This is Saturday morning at my house. She calls it “spit paint.” I call it “Girls, I’m going to take a shower. Don’t answer the door.”
I showed you mine. Now you show me yours. What does Saturday morning look like at your house?
And remember, the mess is where the good stuff lives.
Being a parent is a daily exercise in learning to forgive yourself. As mothers, we bully ourselves for stupid things – things that, in the end, do not matter:
Maybe your kids played on the computer too much this week while you were busy moving pressing issues forward in your life. Maybe you managed to wash AND fold AND put away 8 loads of laundry in record time, but you failed to wash the sweater your daughter has been dying to wear to school today. Or maybe you parked your kid in front of the tv so you could write a blog post for Mother’s Day.
You don’t suck. In fact, there are moments in which you are doing everything right. I can prove it:
He will never stop needing you to squeeze him back. It’s that squeeze that teaches him what unrelenting love looks like.
You are listening. You are listening more than you are lecturing. She feels safe with you listening.
You roll up your jeans and get messy with him to experience the world as he does. Though you carry him now, some day he will carry you.
You spend *every single night* of your life sleeping with one eye open in case the alarm for her blood sugar monitor goes off, but you still dig deep every day to give them both your very best self.
You play on the ground with open arms and in that moment, he sees you giving your whole self to him. Someday, he’ll know how to selflessly love a woman.
Her firecracker personality and penchant for mischievousness test you at times, but you love her all the more fiercely for it. This is not an accident – you are her mother because YOU specifically can cultivate those gifts.
As a bride ten years ago, you couldn’t imagine you’d be a mother of four. In this moment, you are overflowing with gratitude and rejoicing in the quiet moment of this fleeting season.
You tell her the truth. Every time. There is nothing she won’t feel free to ask you because you have committed to galvanizing her with strength, humility and humor.
Forgive yourself for all the inconsequential nonsense of motherhood. In these moments, and so many more, you are doing everything right.
Happy Mother’s Day to you!
It was an accident; like the creation of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups or Viagra. I was trying to keep my 4-year old from harshing my mellow with a tantrum, but all the usual “discipline techniques” had failed us both. She was nuclear and I was issuing threats like Kim Jong Un after a fresh new set of sanctions and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Exasperated, I sat down at the piano and hastily turned the pages of a songbook from which I’d never played: Les Miserables.
As I played and howled my way through “Castle on a Cloud”, the potent cocktail of melody and story became an instant antidote to the venomous serum of her tantrum. Fast forward a month – now it’s in the car, it’s clips of the film on YouTube, it’s acting out the story, it’s NEVER ENDING and it’s probably going to land me in a padded, windowless room if this phase doesn’t evolve soon.
Then again, if ya can’t beat ‘em…join ‘em.
One warm spring day this week, I rolled all the car windows down, peeled back the sunroof and jacked up the volume on the original London cast recording of Les Miserables.
I was sitting at a stoplight, sucking down my daily 3:00 iced coffee as blood streamed from my ears from listening to Patty Lupone whine her way through “I Dreamed a Dream” for the 800th time, when a big, bad, jet-black Dodge Charger pulled up beside me.
It was impossible for me to discern the gentleman’s selection of music over the hailstorm of f-bombs, relentlessly pounding bass and my horribly deficient knowledge of the various rap sub-genres from the 1980’s through the mid 90’s.
I couldn’t resist. Secure in the anonymity offered by my over-sized black sunglasses, I took a long sip of my iced coffee as I casually turned to peek at the fellow music lover in the lane next to me. I smirked, he did that head-nod thing back and the light turned green. He raced to the next traffic light like it was 1996 and gas was 96 cents/gallon again. I laughed at the sheer improbability and hilarity of the moment while I listened to my own ‘petite Miserables’ belting it out alongside Ms. Lupone in their car seats.
