playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

It was last summer when I bought my Canon XSi camera.  At this time a year ago, I was pretty convinced that simply by having this SLR camera, I’d suddenly become a much sought after, talented photographer, simply because I had a fancy pants camera.  That hasn’t been the case exactly, though I do think that THE CAMERA itself has helped my photography.

Here’s what I’ve learned in the past year.

1. It’s very difficult to devote much time to photography when you have two very small children.

I have heard over and over again that I should carry my camera with me at ALL times. This is just NOT possible for me. With two not yet independent children, a purse stuffed with juice boxes, snacks, diapers, and toys, and the fact that I only have two measly hands, I find it difficult to add a fra-gee-lay camera and lenses to the mix. When I do take my camera along, it’s hard to watch Carson, whose running in one direction while I’m trying to take a picture of Ella who is running in the opposite direction.  Also, I always feel like I’m irritating others simply for trying to shoot some pictures or for taking TOO LONG to take the photos, like “hurry up already and take the picture!”

It takes time to become a good photographer and time is just something that I don’t seem to have enough of.

2. Most good photographs have been edited to become GREAT photographs.

This is also related to the time suck that is photography because HOLY HOURS SPENT UPLOADING AND EDITING! Before actually owning my camera, I had no idea that the photographs I admired didn’t just magically turn out that way, but that most were edited with some sort of software.

If there were just about 14 more hours added to each day, I’d have time to edit the hundreds of pictures I take and learn how to really use my photo editing software.  I’m just starting to understand and use actions for my pitiful editing software, Photoshop Elements.  There are dozens of sites that offer free actions, or a series of edits that make a photo all purdy like when editing with one of the many Photoshop softwares.   Coffee Shop Photography and The Pioneer Woman are two sites that offer free actions to download.

I think this is a good time to mention my love for vignettes.  True love always.

3. Photography is a very expensive hobby.

What I own: Canon XSi, 18-55mm lens, 50mm 1.8 lens, Extension Tube, Photoshop Elements, and the photo editing software that came with the camera.

What I want and cannot have because I want to be able to feed my children: 24-70mm lens f2.8, 50mm f1.4, Photoshop CS4, Canon Speedlight Flash…(there are many other lenses and software that I’d like, but these are at the top of my never-going-to-get wishlist)

One great way to test out new camera equipment is to rent it from a local photo store or to find a place online that offers rentals.  I’ve rented from Pro Photo Rental and that is what made me fall in love with the 24-70mm lens.

4. To even begin to take a great photo, you MUST understand your camera.

**Understand aperture, shutter speed, and ISO. These are known collectively as the “exposure triangle.” A great reference that I’ve found invaluable is the book, Understanding Exposure by Bryan Peterson.   

**Get your camera out of Auto Mode. I shoot almost exclusively with my camera in Manual mode, occasionally I’ll put the camera in AV (aperture priority) or TV (shutter speed priority) mode. When I just want to get a shot and I don’t really care about the picture being “artistic” is the only time I put my camera in Auto mode.  This post by Aimee from Greeblemonkey is also very helpful in explaining how to take photos with your camera in Manual mode.

**Shoot in RAW (vs. JPEG). Shooting in RAW format requires software on your computer capable of reading this type of file, but RAW files can be edited far more easily than a JPEG file and gives you much greater control over how your final photograph can look.

**Use Custom White Balance. Because I don’t how else to better explain it, it’s something easily fixed during editing if the photo was taken with your camera set for Custom White Balance.

5.  Use Flickr to share photos and get inspiration

Flickr, For the Love of god I Can’t Kwit looking at pictRs.  See also:  Time suck.

But seriously, there are zillions of groups where you can submit your photos, some of them are merely for showing off great shots, others are for receiving feedback and constructive criticism.  Oh hi!  I’m a spineless wienie who only submits my photos to places where I’m sure nobody is going to say anything negative.

Some of my favorite photostreams are Secret Agent Mama’s photostream, Greeblemonkey’s photostream, Momology’s photostream, Joy Unexpected’s photostream, and only about 200 zillion more.

6.  I have SO MUCH to learn

*****************

Here are some links to various and sundry sites that I’ve found useful and/or inspirational this past year…

**7 Photography Questions podcast. I like this podcast because they use words I understand and explain things so that novices like myself get it.

**Blissfully Domestic’s Photo Bliss

**iHeartFaces

**Shutter Sisters

Since moving to Tennessee back in October, it seems that we need to build an ark for all the rain we’ve had.   With all the rain, we’ve been singing songs related to rain like “Rain, Rain Go Away” and “I’m So Sick of all this @#@$%# Rain”  (what?  you haven’t heard that one?).  We’ve also been singing “It’s Raining, It’s Pouring” and Tate and I are having a HUGE disagreement about the lyrics of the song.

