A Day In Pictures

Pictures are amazing.  They tell a story all on their own.  Especially these days when so many "normal" people are buying fancy-shmancy cameras and becoming their own professional photographers, how easy it has become to capture the beauty in everyday moments.  It's amazing in just ten years how far cameras have come with the dawn digital area.

This is last Sunday in pictures.  Looks divine doesn't it?  It was, however what isn't shown is the fact that we had temper tantrums flying, children who wouldn't sit still in the pew at mass, a messy kitchen, a pizza that took MUCH longer than anticipated to cook leading to impatient people, fights over who would hold the jump rope, a migraine headache that led to an extremely miserable night.  I say this because I want to acknowledge the fact that though pictures may make our life beautiful, it still is real, very real. I need to remember as I look back at our young children days, how it was hard yet beautiful all mixed together.


I often wonder what my children will remember from their childhood.  I have a terrible memory.  I wish I could remember so much more, yet I am limited to only the few pictures my parents took back when I was growing up.  I can remember from the pictures and I do have a few random memories but I wish I could remember so much more.  I honestly have no memory from my First Holy Communion.  Annie is getting ready to make hers in just a few weeks.  What will she remember?  I hope so much more than me.  My mom has always said that I am lucky to have a camera and this blog to put our memories into.

I love that with my camera I can capture the gleam in George's eye when he smiles.  In the small space of the lens I see chubby fingers, the cheeks of a two year old in panties, how the sunlight hits the french toast and makes it look just right.  I see the toothless smile of a baby, the apron on the helper in the kitchen, the child's focused look on their face while coloring. 

I am so grateful that I get to see those precious moments.

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