Perfectly imperfect

This just might be my very favorite picture of Mason to date.

I have taken tens of thousands of pictures. I have poured over many of them, editing out harsh hues, clarifying, sharpening and brightening images until  I am happy with the result.   Fundamentally, it's all wrong and I could have spent more time perfecting it, molding it into something more .

This picture is a snap shot.

Looking in the background, you can see that my windows have hand prints and smudges on them, conceding that my life isn't picture perfect, that I juggle and , sometimes, things fall . I could have used my computer mouse and tidied up this moment.

But no.

A thought creeps in and I can't do it. This one photo embodies the very essence of Mason at this stage in his life. Set on the idea of independence, determined to grow up, he has learned to use a spoon but also, and maybe more importantly, when to abandon it and slurp right from the bowl, like  big boys do. His beloved fruits snacks at his elbow and the always present Hot Wheels car with in reach paint a perfect picture of life with this 21 month old being. The way the morning sun spills in, casting a creamy yellow hue, reminds me of our early mornings together . Yes- the windows are dirty, the color is off. But there is my little boy, just as I want to remember him.

 This is exactly why I love photography. In 5, 10, 15 years my mind will be bogged down with new things- report cards, drivers education classes and graduations. Though I never want to forget these things, these tiny details that weave our days into months and months into years, I know I might.  But there is something I can do, I can create a memory trail for our future selves- to dig through piles files of pictures and have memories jogged, to see squishy, sleepy faces and smell his sweet " all boy" smell and to go back, even for just a second, and be in this moment again. That is what photography is for me- collecting memories, bundling them together in the best way possible, so that one day, the past seems slightly tangible again. In days to come, it won't matter if my focus fell in a picture or my photos aren't professional quality. Today, tomorrow, I am their historian. And they are mine.