Top knot hair day. Tired eyes. Makeup-less. Yoga pants. Again.
But my kids don’t see that. They see me kneeling down to zip coats, tie shoes, examine the sparkly rock they unearthed from their secret mud spot. My cheek brushes theirs, and we may pause for an eyelash kiss. It’s not that they don’t see me; on the contrary, I believe they are wholly acquainted with each
age spot freckle on my face, every speckle in my green-golden irises.
I take thousands of images a year of my family, and unless Charlie gets ahold of my iPhone to candidly catch me, I’m not in any of them. This gives me pause.
Most of my own childhood memories are based on feelings first, subsequently accompanied by an image in my brain that looks like it’s being viewed from inside a carwash. Some have more clarity than others. So, it is such a gift when I come across a picture of my mother from that time–so crisp & real & lovely & warm & fuzzy. There aren’t nearly enough of those gifts, and sadly, very few of just the two of us. I have some wonderful ones from my wedding, a couple from these last few years, but almost nil from my childhood of just the two of us. That needs to change going forward. I need more pictures with my own mother, and my children need pictures with me.
What about you? Are you in your family pictures? I know you’re there with them—you’re making Star Wars pancakes, dotting toes with glitter polish, kissing wounded knees, packing lunches with little notes on folded napkins with XOXO, proofreading homework, filling the bubbly tub, reading extra bedtime stories, listening, listening, listening, and countless additional connections, tasks, activities, engagements. You’re the cornerstone of the family; get yourself documented in those memories. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for your kids.
I’ll be doing the same. Top knot, makeup-less, yoga pants and all.
Look at all these gorgeous mamas getting in the frame. It’s your wife’s turn. Your sister’s turn. Your mother’s turn.
We see you, we absolutely see you.