to give myself the care that grace needs to grow again. I have the maps. I have the plans, the chants, the songs, the hope, the desire, the fear. I read the books, the cards, the skies. And when it feels the messiest, and usually is the messiest, it is with these girls who first gave me the glimpse of grace that I know I'm going to make it. We ran to the ocean, in less than ten minutes we left the house behind and all our activities paused mid-play, and we ran into the water and it was so cold it was shocking. It was the perfect kick in the ass to get my head on straight and hold onto my grace and get it to grow again.

Photo by Olivia Gatti

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today i did things that i once did often.  they felt good to revisit.  really they felt better than good.  they felt just right.  they fit me.  it’s like pulling on a pair of old, comfy jeans for the first time after many months of not wearing them.  you noticed how well they fit too. i couldn’t even remember how long it had been since i took you to the library.  but today it was just you, me, and the baby so i made it happen. normally when your older siblings are in tow, i am too weighed down with anxiety to attempt this type of outing.  but today was different.  we checked out several books and on the way home the baby fell asleep in the car.  while he slept, you and i read books together in the front yard.  the sun was shining on the tops of our heads but it didn’t feel too hot.  instead it felt just right.  Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

today i did things that i once did often.  they felt good to revisit.  really they felt better than good.  they felt just right.  they fit me.  it’s like pulling on a pair of old, comfy jeans for the first time after many months of not wearing them.  you noticed how well they fit too. i couldn’t even remember how long it had been since i took you to the library.  but today it was just you, me, and the baby so i made it happen. normally when your older siblings are in tow, i am too weighed down with anxiety to attempt this type of outing.  but today was different.  we checked out several books and on the way home the baby fell asleep in the car.  while he slept, you and i read books together in the front yard.  the sun was shining on the tops of our heads but it didn’t feel too hot.  instead it felt just right. 

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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June | 2017

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June | 2017

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A Saturday Evening at Home

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A Saturday Evening at Home

Backyards, brothers, mothers, the kitchen table, games. The bathtub, story-time, baby chicks, football. Forsythia, bare feet, bar-b-q, kisses. Newlyweds, blueberry dessert, the swing set, forever.

Thank you for sharing your beautiful, busy, and loving every-day with me. 

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May | 2017

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May | 2017

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

I was away from you all for nearly a week. In another country, across the Atlantic. The whole time I was there I was thinking about how much I wanted to show you everything I was seeing. That experiencing it without you made me feel a little hollow. I missed you all, but I also loved the missing you. It made me sharper in my seeing of the world and more appreciative of all I have to come back home to. Welcome home.  Photo by Olivia Gatti Facebook :: Website

I was away from you all for nearly a week. In another country, across the Atlantic. The whole time I was there I was thinking about how much I wanted to show you everything I was seeing. That experiencing it without you made me feel a little hollow. I missed you all, but I also loved the missing you. It made me sharper in my seeing of the world and more appreciative of all I have to come back home to. Welcome home. 

Photo by Olivia Gatti

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when you were in the early days of our life together, you would fall asleep suddenly without me knowing it at first.  i would be holding you in one arm (you were once so tiny) as i walked around the kitchen cooking dinner with my one free hand.  i would feel your body get heavier and look down at you sound asleep.  today i gave you a bath after lunch.  you were sitting in the tub with your back to me.  you let out one weak whimper so i quickly bent over the tub to pick you up and wrap you in a towel.  as i stood up i felt the heaviness.  i leaned your body back into my arms so that i could finally see your face.  your sleeping face.  i was certain you would wake when i placed you on your changing table.  but you continued to sleep even as i dressed you and carried you out to the car to do the school pick up.  it was as if this past year had been merely a dream and you were still my brand new baby who could fall into a deep beautiful sleep no matter where you were.  Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

when you were in the early days of our life together, you would fall asleep suddenly without me knowing it at first.  i would be holding you in one arm (you were once so tiny) as i walked around the kitchen cooking dinner with my one free hand.  i would feel your body get heavier and look down at you sound asleep.  today i gave you a bath after lunch.  you were sitting in the tub with your back to me.  you let out one weak whimper so i quickly bent over the tub to pick you up and wrap you in a towel.  as i stood up i felt the heaviness.  i leaned your body back into my arms so that i could finally see your face.  your sleeping face.  i was certain you would wake when i placed you on your changing table.  but you continued to sleep even as i dressed you and carried you out to the car to do the school pick up.  it was as if this past year had been merely a dream and you were still my brand new baby who could fall into a deep beautiful sleep no matter where you were. 