Why is this story worth sharing? Because when you’re puttering along in the lane of your everyday life, sometimes you forget to roll the windows down and enjoy the ride. God knows the dude next to me was enjoying it unapologetically…and I can mother-f*****g respect that sh*t (I wanted him to feel at home just in case he’s reading this).
Sure, I would have rather cranked up the Beastie Boys Anthology I haven’t fully listened to in years or maybe some guilty-pleasure Bon Jovi, but I *chose* to bloom where I was planted that day. And that day – I was planted in the middle of my kids’ annoying, but wonderful Broadway infatuation.
That’s the stuff I want to laugh about when I’m puttering along in the slow lane of life some day.
Whatever phase you’re in – roll the windows down on your life, turn up the volume and jam, people…f-bombs and all.
One of the things I love about photographing kids with a flair for the dramatic arts is that they have an infectious energy swirling around them the same way bees swirl around a hive; it’s a bustling, intentional and constant kind of energy that drives their insatiable desire to know more about a musical, a play, a song, a style.
That kind of busy bee energy swirls around Melo. We recently met to to get her some updated headshots since she was moving to New York City for auditions and classes the following week. By the nature of a a headshot session, we had a few specific parameters to work within that normally don’t exist in my Family Life Sessions, but that didn’t stop Melo’s personality from bursting onto the scene the same way the first firework of a July 4th celebration pierces a darkened sky. She is pure light.
She skips wherever she goes. She giggles like she just told you a secret that you feel privileged to know. And that red hair…Good Lord, those gorgeous red tresses and her sprinkling of freckles stop my heart. If they ever cast for the role of Merida in a stage adaptation of Brave, this is the girl who embodies not just the look, but the spirit of youth, energy and just a dash of mischievous whimsy. A few outtakes from our morning together:
Melo, I love that you’re not afraid to ask questions. Your Mama has created a world for you where no question is off limits, where you can dive as deep as you want into whatever interests you and where your artistic gifts are given space to grow. I can’t wait to see where those gifts take you. I’m rooting for you!
*****Ali can’t come to the blog right now. She’s busy gettin’ her geek on at the world’s biggest conference for portrait photographers. Please leave a message.*****
I’m thrilled to be spending this next week in what is essentially photography camp for me in Las Vegas at the premier event of the year for wedding and portrait photographers: WPPI.
I announced a few weeks ago on my blog that I am also honored and excited to be presenting at Photographer’s IGNITE. You can view my presentation LIVE during the event on Tuesday, March 12th beginning at 8:00PST and also the following morning here. If you have any interest in photography, the industry or just want to see if I fall off the stage in my towering heels, tune in!
Since I can’t post without at least one picture, here are the very specific instructions I left for my husband regarding the household management while I’m away.
I’m looking forward to coming back with inspiration, some new ideas for all my clients and maybe even a touch of sun on my pasty white self.
A day without art in her life would be like a month without food and water. At the age of 10, she can perform entire scenes from Romeo & Juliet and Peter and the Starcatcher. When she sings along to Doris Day tracks, her voice turns the clock back to 1953. She makes puppets. She writes plays in which they star. I really believe Amelia sees the world as her own personal canvas upon which she spills whatever creativity wants to be released that day.
And I am SO PROUD of this girl.
Amelia was recently admitted to a competitive art school in Denver where she will continue her study in Theater up through her senior year. It was a rigorous admissions and audition process to select the very few students out of the hundreds of supremely talented kids who apply every year. All I did was make her headshots, but I was on pins and needles waiting to hear good news every day since her audition. I wanted to text her rock-solid, cool-as-a-cucumber mama every day and ask, “Heard anything yet?”.
It gets even better though. Amelia’s proud parents have not one, but TWO talented artists in the family. Meet Avi.
As I was setting up shots, I could see her observing carefully, absorbing, and taking notice of how small details like how I tried different angles or what was in the background. At 8 years old, she already has the discerning eye of an art director. I loved the way she unabashedly suggested ideas for us to try. She is unafraid to tackle something new, but reticent to let you know just how good she has become at it. There is a good-hearted mischievousness in her laugh that lets you know she is on to you.
