the boys were very patient while i played with the evening light in the kitchen tonight. getting there. but not quite there (would help if i knew what i was doing haha). loving the details in the sunset light in the first shot and the rich black (and that white ice cube tray on the left) in the second shot. of course, i only wish i had a big lovely tree out my window rather than my neighbor’s house. but oh well.
not sure what i did to deserve these perfect, patient (tonight) boys. they blow my mind. and they don’t even seem to think i’m that crazy. shhh, don’t tell them.
p.s. just looked at this on PC and wow, just for-getta-bout the rich black thing i’m talking about. nothing like the mac.
i do love the killing, but quite possibly i love the art direction even better than the show. i just watch and drool over its perfectly moody cinematography, all doused in a blue-green haze. and my god, the blacks. they are the richest blacks. everything is dark, dreary, and gorgeous. now all i want to do is stand in my kitchen at 8pm — where there’s a similar blue-gray filtering on a good evening — and try to capture something half as beautiful as some of the scenes in that show. those kitchen window scenes!!! that tree out the window. gasp!
i believe myself to be incredibly compassionate and mostly kind … except (gulp!) when it comes to the people i love most — my sweet little, tight-knit family unit. intensely ashamed to admit it, but it’s true. and it makes no sense, i know. i mean, if these are the people i love and cherish and trust more than anyone on the planet, then shouldn’t the opposite come more naturally. shouldn’t i want to shower them always, save for a few bad moments, with compassion and kindness? shouldn’t i? why don’t i?
my greatest fear is that the pissy, cranky, less-than-charming woman i sometimes become around here is the real me. the authentic me. and that’s why she rears her ugly head so often in the place i feel safest and most loved. god no! and i know it’s not true. that it’s something more complicated. that the makings of family relationships do the damnedest things to us, often bringing out the best and worst. this is one of those horrifying and ingrained behavior changes i feel like i’ll be working on for a lifetime.
of course, the urge to make this change has amped up considerably now that one of my kids has a similar, shall we call it, emotional defense mechanism. so often, he will react unkindly, inconsiderately, and downright mean rather than let his guard down and be vulnerable and free with us. as far as i can tell, this isn’t a problem outside the house, but here it’s a problem. just like it is for me.
i just keep thinking — maybe if i walked the walk of kindness more often, then it would help us both, you know? i’m so sick about it that i’m actually considering hanging sticky notes all over the house that just say “be kind.” like in every room. reminders! is that insane? i’m not sure if it’s more insane that i need reminders to be kind in my own house or that i think sticky notes may solve my problem. shit.
It’s here! So excited to finally share this beautiful book project from Tracey Clark with you!
In her new book Elevate the Everyday: A Photographic Guide to Picturing Motherhood, Tracey manages to combine her years of photography expertise with amazing and practical tips for capturing the journey of motherhood. The book is not only gorgeous, helpful, and insanely inspiring, but it’s also full of several must-read stories of motherhood — her own and those of many of the mom writers and bloggers you know and love. I am beyond honored to have my own story included in the book.
Take a look!
Beautiful, right?
And yippeee! Here’s my story “Migration”:
Read an excerpt:
Migration
By Sheri Reed
While staring out the front window into a bleak February morning, birds entered my life.
My five-year-old suddenly set down his toys and wholeheartedly gasped “Beautiful!” and I looked up to see a window full of birds. Dozens of robins dropped down like fiery orange comets into the stripped winter trees next door. My boys—my oldest newly five and my youngest a few months past his first birthday—and we ran, window to window, hands and noses pressed to glass to take in the magic. On this day, the migration of many things was made loud and clear. Birds … yes, birds, I thought, grabbing my camera, so unexpectedly inspired. I began to look up for the everyday beauty of their passing show.
A few years after my first son was born, I ran into an old friend, deeply immersed in the early weeks of new motherhood. Mostly she shared the profound goodness: smallness, amazement, and beauty, all which cause a mother’s heart to come undone. In fact, it wasn’t until we were saying goodbye that, heart and eyes overflowing, she stopped me and told me that parenthood was so much harder than she ever imagined.
She looked in my eyes and asked, “Were you scared?”
“Yes,” I answered. “To death.”
What I did not say was that I was still scared. Scared I’d never survive toddlerhood, scared I could never be enough, and maybe more than anything, scared I would never be able to fill the growing void that feeling like “just a mother” left inside me.
Once the robins cracked something open in me, I began to take the boys “drive-by nature gazing trips” along the driving route of a nearby wildlife preserve. A few visits quickly became several trips a week and frantic dashes to catch the “golden hour” before sunset. Those days out there, chasing bird glimpses along the dusty roads, saved me — from boredom, from loneliness, from feeling stuck, from the debilitating heaviness of creative stagnation, and ultimately from forgetting who I was. Boys tucked in carseats, the natural world passing us by, I began to feel like myself, most certainly a new self, but my own true self nonetheless.
today is pretty 