The obligatory introduction

Here's an introduction to the characters:



Gus: fun-loving, down-to-earth, photog-obsessed, all around good guy.



Em: domestic goddess with a brain.



Chie: the light of our lives, always quick with a smile and a laugh.

For the rest of the story, you'll just have to stay tuned!

Note: To keep our private lives private, we all have pseudonyms that we use for our journals. If you know us in real life, please respect our wishes if you respond to the entries by referring to us by our online names.

Also of note: My photography is copyrighted. All rights reserved for yours truly.

An overnighter, in sand

Some images from the trip that we took to the beach this weekend. We'd been slated to go to the Bay to see family, but that trip kept having road blocks and so we decided to listen to the cosmos and stay closer to home. We were both still very much in need of a break, though, so we took off for an overnighter...



Our destination: Cape Lookout State Park



The first stop-- Tillamook Cheese's factory.



The first thing to do on a beach? Remove your shoes, of course.



But Chie kept her Robeez on, this time around, because it was pretty chilly. She seemed really enamored of the sand.



When we got back, Gus tossed her in the air a bit while I tried to have the camera at the right angle.



She LOVES her daddy, and his acrobatic skills.



It's not really that big-- but it is bulky. And we need a rain fly.



Gus took this shot across from our campsite.





Chie's first sandy steps on our walk the next morning.



I tried to keep her as dry as possible, but in the end, she still got soaked.





Fun with shadows (I think I want to do a whole series).



One of the things I love about the coast is that the forest is immediately adjacent.





The Cape Mears lighthouse. (That's not Gus, btw).



The far point is where we'd stayed the night before.





She's still not sure what she thinks of goats.



This little boy was way too cute to not photograph.

Newsletter: Month Seventeen

I’ve gotten into the swing of writing these newsletters now, so much so that throughout the month, I’ll find myself thinking, “Oh, that’ll be hilarious in her newsletter.” The thing is that I’m finding that there just might be too much to tell. You have become a hilarious being, full of wit and comedic timing and flat out, well, hilarity. Add to that the fact that you’re brilliant—and no, I am not biased—and there’s a lot to share. I’m going to do my best though because you deserve to hear about all of the amazing things that you’ve done.



The first thing that deserves to be shared is your emerging language skills. I called last month the Month of Talking and it was. And maybe the truth is that every month, from here on out, will be a new Month of Talking. You seem to come up with new words continually. Now you can say, “Up!” when you want to be picked up or get into your high chair or just be higher than you are. You say “More!” whenever you want to do something, well, more. That can be eating, or bouncing in Daddy’s arms, or playing in the waves at the beach like we did this weekend. We took you in, and I fully intended to have it be over after a few minutes because the water was really cold. But you couldn’t get enough and every minute or so, you’d point out towards the water and say, “More!” I’m sure that it goes without saying that we made several trips back into the water. You’ve also started combining words. We stopped to get lunch on the way to the beach and you had chicken nuggets for the first time. I handed you back a small piece, to let you test it out and see if it passed your rigorous inspections. It did, obviously, because the next thing I heard was you saying, “Mama that!” and your little hand was pointed up to the front of the car. I handed you back another piece and said, “This?” and you said, “Yeah!” It was very cute. And for the record, all of the exclamation marks that I’ve used have been intentional. When you make a remark, it’s never half-hearted. You speak with gusto.



Gusto isn’t just a part of your speech patterns. You seem to have become quite fearless in your movements. You’ve become a diver, though not off the high dive yet. No, your perch is the top of the couch. You climb up onto the stool that is there and then go head-first into the pillows. You’ll do this over and over, ad nauseum, and seem so pleased with yourself. You’re getting good at climbing other surfaces too. You climb on chairs, and the other day I came into the hallway to find you perched on top of the flour container that you’d pulled off of the shelf, perusing our mail pile. It has since been relocated. The biggest feat, to date, has been climbing a ladder at Papa’s house. He was helping me get things together for our beach excursion and had to get into his crawl space to do so, which involved climbing a ladder. You stood below and watched him disappear and then reappear, and then he and I set off to our car to put in the supplies. He happened to look up a few moments later and was quite surprised to see you already on the second rung on the ladder, smiling broadly. We made our way over quickly and he stood behind you, spotting you. And you just continued your ascent. You made it all the way to the second to last step and you probably would have gone to the top if we would have let you. You don’t have the ability to balance that well, though, and so we brought you back to earth. It’s probably a good thing. A friend used to tease me that my middle name must be Grace, an unlikely joke given that I have a decided lack of coordination, and I realized the other day as I watched you trip that you seem to have the same propensity. The thing is, your middle name IS Grace. I guess that we’ll just have to keep an eye out for ladders and cracks in the sidewalk to keep you upright.



