A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
I’ve come to learn that evenings spent with Tara are evenings where time is well spent. She radiates beauty and there is so much love in her relationship with her kiddos. When connections are felt so immediately and so deeply, I trust them and feel gratitude wash over me. Feeling grateful for this one. And my boys are pretty head over heels with the “big kids”. Some sweet connections going on right there. Now who wants to watch said children so that Tara and I can have an adult beverage together?
Whether I need to add anymore clothes in my closet may be debatable but the fact I feel like I hit jackpot while thrifting in Arizona and in Utah is not debatable. And we’re heading out to Arizona again and rumor has it that a new thrift store just opened up. Ugh. Can’t stop, won’t stop. Pictured are just a few of my favorite finds. I suppose it’s a good thing that I rarely get the opportunity to hit the thrifts when I’m home because the cycle I’m in of donating – buying – donating – buying is getting ridiculous.
And one more new-to-me item, for the home, not thrifted, from this talented artist. I bought two and I love them both.
When I was younger, I remember my parents taking me out to the grapevine to visit an art installation by Christo & Jeanne-Claude of yellow umbrellas. My parents weren’t really the artist-types, but I do remember trips of this nature often. You could see the umbrellas from far away, the little specks of yellow growing larger and larger the closer we got. I remember reading about one of the umbrellas killing someone. I think a gust of wind caused one to come out of the ground. I suppose that’s beside the point.
In the 60’s, artists began a movement away from the museums and galleries and started creating art in the landscape itself. Spiral Jetty was created by Robert Smithson 1970, using over six thousand tons of black basalt rocks and earth from the site to form the coil that is 15,000 feet long and 15 feet wide. “Created at a time when water levels were particularly low, the artwork was submerged from 1972 onward, and was only known through documentation. However, regional droughts thirty years later caused the lake to recede such that by 2002, a salt-encrusted Spiral Jetty reappeared for the first prolonged period in its history. Smithson often asserted that by responding to the landscape, rather than imposing itself upon it, Spiral Jetty is a site to actively walk on rather than a sculpture to behold.” I love the idea of not imposing oneself upon it; I like to think of myself as a photographer in the same sense — not imposing, but rather using what is real and before me. Makes it more indestructible, I suppose. I find that really beautiful.
I hope my boys care about art and have enough interest in the matter to search things like this out. And, at the same time, I don’t want them to be anyone other than who they are. But, at the same same time, I hope the things I expose them to leave some sort of impression on them. Much love to my girl Janet for the introduction. And with that, my images from Utah are complete. But if you wanna take a moment to discuss Van’s oversized mittens, I’m game.
We were on our way to one thing, short on time, with two cars filled with kiddos that had been promised things we realized we’d no longer had enough time to give them. The side of the road in a beautiful majestic canyon served as a fair substitute. Complaints of cold hands quickly dissipated as those numb little hands discovered rocks to throw into the stream, sticks to collect, and tree stumps to climb. And those little babies faired pretty darn well; arguably better than others. We stopped at a diner on the way home, got the big kids chocolate milk, and unthawed in the car on the way home.
We had intended to venture out to Antelope Island last time I was in Utah and ultimately decided we didn’t have enough time and ended up at the Great Salt Lake instead. I suppose that’s the thing about Utah, you can’t really go wrong. You can argue a lot of things about Utah but denying it’s beauty is just not debatable.
We came across two different herds of Bison, both of which tolerated us at a relatively close proximity. Van was more interested in staying in the car, in the drivers seat, and pretending to steer the wheel. Hooper braved the cold with me and came out to get a closer look. It was all pretty amazing. Growing up in Southern California, I feel like the zoo is the closest we get to seeing animals in their natural habitats.
I think Antelope Island will stay on my must-see list for any and all future visits. And I won’t complain revisiting in the summer when it doesn’t feel like the wind chill is going to cause any moisture in my eyeball to freeze. Who knows, Van may even be more turned on by bison than by the car’s steering wheel by then.
I flew to Utah with both boys on my own which isn’t as gutsy as it sounds. For the most part, they’re good travelers. Sure, the guy sitting in front of Hooper may have stories about a particular tray table that kept going up and down and the flight attendant may have had to talk to Van about keeping his seat belt fastened, but all in all it was trouble free. Perspective is everything, right? Van’s insistence with pushing the suitcase actually paid off because when you add up the number of car seats, suit cases, and carry-on bags and compare that number to the number of willing and able hands, I’m clearly outnumbered. Janet (pronounced Jeanette) met us at the airport and helped out from there.
The weather was cold, much colder than it had been in the weeks prior. I would have whined more, but Hooper and Van did enough whining for all of us. Determined, we refused to let any whining or cold weather or hungry babies or nap times slow us down. We had a list of things we wanted to do and we damn near did them all. As for our time spent in the home though? Well, in looking at these pictures now, it’s painfully clear that the majority of our time at home was spent feeding people. Namely babies. But the bigger kids, too.