Here’s my version, verified by Wikipedia.

It’s raining; it’s pouring.
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed and bumped his head,
And couldn’t get up in the morning.

Please note the italicized lyrics.  He went to bed and bumped his head.

Tate claims that the lyrics are; He bumped his head and went to bed.

Tate claims his version makes more sense.  I appreciate his logic behind the lyrics, I do!  It DOES make more sense to bump your head BEFORE going to bed, thus causing one to be unable to get up in the morning.  However, it’s a nursery rhyme/kiddie song.  These silly songs don’t always make sense, they are not always logical.

Case(s) in point.

“Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe”

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Catch a tiger by the toe.
If he hollers make him pay,
$50 everyday…..
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Catch a tiger by the toe????  I don’t think there’s any logic in that.  (Edited to add:  The Wikipedia version states If he hollers, let him go…My version is from circa 1982, Tulsa, OK.)

“Ring around the Rosy”

Ring around the rosy,
A pocket full of posies;
ashes, ashes
we all fall down!

What???  This makes no sense whatsoever.  (Edited to add:  This song is a lovely ode to the Bubonic Plague.  Such a touching subject to sing about.)

I need your help in straightening out Tate since my Wikipedia PROOF did not sway him in his resolve for HIS lyrics.  I’m right about the lyrics, He went to bed and bumped his head, aren’t I?  AREN’T I???

All the children were scrambling down the tower of steps that led to the curvy slide at Chick-Fil-A, complaining and yelling about a boy sitting at the top being “mean.”  Parents quizzed their children, “who is doing what?”  “Where?”  “A boy?”  “He won’t let anyone go by?”   It was hard to decipher exactly the problem was with about 10 kids all talking at once, but it was clear that there was a boy who wasn’t letting the other children climb up the steps to the slide.

The mood amongst the parents became indiginant.  Murmurs could be heard, chastising the offending child’s mother for not watching him closely.  Eyes searched the crowd for her, angry thoughts were being translated into verbal tirades against the boy’s mother.

Amid the chaos, a boy had left the play area get his mother.  He pulled a very tired looking pregnant woman into the play area.

“I tried to get him to come down, Mom.  He won’t come.”

The pregnant woman calmly called up to the boy. “David*, go down the slide or come back down.  You have to let the other children by.”

Murmurs continued through the crowd of parents, words like “finally” and “she better” could be heard.  Eyes rolled and glared, arms were crossed.

The face of the pregnant woman became increasingly red, her commands to her son sitting at the top of the steps became increasingly desperate.  “David.  You MUST go down the slide or climb down, now.  Please.”

Once the children realized that she was that boy’s mother, they all started tattling on him at once.

“He won’t let us by!”

“He’s being mean!”

She smiled meekly at the mob of children, “He’s not being mean.  He just likes to find a place to sit.  Can you just go by him, he won’t hurt you?”   Her question was less a question than it was a plea.

After several minutes the even more tired looking and pregnant woman removed her shoes and resolved to climb to the top and retrieve her son.  Somehow she managed to navigate her belly through the child size openings between the steps.  She could be heard talking, almost begging the boy to come down.

Eventually, both mother and son emerged.  The mother sweaty, her nearly teary eyes avoided the eyes of the other parents.   She held tightly to David’s hand.  David looked to be about nine or ten years old and also looked different.  He didn’t speak or make eye contact, he moaned and flailed his arms, as his mother struggled to put his socks and shoes back on his feet.  She spoke to her other son as they made their way out of the play area, but she was really talking to all the mothers whispering under their breath and said, “He just likes to find a place to sit.  He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

After they’d left the play area, the other mothers started talking.  “She should have been paying attention, I mean, it was obvious there was something WRONG with him.”  “He shouldn’t have even been up there.”  “The kids couldn’t even play with him around.”

I sat quietly observing the entire time.   Originally I had felt annoyed at David’s mom for not paying attention to her son that was causing so much turmoil amongst the kids and their parents, too often parents completely ignore their kids while they play.   Once I saw that David appeared to be impaired in some way, I felt conflicted.  Yes, his mom should have been paying attention, and maybe she had been, maybe she turned away for a minute to inhale a bite or two of her sandwich, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t be called to the rescue.   I know that I’ve looked away from my own kids only to turn around and find them in the midst of impending disaster.  Also, I felt like David had as much right as any kid to be playing, even if his version of playing was simply sitting, albeit in a spot that blocked all the other kids.

I felt badly that nobody, including myself, had offered to help that mom retrieve her son when she was forced to climb the steps, pregnant.  (I realize he probably wouldn’t have come for a stranger, but still.)  I felt badly that nobody, including myself, had offered her a smile or reassuring words.  I felt badly that nobody, including myself, asked the catty mothers to show a little compassion, to remind them that even though their children are “normal,” it could just as easily have been their child causing trouble at the top of steps.  I felt badly that nobody, including myself, reminded these women that they are not perfect parents either.

