Snow Day In A Miraculous World

The Now Project
January 1st-7th

Last month, I hopped on board with a fellow Instagrammer's brain child, called The Now Project, which was officially launched with the new year. The concept is to try and capture moments during our week, post photos, and write about them. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep this up all year, especially the writing part, since I tend towards laziness, but I'm going to try. The hardest part will probably be picking just one "moment" per week.

However, if I have to choose one moment from the first week of January, I choose our crazy, out of nowhere snow day. Living in southeast Virginia, a few blocks from the Chesapeake Bay, we don't see a lot of snow. We get humidity aplenty. Mosquitos, hurricanes, 70 degree rainy autumn days, patriotic parades, cannons left over from our Revolutionary and Civil War years, but not a lot of snow. So for us to get 10" dumped on us in a single day in the midst of blizzard conditions is pretty noteworthy.

Full disclosure: I loathe snow. I hate being cold. I hate the wet, and the mud, and the layers, I hate all of it. But my kids are all still young enough to glory in the beauty (and let's be honest, the novelty) of a winter wonderland, so I suck it up at least once a year and let them spend a half hour preparing to go out in the snow for a total of fifteen minutes.

This past week, on January 5th, was also Chloe's 11th birthday. I usually do a birthday photo session with my kids, and this time I decided we should take advantage of this rare, snowy occurrence for Chloe's big day. Which means- yes!- I too went out in the snow. Wonder of wonders! I won't post all of her photos here because I want to share them in a separate blog for her, but I will throw a couple in.

All of that said, here's the thing. I'm taking a chance with this. I don't know anyone else in this group I've chosen to be a part of, which in itself is a big step. But it's one I'm eager, albeit nervous and scared and kind of freaking out and fighting social anxiety and-- well, I could go on and on about that-- it's one I'm eager to take.  I'm choosing an opportunity to push myself out of my lazy ruts that I create for myself when I could be creating something beautiful instead. I'll work at becoming that version of myself that I want to see. I'll drop the ball sometimes this year, absolutely I will. But my main goal for 2017 is this mantra: "No more self sabotaging." That includes settling for subpar writing and blogging, photographing, and passing up chances to record this little tiny space of time my kids and my family are occupying right now. We live in a miraculous world, friends; one where anyone can instantly share what sandwich they ordered for lunch. Don't my kids, their memories, and their lives deserve more recognition and respect than a sandwich, even if it did come from Which Wich?

As far as it depends on me, my kids will be a part of this miraculous 2017. And I will be the record keeper of our small, wondrous, everyday miracles.

Happy New Year, Happy Snow Day, and Happy Miracle Choosing.

-M

All photos © 2017 Mary Smoot
Shot with Nikon D800

This Place, Your Home

Sometimes it's hard for me to get started writing. There are so many thoughts and words and emotions, bundled all together in a knot, and it's so hard to pull just one. And usually when I can manage to find one to pull, all the others unravel after it. So I've found, for myself at least, that the best way to start writing is to just START. You know... "Start at the beginning. And when you get to the end, stop."

Right now, there is no end in sight; I'm waist deep in trenches I never thought I'd be in, and I'm still watching this story unfold in front of me. 

Many of you may have followed along with the losses our family has been through these last few months. If you're unfamiliar, you can go on Instagram and search the hashtag #welovefoxhill. See, Fox Hill is a small "city" within the city where we live. It's also where Jeremy grew up, right across the street from his grandparents. And, this year, from April 29, 2016 to September 21, 2016, we lost both of his grandparents. Words can't describe what a hole this has left in our family, in our identity. In some ways, it feels like the ties that have been grounding us have been suddenly cut loose. 

What's worse, my youngest, Atleigh, has had an intense battle facing this loss. Before she even reached 8 years old, she's watched two people she was incredibly close to lowered into the ground. She's attended two funerals. She's placed flowers on two graves. She's witnessed her family, her safe place, struggle with sorrow and displacement and a heavy weightlessness that can only be described as grief. And she has suffered for it. More so than I would ever have imagined. She's developed a stutter. She's faced cruel comments from her classmates, and in some instances, school faculty, words like, "Spit it out", "Why can't you talk?" "You must not be very smart." She's developed anxiety, separation anxiety, fear over routines being changed, fear of CHANGE, period. Anyone who knows Atleigh knows that she has always been completely wide open. Not only does she embrace change, generally she is a catalyst for it. She sings and dances and does whatever she feels is needed to make everyone around her laugh. She is the quintessential class clown. 

Until this year. 

Those who follow my sporadic blogging also know that every year I do a birthday photo session with each of my kids. This year, Atleigh told me emphatically for weeks that she didn't want pictures. She didn't think she could smile "good enough". I didn't push her. I told her that was fine, even when it killed me on the inside. I told her if she changed her mind, that was fine too. I would never make her smile for photos if she didn't feel like it. 