This is a kid who looks you square in the eye and I adore her for it.
As sisters are, Amelia and Avi are two very different sides of the same coin. Together, they grow and sharpen each other’s talents through the power of play. The day I visited their home, they had created a small village complete with an ice rink and a bank for the dolls in their play room. They speak and dress the part of the tea party they’re attending. As a boring ol’ grown up, I felt honored to be ever-so-briefly admitted to their wonderful world of girl play. I could have stayed all afternoon.
Amelia, to know your gifts and have the courage to craft them at the age of 10 is remarkable. I can’t wait to see where these gifts take you and what you put into the world. I’m inspired by your tenacity. Also, when you open on Broadway someday, I’ll be the crazy lady in the back waving and cheering you on, so don’t have security summoned.
Avi, I know you’re more comfortable behind the camera than you are in front of it. I get it, girl. Boy do I get it, but getting in front of the lens every once in awhile will make you a better photographer. You never EVER have to smile if it feels fake, just keep making your pictures. Keep creating. And for the love of Ginger Rogers, girl – dance. You have got IT.
Cupid creeps me out. I’m all for gods of Love, gods of Desire and gods of Chocolate-filled Confection, but a chubby, winged, naked baby boy wielding weaponry is the freak kind of character I’d expect to see in an E*Trade commercial during the Super Bowl. For the record, I think Santa has issues too, but that’s a whole other blog post.
For all its Hallmark-inspired flaws and grossly over-inflated flower prices, what I do love about Valentine’s Day is the opportunity it presents. You can be a complete idiot almost every other day of the year, but Valentine’s Day gives you that one obvious, can’t-miss chance to be a winner. It’s the lowest-hanging fruit of all the “buy-crap-for-people-to-show-them-you-love-them” holidays.
Even when the reason is contrived and mass-marketed, it never hurts to give someone some sugar. Even if it’s just for the guy who waits until the very last minute to merge when the road narrows to one lane, despite the bright orange warning signs and flashing lights for 3,000 feet. He probably just got dumped for being a bad driver with literacy issues, so spare him some sugar.
Valentine’s Day also serves as a photographic opportunity to look for the different kinds of love that can exist within a family. One of the families I photographed last fall and never got a chance to blog about (tsk-tsk!) is a great example of the moments you can look for. They’re a kaleidoscope of generations, experiences and ultimately, love.
Their family’s story is inter-generational. Grandma Chon possesses the quiet strength and dignity you’d expect from a seasoned woman, but she plays and laughs with her grandchildren, Lily and Michael, with the unburdened alacrity of a much younger woman.
As a parent, the reason you use your camera the most is probably to capture those tender moments between siblings; the moments that will take the form of giant billboards in your walk down Memory Lane someday. While YOU will probably never need those photographs as a reminder of their special bond, someday THEY might need that reminder.
Lily and Michael are so very different from one another, but so very close. They can both dish it out knowing they will always have a buddy when the road gets bumpy.
The love of a parent for a child goes in the category of things you can’t possibly understand until you experience them yourself…like Skittles and the Internet. This is my favorite kind of family dynamic to photograph because it’s in a state of constant metamorphosis. Photograph these moments as often as possible.
It’s those moments that happen after the session when the light is horrible, but a 5-year old boy leans into his dad for a kiss. It’s when a 7-year old girl clings to her rock of a mother on whom she depends to help her make sense of a rapidly changing Girl World, to share secrets and to snuggle before it’s not cool anymore.
Then of course, there’s the love of style. I love a girl who’s not afraid of a “statement shoe.”
Michael’s current love is for his bike and his iPad. Sometimes things are going your way and sometimes The Angry Birds just aren’t that into you.
I can never end a Family Life Session without photographing the root of it all. Julie and Andrew are a blog post until themselves. Their history together is long and beautiful, punctuated by the joys and trials we all have, but framed by a shared vision for their family. Simply put, Julie and Andrew are two peas in a very snuggly pod.