More from Utah to come in the days to follow… lots of adventures were had.
I was waiting for Willy and the boys outside of a Renaissance Festival in Arizona when this couple walked past me and into the festival. I was drawn to them immediately. When Willy made his was to the entrance with the boys, I mentioned the urge I had to photograph them. I thought there was a chance I’d find them until we actually entered and realized that the grounds were huge; my chances of coming across them again was like finding a penny someone dropped for you in a mall. We watched the whip show, ate some food, sat for part of a comedy show, met up with some friends, and killed hours just walking around. At the end of the day, we made our way back to a pottery booth near the entrance where I had bought something but left it there for easy pick-up once we were ready to leave. And there they were.
I grabbed the girl gently by the arm and positioned her next to her boyfriend and recall saying something along the lines of, “I’m going to take your photo, I don’t even care what you say”. Numbers were exchanged and the next thing I knew I was photographing them alongside a river. She wore the same flower crown she had on when I first saw them. That evening, we all became friends. I photographed them again the next time I was in Arizona.
And now, the images live in a published magazine.
Publication aside, because that’s not what it’s about, it goes to show that if you’re drawn to someone – for whatever reason – you should reach out. I’m not always so ballsy. In fact I’ve become a coward more times than I’ve had the balls to approach. But the last two years or so, as I’ve matured (I chalk it up to maturity, anyways) I’ve asked myself “why the hell not” and replaced self-ridicule with an I-don’t-give-a-damn mentality. I think that along with the rise in handheld phones / computers, we’ve lost the art of conversation with strangers and I personally would love to make the extra effort more often. I sat down in my seat on our flight to Utah, for example, and the entire row of people next to me were looking down at their iPhones. Perhaps it’s a separate topic. Point being, people are really special. It’s one of the parts I love about photography the most; it gives me a reason to walk outside of my comfort zone. Camera hanging from my shoulder or not, I’d like to think I’d still make the effort.
I challenge you all to start a conversation with a stranger sometime this week. I’ll do the same.
And because I dig the layout of the spread, here they are, in Mozi Magazine. The images of them above are from when I ran into them at the Renaissance Festival.
My mom and I took the boys whale watching over at Dana Point Harbor the other week. My mom had been before and warned me that it can get cold out at sea, so we bundled up. The trip reminded me that you have to live life a bit before you can determine what’s a special treat and what’s an everyday occurrence. I tried my best to point out the breaching whales but it might as well have been a bird landing on a fence. Both boys showed a bit more interest when we we were surrounded by literally hundreds upon hundreds of dolphins. You could see them rising in and out of the water and the water was clear enough to see them swimming underneath, just to the side of the boat. I went with my purpose being for the boys to have fun and experience something different, but I walked away talking non-stop about them dolphins (said with a southern accent). By far one of the coolest things I’ve seen. I didn’t bring any snacks and tantrums hit full swing when I brought Van down to the snack shack only to learn that they don’t take credit cards. I thought the guy would hand over the damn chex mix out of pure sympathy, but – lo and behold – he did not. We’ll definitely go again; not so much for them, but for me. And I’ll bring snacks. And maybe a couple extra bucks for a beer.
A few months ago my sister and I had a conversation about having babies and Van’s (pseudo) home birth story came up. It’s come up before, but as time has passed, I’ve been more open to seeing it through someone else’s eyes. I still have my own opinions on the day, but I do think that should a third be in our future it would not be born at home. That’s partly because Willy has already downright insisted that it cannot be born at home; but it’s also because I partly agree. Been there, tried that. Twice.
Anyway, here’s Van’s big day, as told from the perspective of my sister, who was there to witness it.
My beef with home birth
Before my sister (the writer of this lovely blog, the stork herself) got pregnant with her first, Hooper, I didn’t really think much about home birth. I kind of associated it with yesteryear—women in log cabins on prairies and shit. I mean, why would sane people have babies at home when they can take a car ride to a hospital?
But, my sister explained it to me and, with her nurse background, she was rather convincing. I get it. Women want to be in the comfort of their own home. They want it to be peaceful. They don’t want machines and drugs and interventions pushed on them by a medical team that is concerned only with not getting sued, insurance coverage, and turning beds as fast as possible. Home birth sounds very romantic. That’s all fine and dandy, but keep in mind that I once thought it was romantic to be 23, eating beans out of a can for dinner with my broke-ass boyfriend.
With Hooper, my sister ended up in the hospital, against her wishes. She was overdue and they had to induce her. Then she couldn’t get the baby out, so they wheeled her to the OR. Using every stubborn ounce of strength in her body, she had the baby naturally in the OR room. The whole thing was rather touch-and-go, as they say. Willy couldn’t talk about it for weeks.
