At the Table – Little Boys and Toy Cars
A typical day for me involves working at an overcrowded desk in my living room while my high-energy toddler pretends that the couch is a castle occupied by dragons and his toy screwdriver is his mighty sword. Oh, and there's toy cars...EVERYWHERE!
The other night I tripped on one. It's a good thing Owen was asleep, because the words I yelled should not be repeated by a toddler. The next day, all I could see – all day long – were toy cars. Under the table, on the counter, in my bed. There was no escape. This was a setup for mompocalypse.
But here's the thing. This phase of tripping on toy cars, forcing a 35 pound human to brush his teeth, singing his three favorite songs at bedtime (at least four times), this is Oh. So. Temporary.
Before I know it, the toy cars will be long gone, the boy who loved them long grown, and the memory of a messy house and late night domestic mishaps will seem like a golden age long past. So I got out my camera and took a picture of every single toy car I could find.
Now, sometimes I fantasize about living in a Pinterest house, one without overturned toy cars around every corner...IN every corner. One without dust bunnies and five loads of laundry stuffed into a single hamper. One with an office – a real one with four walls and a door – not a computer on an electric piano in the living room.
But my reality, in all of it's busyness, with all of it's toy cars and dust bunnies and toddlers with snot bubbles, is irreplaceably beautiful and incredibly fleeting.
Part of why I love being a photographer is that I get to walk into people's lives and help them see and preserve the beauty of their own fleeting realities. If there is any lasting impression from my work, I hope it is this: The enduring beauty of human connection and the sacred value of the present moment.