And then, miraculously, last week, almost two weeks after her birthday, she told me she wanted to do the session. So I took her to Target and let her pick out an all new outfit (I don't know about all of you, but an all new outfit is a definite occasion for getting your picture taken, in my book). She chose the entire outfit on her own. Every piece of it was so significant to me, even if she didn't realize it. She chose a hot pink, glittery, floor length tutu that, to me, was a complete representation of who my baby really is on the inside. The shirt she chose says, "Never let anyone dull your sparkle." She chose a fluffy hoodie with the head of a unicorn, golden horn, rainbow mane, and all. In most stories, unicorns represent magic, innocence, purity and joy. And if anyone on God's green earth has the spirit of the unicorn, it's my Atleigh Naomi. Naomi: laughter, joy. Everything she truly is. And that outfit, while seeming small and coincidental to most people, was as holy to me as if God Himself had opened heaven and spoken to me, saying, "Your Naomi is still HERE. I see her. I hear her. I have not forgotten, I WILL NOT forget or forsake her."

I took her out for the photos. She didn't look at me a lot. She didn't smile a lot. A large portion of the photos are of her facing away or running from me. And that's okay. I'm okay with that. 

Later that afternoon, she was humming a refrain from a [completely moronic] Netflix cartoon- a refrain borrowed from Phillip Phillips's song "Home". I told her it was from a real song, and asked her if she'd like to hear it. As soon as I started playing it for her, all the hair on my body stood up. The lyrics say, 

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

She asked me to play it for her, over and over and over. And so I did. 

And if I've learned anything from this season that we're in right now, this uncertain, unstable, fraught and frayed season, it's that my role is to be her home. Her safe place, more than ever. And to point her to the Safest Place that we are all invited to live in. She can always be found. She's not alone. I will make this place her home. 

Happy 8th birthday to my littlest love, my unicorn soul, my lioness spirit. Your Safe Place sees you. Your Safe Place is ready for you. This Place, your Home. 

{{Here are a few of my favorites from Atleigh's unicorn 8th birthday photo session. Regardless of the valley we're traveling through, I think this will always be one of my favorite birthday sessions. She is magic.}}

*All photos © 2016 Mary Smoot/@what_if_i_said*

Hurricane Hormone

I finally got around to taking Ashton's 12th birthday photos earlier this week. What with him being sick on his actual birthday, then the hubbub of the holidays, I'm pretty proud that I got them done at all. I managed to get both of the girls' sessions done, but I haven't blogged either of them. You see? Motherhood is just a constant balance of choosing which child will get neglected today. (Kidding! I'm kidding.... Mostly.)

Ashton... Where do I begin? I've been kind of whining a lot lately about my battles with my preteen. Ashton has always been old for his age. To tell the truth, his "teenage angst" began several years ago. At least, that's what I thought. Nothing could have prepared me for the hurricane of hormones that now resides in my precious baby boy's bedroom. Most days, I feel like I'm just caught and pulled along in the powerful gale that is my pubescent boy. Most days, I'm just clutching my hair in bewilderment, trying to keep whatever shreds of sanity I have left after the toddler years inside my exhausted brain. Most days, I have emotional crying jags more than he does. Because, just like with every emotion he experiences since the moment he entered this world, I am right there with him, feeling them, hating them, loving them. One of the potential downsides of being an empathetic INFP personality, I suppose. So this crazy roller coaster he rides everyday has me strapped in right beside him. 

Is it hard? 

Yes. 

Is it exhausting and overwhelming?

Absolutely. 

Would I trade it back for those sleepless nights, diaper changes, and temper tantrums?

Eh.... Yes. Sometimes. A lot of times, okay??

But, this is where we are now. This is the season we're in, and I'm here to love him fierce, to hug him hard in the moments he'll let me, and to respect him with personal space in the moments he won't. I'm here to mirror the type of adult he can become, on the other side of this godawful maelstrom he's caught in right now. 

And, you know, it isn't all bad- I know I make it sound like it is. But we still have laughter, and smiles, and dance parties (although he'll swear up and down that he hates to dance. Even when I catch him at it every time I turn around). We still have our reading time, and movie time, and just plain talking time. In some ways, I'm enjoying him even more, enjoying this little sneak peek into the relationship we can have as he grows older. And every once in awhile, he'll look at me with those crinkled blue eyes, and I'll see my baby boy looking at me all over again. Those moments make all the others seem so small. Those moments more than repay me for all the others. Those moments are the ones I'll hang on to.

{{Here are a few shots from Ashton's 12th birthday photo session. It's mostly a lot of sarcastic smirking, exasperated glaring, and stone-faced staring. But on reviewing them while editing, I decided not to try and redo the whole shoot. After all, I'm a huge proponent of being honest, of showing your messy life. And pictures of a happy go lucky 12 year old Ashton, more likely than not, would not be a true representation of where he is right now. One day, I'll be able to show him these pictures and say, "Remember when you were 12, and thought that everything was awful all the time? No? Oh. Well I just so happen to have some photos right here..."}}

Magic Is As Magic Does

If you can believe it, I've been mentally composing this blog for over three months. The fact is, once school started, it was all a downhill slide from there. Then came fall ball, and birthdays, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and you may as well just kiss any free time goodbye right about then. 