The second time, I was there. I didn’t think I would be. Her due date passed and my husband and I left on a 7-day backpacking trip in the Sierras, planned months in advance. We didn’t have cell coverage. I thought for sure we’d come back to hear she’d had the baby, but no. She was overdue again. The morning after we got back—I like to think Van was waiting for us—we got a very calm call saying she was in labor. They were deploying the big tub at home, the midwife was on her way. I was in tears driving up through Los Angeles traffic. I was convinced I’d miss the delivery because of all those a-holes on their way to work. Little did I know that births aren’t as fast and simple as they look on TV.
When I got there, she was just starting to push. She was in and out of the tub. She was on the floor. She was moaning, screaming.
My dad and I tried our best to distract Hooper, who was obviously worried. He insisted on wearing his toy stethoscope.
After what seemed like hours, the midwife started whispering to her assistant and we all started to wonder what was happening. Once again, my sister was having trouble getting the baby out. In hindsight, the difficulty probably had something to do with the crazy curve in her spine, which shifted all of her insides. She’d mentioned the scoliosis to her midwife, but didn’t really stress the severity of it (after all, she’d lived with it for years—was it that big of a deal? Um, yes, probably). I was terrified that she would get the head out and the body would be stuck. I’d heard horror stories. Willy was terrified that his wife was going to die. Sure, he thinks in extremes, but I understood his fear.
The midwife made the decision to call the ambulance. A couple guys showed up, put her on a stretcher, and she was gone. We followed behind in a car—my mom, Willy, and me (my dad stayed back at the house with Hooper). The three of us were shaking, terrified.
When we got to the hospital, we rushed to her room. The screaming was intense. I had a moment of feeling bad for any other moms delivering. It sounded like a horror movie in there. Willy was by her side, my mom and I in the hallway. We were crying at that point—scared for my sister and scared for the baby. I told my mom to try to smile, for Ashley. It was my job to document the day.
We heard a big POP—the doctor pushing on my sister’s belly—and then the baby wailing. We started crying more tears, of the relieved variety. We rushed in and saw the baby—he was a big 9-pounder—and quickly understood that things were okay. Willy asked the nurse how scary it was, on a scale from 1 to 10. She looked at us, with almost as much shock in her face as was in ours, and said, “That was a 9.”
My sister hates when people pose for the camera. She likes real emotion. But I think we were all afraid to show the real emotion in our faces that day. We wanted to be strong for her. So we smiled. After all, things turned out okay (even though I thought Van looked like Golem from Lord of the Rings).
My sister wants a third. I’ve told her that if they decide to have that baby, it better be in a hospital. I don’t care if her spine is fixed now. I don’t care that she would love to have the home birth she always wanted. She can go drug-free in a hospital, around professionals who can help her if anything goes awry. My good friend is married to an OBGYN and he says, “Look, most births go totally great. But when something goes wrong, it goes really wrong.” I’m sure lots of mothers have beautiful stories of their births, but for me, as a loved one, my sister’s births were scary. When I got home the day Van was born, I climbed in bed with my husband and I sobbed. I didn’t feel back to normal for days.
I wouldn’t say I’d discourage anyone from doing a home birth. I think it depends on your medical history and all that. I would say to know the risks, and consider the emotional impact on the people around you on that special day. And, make sure to educate those people about what to expect. My sister didn’t seem disturbed by what was going on and that was probably because she had watched lots of gory videos and had talks with her midwife and knew what the hell was happening. I wasn’t prepared, period. I was very fooled by the easy births you see in movies. Even in real life, most women have epidurals and drugs so there is no screaming (seriously, the screaming was the worst part). I watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians occasionally (#sorrynotsorry) and there was an episode when Kourtney Kardashian gives birth. The room was, like, silent. Her family was in there chatting with her. Chatting. She may as well have been getting a pedicure. So, yeah, maybe don’t go into a birth scenario with the Kardashians as your reference point. And if you have romantic notions about home birth, just think it through. Consider all the things you previously thought were romantic that really aren’t—like eating beans out of cans with your broke-ass boyfriend.
Spent some time, while in Arizona, at a local dairy. Saw some cows being milked, some newly born cows, some sick cows, but mostly just splashed around in the puddles of mud.
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I’ve come to learn that evenings spent with Tara are evenings where time is well spent. She radiates beauty and there is so much love in her relationship with her kiddos. When connections are felt so immediately and so deeply, I trust them and feel gratitude wash over me. Feeling grateful for this one. And my boys are pretty head over heels with the “big kids”. Some sweet connections going on right there. Now who wants to watch said children so that Tara and I can have an adult beverage together?
