Freedom Hour

“There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him asleep.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson.


I don’t care for mothering when I have allergies. When all I can do is sneeze as I watch mini calamities happen all around me. Baby A grinding crackers into the floor making sure to rub the crumbs into every direction around her. Z stepping with painted feet on the floor and upturning her paint palette on the floor. Sippy cups dangle perilously of cushions, cushions that aren’t supposed to be on the floor in the first place. My temper is short and I can’t help counting the minutes until Freedom Hour or bedtime.

What I like about photos, is that they capture a moment, a moment in which you simply pressed the button for  a second. My mind could be saying, “I like the way Z’s hair looks at that angle. Click! What sticky thing did I just step on? And why is baby A screaming?”

In a photograph, your child is frozen. Silent. Peaceful. You can imbibe her fully with just your visual senses. In real life, there are more distractions. For me, after my children are asleep, when freedom hours set in, if I do get a chance to putter away at photos, I am able to take a minute, sit, and reflect.

In silence.

IMG_8953-2Z peeking at Baby A on the deck, the pink blob with the pink bows is baby A !


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