Even though it’s Valentine’s Day and there are creepy, winged babies flying around with arrows aimed at your heart, consider this day your opportunity to photograph small moments of whatever kinds of love you have in your family; a grandparent’s hands wrapped around their grandchild’s, the messy, gluttonous love your son has for the box of chocolates he brings home from school, the bedtime story your husband does with the kids each night.
It’s all about the sugar.
Happy Valentine’s Day,
I played team basketball as a kid. To put it delicately, I sucked. I was a disgrace to my Hoosier roots where a love of hoops is as thick as the cornfields. I usually got smacked in the head when the ball bounced off the rim during layup attempts. During those gloriously unfettered free throw attempts, I chucked the ball in the direction of the net with the kind of form you’d expect from a geriatric giraffe in high tops and braids. Occasionally though, I would take a long shot…and make it.
This past week, I took a HUGE long shot…and I didn’t even have to wear high tops. A wee bit o’ context:
In my corner of the vast photography world, there’s this little conference called WPPI. By little, I mean about 16,000 wedding and portrait photographers from everywhere descend upon Las Vegas every year for a week of conference-y type stuff; workshops, networking, trade show activities – you get the idea. Translation: I hang out in Vegas for a few days, soak up some industry awesomeness and nobody says to me, “Hey Mom, how come dinner isn’t ready yet?”.
There’s an event one evening called Photographer’s Ignite. If you’re not familiar with Ignite presentations, it’s a style of presentation where participants are given five minutes to speak on a subject accompanied by 20 slides. Each slide is displayed for 15 seconds, and the slides are automatically advanced. Whether the presentations are informative, inspiring or funny, people love the Ignite format- it was the opening event at WPPI last year.
But ya see, I didn’t know all that when I took the aforementioned long shot and submitted a pitch…that got accepted.
My bud and a talented portrait photographer, Lisa Novitsky, is to blame. She planted the seed in my head, watered it every few weeks and before I knew it – we were busting out an old prom dress and recording this:
IGNITE Pitch (Trends) – Ali Anderson & Lisa Novitsky from ali anderson photography on Vimeo.
In this case, ignorance really is my bliss; I’ve never been to WPPI and I’ve never presented at Ignite. I am a blank canvas and I really prefer it that way. People tell me it’s a big deal, so I’m honored and humbled to be presenting alongside some of the biggest and most talented wedding and portrait photographers in the industry. Mostly though, I just get the nervous giggles knowing how much fun Lisa and I are going to have bringing our own special brand of sass to the Ignite stage at WPPI in a few weeks when we talk about the good, the bad and the funny in photography trends.
The moral of the story: take a long shot this week – even if you miss, at least you know how far you can throw it.
Oh, and here are the outtakes….because, really – aren’t those always better than the videos anyway?
Photographer’s IGNITE Pitch – Outtakes from ali anderson photography on Vimeo.
Also…minor detail: I’ve never been to Vegas, so send me your best tips!
When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me that I “came from good stock.” Though I always thought the phrase sounded more like I was descended from a herd of hearty, beer-drinking German cows, I can’t help but think of it when I’m back home; surrounded by all that good stock.
One of the perks of being passionate about photographing family life is that you feel so honored and excited to be able to do it for your own family. That was the case this past Christmas when I photographed my cousins’ Emily and Thomas’s baby girl, Mina. I hate to brag, but…oh, forget it. I love to brag. This here is gooooood stock, people:
This one swims in the inconceivably cute end of the gene pool.
And you can go ahead and roll your eyes when I tell you that Mina is one of those “good” babies who sleeps through the night. I think maybe she cried once or twice, but it was right after she was born, so she was probably just chilly.
Mina, along with all her cousins, makes our family’s stock richer. Though we are separated by many States, I am so grateful for my family’s special brand of uniqueness every day.