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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A Normal Day

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A Normal Day

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”

― Mary Jean Irion

Caught her in the light for one shot as she headed off to school this morning. She's only just 10, but I can see the woman she'll be in her poise and movements. This shot was simply needed to freeze her like this for me, for always. Photo by Olivia Gatti Facebook :: Website

Caught her in the light for one shot as she headed off to school this morning. She's only just 10, but I can see the woman she'll be in her poise and movements. This shot was simply needed to freeze her like this for me, for always.

Photo by Olivia Gatti

Facebook :: Website


today i asked if i could take your photograph with the flowers you gave me for mother’s day.  i ask you now to take your photograph as a sign of my growing respect for your privacy.  you said yes to my request but you did as you have always done over the past seven years.  you looked away.  even when you were a baby and i was just starting out in photography, you made me work to capture your gaze.  and it was never in my direction.  i would make funny sounds at first.  later i began to tell you stories.  and then i just surrendered to the fact that i needed to take photographs of you regardless of whether you were looking away.  i began to take your pictures while you were unaware of me.  today i asked you if you liked being photographed by me.  you said, “yes” looking in my direction for what felt like a millisecond.  not long enough for my shutter speed.  i asked you if you ever felt like i took too many photos.  you looked out the window as if searching outside for the answer.  i know you didn’t want to hurt my feelings so you said, “maybe every once in a while.”  i smiled and asked you if you ever wished that i didn’t take photos of you.  and then your eyes shifted quickly in my direction searching to see my own eyes behind the camera.  i pressed the shutter.  with a sadness in your voice, you said, “but then how would i exist?”   i told you that these photos i take of you will last for a very very long time.  while they are proof of your existence, they are not what makes you exist.   this wasn’t enough for you.  i set my camera down and our eyes met.  you asked me how i would remember that you existed if i never made photos of you.  i told you that if i couldn’t capture you with my camera, i would learn to paint so i could paint you on a canvas, or i would learn to sculpt so i could sculpt a statue of you, or i would use my words to write stories about you.  i would do whatever it took to make sure you would always be remembered.  at this you looked away.  and while i could no longer capture your gaze, i could see the smile that now rested on your lips.  my hand instinctively reached out touching my camera beside me.   then i stopped myself.  now would not become a “maybe every once in while.”  instead, i would paint this memory of you straight onto my heart.  Photo by Heather Robinson Photography Blog :: Facebook

today i asked if i could take your photograph with the flowers you gave me for mother’s day.  i ask you now to take your photograph as a sign of my growing respect for your privacy.  you said yes to my request but you did as you have always done over the past seven years.  you looked away.  even when you were a baby and i was just starting out in photography, you made me work to capture your gaze.  and it was never in my direction.  i would make funny sounds at first.  later i began to tell you stories.  and then i just surrendered to the fact that i needed to take photographs of you regardless of whether you were looking away.  i began to take your pictures while you were unaware of me.  today i asked you if you liked being photographed by me.  you said, “yes” looking in my direction for what felt like a millisecond.  not long enough for my shutter speed.  i asked you if you ever felt like i took too many photos.  you looked out the window as if searching outside for the answer.  i know you didn’t want to hurt my feelings so you said, “maybe every once in a while.”  i smiled and asked you if you ever wished that i didn’t take photos of you.  and then your eyes shifted quickly in my direction searching to see my own eyes behind the camera.  i pressed the shutter.  with a sadness in your voice, you said, “but then how would i exist?”   i told you that these photos i take of you will last for a very very long time.  while they are proof of your existence, they are not what makes you exist.   this wasn’t enough for you.  i set my camera down and our eyes met.  you asked me how i would remember that you existed if i never made photos of you.  i told you that if i couldn’t capture you with my camera, i would learn to paint so i could paint you on a canvas, or i would learn to sculpt so i could sculpt a statue of you, or i would use my words to write stories about you.  i would do whatever it took to make sure you would always be remembered.  at this you looked away.  and while i could no longer capture your gaze, i could see the smile that now rested on your lips.  my hand instinctively reached out touching my camera beside me.   then i stopped myself.  now would not become a “maybe every once in while.”  instead, i would paint this memory of you straight onto my heart. 

Photo by Heather Robinson Photography

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April | 2017

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April | 2017

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March | 2017

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March | 2017

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