Let’s see, what else? I suppose that I should mention you’re new flair for fashion, much to my surprise and a bit to my chagrin. Daddy woke me one morning on a weekend, when he had woken with you and let me sleep, and he the first thing that he said was, “It was all her.” And in you sauntered wearing a pajama top—but no bottoms—, pink wollen gloves, a belt around your waist, and a fisherman hat perched jauntily on your head. You’ve gotten into the habit of bringing us items of clothing to put on you and sometimes you’ll insist on picking out parts of your ensemble if we’re standing in front of your dresser when it’s time to clothe you for the day. And you LOVE shoes. You’ve learned to say that word with extra gusto. And you often insist on putting them on long before we’re ready to leave for the day. You like to wear my shoes, and Daddy’s, and you stumble awkwardly around in them. But more than anything, you like to put on your own and point to them proudly. It worries me, slightly, wondering whether the obsession has started early, but I’m hoping that you’ll be content with just a few pairs, at least until you stop changing sizes every three months.



You’re determined in your efforts, not just the application of footwear, which shouldn’t be a surprise. I remember my mother saying that I had started the Terrible Two’s at about eighteen months, and I suppose if I classified them as such, you’d probably qualify similarly. But I’m really trying to see them for what they are—at time in your development when you’re getting adjusted to having both an opinion and strong emotions. Those emotions often bubble over, particularly when you’re tired, in ways that you seem ill equipped to handle. And then you squeal, and throw your body back, and break into a full-on sob in nothing flat. But most of the time, if I give you a few moments and then hold out my arms to you, you’ll collapse into them. We’ve had a few full-blown tantrums where you seem to want to just register your disgust in every way possible and employ much weeping, wailing, and back arching. Eventually, you collapse into our arms and hold on for dear life. I think that you are as surprised as we are at that point by the outburst and are just ready to move on.



You’re moving on alright, straight into Toddlerhood and Childhood and other words that don’t really involve being a baby. You still are a baby, in many functional ways. But as the days pass, Daddy and I realize more and more that you’re becoming a full-fledged Little Girl. You look quite grown-up, between your lack of baby fat and full head of hair, and you say and do so many things that sometimes we have to remind ourselves that you still need us on nearly every front. It’s exciting to see you grow and develop and find your own path. And we’ll just keep following, and trying to keep you upright.

Love, Mama

Newsletter: Month Sixteen

If last month was the month of walking, then this month is the month of talking. Your vocabulary is growing every day. And more and more, you are able to communicated your thoughts, opinions, and needs in real, concrete ways. Can I tell you what a relief that is? It makes life with you so much easier to be able to say, "Did you poop?" and have you say, "Poop!" and then, to have you toddle back to your bedroom. If I'm really lucky, you'll then lay down on the floor and wait for me to come over with the diaper and wipes. This doesn't always happen. Sometimes I have to cajole you into laying down. But you seem honestly pleased to have your diaper changed and so normally, it's not a huge issue. You've actually become remarkably obedient in most areas of your life, and it's quite a pleasant surprise. Sure, you have your moments when you arch your back and make your nay vote in a sharp, shrill tone. But it's much more common to say, "Sweet pea, come to the bathroom with me" or "OK, let's go!" and have you on my heels within seconds.



But back to this talking thing. Along with words, you've also developed a large number of gestures. The most common are shaking your head and waving goodbye and hello. You wave all the time, and not just to people coming or going. It's a conversation entree for you, a way to say, "Hey, I'm here, and I'd like to be a part of things." You also wave to inatimate objects and I'm not quite sure what that's about. But you seem very determined while you're doing it. You wave to people on TV, particularly characters that you've seen before, like the people on the morning show that I watch fairly regularly, and when they go out on the plaza and you see all of the people waving, then you really get into it. You also wave at pictures of people. If you're really happy about it, you'll kiss them, like you did to Papa's picture. I think that you still have yet to kiss him in real life but at least you've done it to a picture!