Thomas and Emily, next time we are taking it up a notch and making sure you get all gussied up for a full-on family photo. Let’s show people how “good stock” does it: lake style!
p.s. Mina, as you get older, you’ll hear stories of years past. What’s important to know here is that no matter what rumors you hear – I didn’t ALWAYS have to be Daisy Duke. Sometimes we all get stuck being Uncle Jesse.
***Disclaimer: I don’t sugar-coat much in my life (aside from my coffee and the occasional bowl of off-season strawberries). When my kids ask me what might be termed, “embarrassing questions”, I use real words to answer them. Otherwise, the way I see it, I am teaching them to feel shameful about their questions and themselves; poison for any child. If real words offend you, you should probably stop reading now. If not, you’ll want to read to the end. And for those of you who have been there/done that already with your own kids, you could have warned me.***
A few nights ago, I was snuggling in bed with my six year old when she became chatty about everything from the books she’s been reading (Magic Tree House) to why women weren’t allowed in the Olympics and what kind of rocket ship she would build to go into space. All great stuff, but at 10:15pm I’m thinking, “For God’s sake, child. Just pass out already.” I was dangling off the cliff of consciousness when she lays this zinger on me:
“Mom, how does the sperm get to the egg if they’re in two separate bodies?”
Yep, just like that. I quickly jerked myself back from the edge of consciousness and felt the air leave my lungs for a minute. I had imagined the whole “where do babies come from” question would slip out from the back seat during a drive home from school one day or maybe during a quiet moment over a “just girls” lunch when she was at least ten. Nope – it smacked me in the face. In the dark. On a school night. When Genevieve was only six.
For about 4 seconds, I buried my face in my pillow and tried to stifle the irrepressible laugh that was erupting in my chest. I knew if she sensed my reaction, her double-wide door of uninhibited candor with me would be shut and dead-bolted on me forever. I took a breath.
Me: “Well, sweetie, what happens is the sperm comes out of the man’s penis. He has to put his penis inside a woman’s vagina for the sperm to find its way to the egg.”
This explanation was met with an excruciatingly long pause during which my face was unrecognizably contorted because I could see the words “sperm”, “penis” and “vagina” hanging in the air above our heads like conversation bubbles in a comic strip. I wished like mad I could have seen her inquisitive face in the dark trying to make sense of the information she had just received.
Then, logically, she asked:
“Can the woman feel the sperm trying to find the egg?”
At this point, I’m scolding myself, “Don’t laugh. Don’t do it. DO NOT MAKE A PEEP, ALLISON.” So, I reply:
“Oh nooooo, they are *super* small and swim *super* fast, so the woman doesn’t feel it. But really, honey, what’s important to know here is that this only happens when two parents reeeeeeally love each other……..and it only happens after they get married.”
Feeling as though I had responsibly fulfilled my parental duty and thrown in the whole, “wait until marriage” thing (haphazardly as it may have been), I thought surely this would be the end of questions for the evening. I mean, honestly – shouldn’t the melatonin I doped her up on have kicked in by now? Nope. Another, dare I say, pregnant pause and then:
“But how does the sperm get into the woman’s body if the people are wearing clothes?”
Doh.
“Well, they’re not usually wearing clothes when this happens.”
“Oh. Hmm.”
“But, again – this happens when two parents really love each other and they are happy to share that kind of closeness…the kind that only happens when you’re married. And baby, I want you to know that I’m glad you’re asking me all kinds of questions. You can *always* ask me ANYTHING and I’ll always tell you the truth about EVERYTHING, so just always let me know if you have any questions. About anything. Ever.”
Even though I haven’t gotten into the important topics of IVF, donors or less traditional families, I’m feeling pretty good now, so I figure I’m gonna go ahead and make sure I put the Sex Talk badge on my parenting sash tomorrow and wear it all over town, but then after another long pause she has one last question:
“Hey Mom, I just want to know about how Darth Vader became Darth Vader again.”
And like any good mother who would rather not get into the messy details I say, “Well, your dad really knows more about that than I do. Let’s ask him in the morning.”