*David was not his real name.

“All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhood completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.” -Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

That quote has squatted in every crevice of my brain, filled every pore, and hung like a weighted vest on my shoulders ever since I read it.  It’s been several weeks since I finished reading The Five People You Meet in Heaven, the book has been returned to the library, other books have been read in an effort to white out that quote, but there it sits!  I see the quote, running over and over across my closed eyelids, like my own personal closed captioning narrating my life.

*****

Carson, for the fiftieth time, has pushed Ella or maybe he’s just touched her with his index finger, the exact offense is unimportant.  But it’s the fiftieth time that he’s done whatever he’s done and the forty-ninth time that I’ve told him to stop pestering his sister.

*****

I’ve spent all day cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, washing and folding laundry.  The children have begged to go outside for most of the day.  I finally agree even after looking in defeat outside at the mud, those brown, menacing patches, enemies among the blades of green grass.  I make the children swear that they won’t play in the mud, they won’t even look at the mud.   Carson and Ella do more than look at the mud, they wallow in it, somehow they’re completely painted in brown in the two seconds that I look away.

*****

After I completely lose my shit, I wonder if this is the outburst that will leave prints on my pristine children, leaving them as broken adults in a therapist’s office retelling the time I screamed at them for getting mud everywhere.  When they grow up, are they going to say that they don’t want to be the type of parent their mother had been, because I couldn’t handle that.  I just want to be the type of parent my children say they want to be themselves.  I imagine Carson and Ella as adults, lying on their pillows facing their spouses in the dark of night talking quietly after their own children have long been asleep.  Are they going to describe me as impatient, annoyed, burdened, yelling, or worse?

In a world where nothing is absolute, how can I possibly teach Carson and Ella what they need to know?  Watch out for strangers!  Strangers are dangerous!  But not all strangers, some strangers are nice.  Don’t let anyone touch you in your private areas!  Except sometimes it’s okay, like when Mommy and Daddy are giving you a bath.   Don’t yell at Mommy!  Except that you’ve learned yelling from Mommy.

I’m so paranoid about doing it all wrong.   I don’t want Carson and Ella to grow up and say that I was too lenient, that they wished I’d pushed them more, or that I was too strict and that they felt like rebelling against me was their only way out.  I just want to do it right without leaving them as the casualties of my novice parenting skills.

*****

Carson and I constantly butt heads, not literally, but the figurative is just as bothersome.  I don’t want it to be this way.  I want to be the type of parent who is patient and usually smiling, less irritated and more amused at his three-year-old antics.  I don’t want the majority of what I say to him be weighted, heavily, with the word “no.”  My tone of voice  when I talk to him is always so stern.  Where is the gentle mom that I always imagined myself to be?

*****

Instead of getting angry or yelling, sometimes I’m able to catch myself in those frustrating parenting moments and use humor to diffuse the situation.  Both of my children love being tickled, it can be the perfect deterrent.

“If you do that again,”  I’ll say in my most serious mom voice, my arms crossed over my chest and my eyebrows raised in stern indignation, “I guess I’ll just have to tickle you.  That’s right.  You heard me.  Better watch out because here come my tickle fingers!!!”   The children run screaming and laughing, taunting me to chase them.

“More, Mommy!  MORE!” Ella squeals in delight.

“No!  Don’t tickle me,” Carson pleads as he inches ever closer to my wiggling fingers.  I honor his request and don’t tickle him until he finally breaks and begs for my fingers to dance across his belly.

These are the prints, the dancing fingerprints, that I want to leave as an always learning, always changing, always striving to do better parent.  These are the prints that I pray will cover more of my children than the marred prints left by impatience and yelling.  These are the prints I can only hope will keep their little lives from becoming shattered, in pieces, and unrepairable.

I recently did harm to my internal organs by eating my weight in jalapeno nachos at a baseball game.

The next morning, well, let’s just say I was lucky to make it out of the bathroom alive.

In our family, we tend to overshare and describe our bathroom events and this trip to the bathroom was no exception.  After I gave my gruesome recount, Tate scowled at me and pointed to our son.  “You know, you really should watch what you say in front of him.”

Later that afternoon on a family outing, I took Carson into a public bathroom stall with me.  I carefully squatted over the bowl.  Carson looked at me with great concern.

“MOMMY?”  he yelled.  “IS FIRE STILL COMING OUT OF YOUR BUTT?”

You know, I really should watch what I say in front of him.

I have this really strongly worded post in my drafts folder regarding my current feelings on blogging and all of my insecurities that seem like they are highlighted by blogging.  It continues to darken my drafts folder rather than my front page for several reasons, one of which being MY INSECURITIES.

I’m guessing that if you’re going to BlogHer in Chicago this summer, especially if it’s your first time, you’re probably nervous.