So much has happened since my last blog (has it really been six months?), but sometimes it feels like nothing. 5th grade has been kicking Ashton's butt, consequently, my butt. I hate 5th grade. I don't want to do it anymore. And the realization that it will most likely only get worse until - unless - I learn to relinquish control and let my son face the consequences of his choices isn't an easy one. Not something I'm great at. 

In early August of last year, my sister in law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. These past few months have been some of the scariest of our lives, but thank God she is done with chemo and officially diagnosed as cancer free as of this week! You don't know courage - you don't know a person - until you've seen them walk through a fire like that and come out refined. 

In September, we started school, and we started a whole new normal at the Box House. A world of never enough sharpened pencils, never enough Cheez-It crackers, never enough patience for homework, and WAY too much homework. Things have evened out now, thank God. Atleigh has adapted well to Kindergarten. While she still looks back at me every morning to wave goodbye, it's never in fear or worry. It's never a "promise you'll come back?" wave. It's always a "I promise I'll be here waiting for you, and I'll always be your baby" wave. That's my favorite kind. Along with all that, my sister-in-law began her aggressive chemo regimen. One of the most precious things to me was being able to be there for every single treatment, from start to finish. Yes, it was hard. Sometimes agonizing. There were days when I left in tears, and came home so emotionally wiped that I didn't know if I could do it again. But every time, I told myself, "If she can go through it, I can sure as hell be there to watch and hold her hand." I now know more about chemo terms and procedures than I ever thought I would. But I got to really know my sister. I got to see and learn her heart, her strengths and dreams, her weaknesses and faults. And that's something I wouldn't ever trade. That's something I'll take with me for the rest of my life. 

In late September Ashton ended up goofing off with a soccer ball in the house, and fracturing his foot, with three weeks left in the baseball season. That was a hard blow for him, but I don't think he'll be playing with the ball in house anymore. 

October saw Atleigh's 6th birthday and her first real sleepover. Her dinner request was rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and stuffing. Basically she wanted Thanksgiving dinner for her birthday. Not pizza. Not hot dogs. Five course Thanksgiving dinner. That's my Atleigh for you. 

In November, Ashton and I FINALLY made our long awaited trek to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, for his 11th birthday. This was an epoch in our lives. We went with a friend and her son, but for it to be just the two of us with no other kids... It was like a return to those days of early motherhood, when my son was my best friend. Except now he could actually talk back to me. He laughed at my jokes. He made his own. It was truly magical getting to know him outside of who our household expects him to be. 

December = Christmas. I don't think I need to add anything to that. Throughout the fall, my nephew and niece stayed with us a good bit while my sister recovered in between chemo treatments. You'll see them in a lot of photos. Atleigh is in heaven whenever Hannah is around... Until Hannah does something Atleigh doesn't like, then all hell breaks loose. 

I took Chloe on a date to see The Nutcracker, just the two of us, after the heartbreaking revelation that she had felt neglected by me. That was a hard, hard pill to swallow, although I'm sure there are many of you nodding sagely and thinking to yourselves, "I knew it!" What can I say? I'm human. I fail. I fail more than I want to, in more important areas than I should. I'm trying to fix some of those failures. 

After the ballet, I asked Chloe where she wanted to go for dessert, and she told me she'd rather go to the store and bring ice cream home so everyone could have some. Where did this angel come from? Certainly not from me. If I bring ice cream home from the store I hide it in the back of the freezer and eat it sitting in a corner of the bathroom with the lights off and the door locked in the middle of the night. I don't know where she got this generous sharing gene, but I can appreciate and respect it. 

What is all this newsy update for, you ask? The answer is I don't really know. But I feel if I don't record these tiny pieces of our lives, they'll drift off into oblivion. And when my kids ask me, "Mom, what did we do when we were little?", all I'll be able to do is give a feeble shrug and tell them I wish I remembered. 

I'll wish I remembered the mundane and the madness and the magic. 

This way, mundane or no, mad or no, I've recorded a little of the magic. I've pressed it between these proverbial pages, saving it for a later date. 

This way, when I tell my kids these everyday stories... "You wanted chicken for your slumber party", or "you wanted to buy ice cream for everyone instead of just yourself", or even "you broke your foot because you're a dummy who didn't obey house rules!"... When I tell them these stories and they roll their eyes and ask me, "That's it? Where's the drama? Where's the magic?", I'll tell them what I've learned myself these past few months: Magic is as magic does. Magic is what you make it. Magic is where you choose it, and how you live it. And we are magic. 

{{August 2014-January 2015 Photo Dump}}

{{This may not quite be the largest Photo Dump I've ever done, but it's close. Kudos to you if you get all the way through them.}}

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