This is the result.
Is it any wonder I asked my sweet neighbor to take Blake's senior portraits for us and then snap a few of the whole family?
A few words to mothers of little ones. Remember that feeling when you saw the first professional photo of your baby? Or even the one taken in the hospital? Remember how you fell in love all over again and you wondered how in the world you were still breathing even though your heart had suddenly jumped outside your body?
Remember that?
Well, that feeling doesn't go away.
Even when, say, hypothetically, your grown son has decided not to shave or get a haircut until January 1st. Even, when, say, hypothetically, he holds fast to this commitment when it's time for his senior photos.
Even when, say, hypothetically you beg and plead and say "Why, son? WHY?" And you wave the white flag of surrender because, as you're pleading for a clean shaven young man, his peers are saying things likes "Dude, that is SO COOL. It's like you're a wolf man or something."
And how can a mother hold battle against such encouraging words?
But you look at the photos of "Wolf man" and his little sister and you fall in love any way.
You really can't explain it.
It's just there like a balloon swelling somewhere inside of you (probably that place where your heart used to be) and as you look at each proof, that balloon grows bigger and bigger. So big you know it's going to burst and leave a spray of tears all over your computer screen.
I love photos. Photos have a way of putting life into perspective. They remind you of what really matters. They remind you to put the past where it belongs. They remind you not to fear the future. They remind you that life is beautiful. Life is good.
They remind us that we somehow manage to do our job on this earth even when our heart is living outside our body.
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Thank you, Jenna. The photos are all gorgeous. You have a wonderful gift and we appreciate you.
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