1.  What if nobody knows who I am?
2.  What if nobody talks to me?
3.  What am I going to wear?
4. What if I don’t get invited to any of the parties?

This will be my second time attending BlogHer and #1-3 all apply to ME, but I know, logically, that mostly my fears are just my little demon insecurities creeping in and attempting to sabotage me.   Fear number 4, though, you’re covered because you’re already invited to a party, a party that I’m helping to host.

The People’s Party 2009
open-invite pre-BlogHer party
Thursday, July 23, 2009
8:30-11pm
Sheraton Chicago X (”Ten”)

~~~

Hosted by:

The Bloggess
Green Mom Review/ IzzyMom
Motherbumper
Mrs. Fussypants
Playgroups Are No Place For Children
Velveteen Mind

The People’s Party is aptly named because it is for EVERYONE.  I hope that when you read “everyone” you realize that “everyone” includes YOU.  And you.  And YoU.  And yOU.  It’s the perfect place to meet people, so that you’re not just sitting in your room, alone, watching p()rn in your PJ’s, scratching your butt, and eating an overpriced hamburger you ordered from room service.

What I need for you to do now, is go over to Megan’s place, and RSVP that you ARE coming to the Party, when you get back, we can chat about insecurities #1-3 (listed above.)  Hurry back!

Did you RSVP??

Okay!  {clap, clap}  Let’s talk about our feeeeeeelings.

1.  What if nobody knows who I am?

I’m SWEAR I’m not trying to scare you, but many of the people you’ll meet will have never heard of you, or your blog, or your Twitter name.  That’s okay, though.  I’d never heard of Amy in Ohio or Mommy Bits and they hadn’t heard of me until last BlogHer and now this year, I’m driving from Tennessee to Cincinnati and driving with them the rest of the way to Chicago.    It’s like, we all became friends or something.  Weird.  I know.

If someone hasn’t heard of you, it doesn’t mean you’re not worth knowing. Introduce yourself to people and don’t be offended when they have no idea who you are.

2.  What if nobody talks to me?

Okay, I swear AGAIN that I’m not trying to scare you, but you *might* have to talk to people first.  I know it’s scary and all your insecurities start bubbling up in your throat and choking you at the mere thought of walking up to someone, sticking out your hand, and saying, “Hi.  I’m Jennifer from Playgroups are no Place for Children.”  The thing is, though, if you’re standing alone in the corner, it’s not very likely that someone is going to just come up and talk to you out of the goodness of their heart.  That’s just not how it works.

Every year after BlogHer, there is a backlash against the “cliques.”  With THAT many women (especially women), who rarely get to see one another, there are bound to be groups that form.   Many of the so-called cliques are groups of women who’ve known each other for years, send one another Christmas and birthday cards, call one another on the phone.  In other words, they have a HISTORY together.  It’s natural for people to hang out with the people they already know, and usually they aren’t purposely leaving anyone out.

I promise you, though, that if you go up to people, introduce yourself, ask them questions about their blog and where they’re from, most people will AMAZINGLY talk to you.  If you’re with a group who decides to go to dinner, say, “hey, mind if I come, too?”  If they are not complete a-holes, they’ll say, “Of course you can!”

Something that I did last year with a group of people was to form a sort of support group and exchange cell numbers before leaving for the conference.  That way I ALWAYS had someone to call if I was suddenly feeling like I had nobody to eat lunch with or to go to the free swag suites.

Remember that if you don’t make an effort, you will SO regret it when you get home.  Take the chance, it will be worth it.

3.  What am I going to wear?

Go read this post by OHMommy.

During the conference, I’ll probably be wearing simple tanks, t-shirts, jeans, and possibly a casual, flowy skirt.  In the evenings, I’ll probably go fancier with a dress and some cute wedges.  Last year, I felt TOTALLY underdressed at all the cocktail parties.  I won’t be making the same mistake this year.

Anymore fears that I didn’t cover?  Any questions??  I hope that you have RSVP’d by now for the People’s Party!!   See you in Chicago.

The doorbell rang just as I walked passed my glass front door.  I thought to myself, “Damn, now I have to answer the door.  They can see me.”

Gingerly I answered the door, wary that they were going to throw religious pamphlets my way.  I never know how to politely decline the offer of salvation, so I was relieved when they were only two women from a local salon trying to drum up business.

They handed me a brochure of all their services and told me that they hoped they could have my business.

Ella peaked around from behind my legs and the ladies immediately remarked on her beauty.

“She’s the one who really needs a haircut, ” I said about Ella, trying to make polite conversation.

The two women looked at one another with confused and concerned looks.  One of the women smiled respectfully and said, “Well, I hope you’ll come in for a haircut soon.  Maybe you’d like to have make-up consultation, too?”

Gee. Thanks.