I shot a wedding on Friday. It was beautiful, even if the weather almost gave me photography whiplash. It went from raining, to hailing, to bright sun, to raining, back to bright sun so quickly, I couldn't meter fast enough. I would literally meter the subject, and by the time I hit the shutter button, the light had changed. Chalk that up to new experiences this Californian has never photographed before. I kept thinking of Pacific Northwest photographers and all their rain. How in the world do they ever take any pictures? There's got to be a technique I'm missing.
There were two little girls at the wedding who kept running away every time I looked at them. They'd sneak and follow me around, and then scatter whenever I pointed my camera towards them. Finally, the older of the two, dragged the little one over to me and insisted I tell the littler one that she wasn't famous. I was momentarily confused, until the younger one said "Aren't you the paparazzi?" Ah...I nodded my head sagely, and turned to the older girl. "Didn't you know your sister is a movie star? " Confusion, and vigorous head shaking from the bigger girl. Because of course wise, grownup little girls want adults to be the voice of reason and pragmatism. No fun! and No pretending!
"Oh, but it's true." I said "I'm definitely the paparazzi, and you two better run before I catch you and take your picture." The smile on the littler girl's face was precious as she scampered away. Plus, I provided them hours of entertainment while I shot the reception, and randomly pointed my camera in their direction. Win win.
Jamie had opening day and pictures for baseball on Saturday. I could barely stand all the adorableness! All those little boys with their grass stained pants, and baseball caps were just too cute. I totally underestimated baseball. I grew up in a home that was pretty anti-sports (Hi dad), and I guess some of my father's pessimism rubbed off on me, because really...what is baseball except for a bunch of people running around in pajamas, waving wooden clubs and wearing clown sized gloves? But Jim wanted his son to play baseball like he did as a kid, so I finally got Jamie signed up (apparently about 3 years too late, but who's counting?). I had no idea it was going to be so good...and hard! In a world that's completely dominated by woman teachers (for us preschool, speech therapy, music lessons, CC, and gymnastics are all women instructors) it's interesting to watch the coaches and all the dads out there on the ball field guiding the boys through pushups, sit ups, how to throw a ball...play the game...etc. Those boys work hard. Practice is at least an hour and a half long (and often longer) and there's not any standing around. Jamie is pooped after it's done (hard to do), and that's just the physical side. I can't even begin to count all the positive life skills Jamie is learning in baseball. I feel like he's matured leaps and bounds in just a few weeks. He still marches to the beat of his own drummer, but he's got a patient coach and great teammates.
Last night I was brushing Charlie's teeth, and he sleepily asked me "Mom, promise me you won't ever become pure evil?" Wha...?!? I kissed his little button nose and promised him that I have an ever loving heavenly Father who will never let me stray into pure evil territory. But thanks for making sure son. I'll try not to wander even into partial evilness. Ahem.
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