This head shaking, though, that's the real miracle. People see you shake your head, like one of the clerks in New Seasons, and they say, "Oh, it must be hard to have her say no all of the time!" But it couldn't be farther from how I really feel. Until you learned this skill, you were whining a lot. You had no way to get your point across and so whenever you felt an opinion that was contrary to the pleasant mode, you'd just whine. But it was more like a whiiinnneeeeeee. I'd ask you to show me what you wanted and that worked, some of the time, but not if you didn't want something. Now, though, you can just shake your head. "Would you like some cheese?" Head shake. "Do you want to take off your shoes?" Head shake. I've learned that the shake isn't always definitive. Often when asked if you'd like some more food, you'll shake your head and then immediately open your mouth. When you take the front of your tray in your hands, though, then it's final.



I should have more to say, I know. You're developing so fast and furiously that there are tons of funny anecdotes to share. And if I'd been a better mommy, I would have notated them for future reference. These last few weeks have been quite crazy though. I'm trying to be student and a mommy and to tell you the truth, I'm not doing very well at it. I'll get better, though, and I'll be sure to make myself remember these things because you are something that should not be forgotten.

Love, Mama

Newsletter: Month Fifteen

Well, I wrote that last month, all that you needed to be A Walker was to figure out that it was more efficient than crawling. And what do you know-- you did! It was a hilarious evolution to watch. Over the process of a couple of weeks, you gradually spent more and more time upright until this last week, you've converted almost exclusively to walking. It was quite an amusing transformation to watch. You'd be crawling down the hallway and then decide to get up and take a few steps. Or you'd walk along the wall, venture off for a bit to the middle, and then go back to the wall and continue on. Sometimes, it was like you'd just get tired of movement itself and sit down, right in the middle of nowhere, and take a break for a few minutes. Maybe movement tired you out? But you took it all in stride, falls and all. The falls have been numerous and I kind of wonder if that has anything to do with the manner of walking because frankly, you often look a bit drunk. Your movement involves a lot of side to side, though it's getting more and more forward-directed. There's also an increase in speed postively related to the forward motion. The more that you're able to just GO, without being encumbered by the learning process, the more that you seem to be able to get there in nothing flat.



All of this movement is really challenging our parenting methods. Up until now, you often seemed content to just be in one spot, observing the world. But now that you can get to it, you want to be hands-on with the world. I don't remember exactly where we were but Daddy and I were doing something, and not paying particularly close attention to you. All of a sudden, we realized that you'd taken off solo. To make ourselves feel better, we explained to the observers that you're a new walker, that we're not used to this. But we're not. Maybe that means that we should have been paying more attention all along rather than relying on the fact that you're superb at entertaining yourself? You still are, coming to us when you want validation or get bored looking at whatever it is you're looking at or thinking about, but the difference is that now you can also change venues and go to see new things. It's going to be an interesting transition to make with you, this movement thing.



We've made other transitions lately too. The biggest is that now that I'm back in school, you have a nanny, regularly, for the first time. You've had spotty babysitting before, mostly with Grandma or Papa, when Daddy and I have found a need for stimulus that doesn't involve an infant. But this is something entirely different. This involves me leaving you, for hours on end. You're never thrilled when I leave, and often cry and hold your arms out for me. It makes me feel horrible, but I know from the several times that I've called after leaving that you transition well. A couple of them, you've even been laughing in the background. And so I tell myself that you're fine without me and know that feeling close to other people and having different learning experiences is probably very good for you. You always seem pleased when I return, though, and that makes me happy. Having your baby come toddling to the door with a giant grin and arms outstretched is an amazing feeling. You do it for Daddy, too; when you hear him at the door, you often exclaim, "Dada?" and then go to find him. You talk to him on the phone a lot, too, on his way home. In fact, I think that you think that he's always on the phone, even when he's not, because you'll pick up your play phone and try to talk to him there too.



I mentioned above that you're good at entertaining yourself, and you are. It's something that I haven't seen very many babies do, but you've done it since you were very small. And now that you're mobile, you actually take off by yourself into the house. Most of the time, that means into your bedroom. You'll get your toys off of your shelf and sit and build block towers or read or play with your animals. This can go on for a much longer time than I would ever expect and most of the time, I find myself coming in to check on you, to see what you are doing that is so fascinating. The great thing, though, is that much of it is contained within your own little head and so I'll never know what it is that you're doing. Well, at least not until you can tell me your own stories. Sometimes you go to other areas of the house, though, and that can be a good thing or a not so good thing. The picture above of you chowing on the nectarine came from a day when you discovered grocery bags in the entry way and went through them. I'm guessing that you were looking for anything interesting and you were clearly pleased with what you found. Sometimes you get into things that you aren't supposed to, like the toilet paper or the cat's food bowl, and so we're trying to find ways to make the house accessible to you but in ways that are appropriate, rather than just telling you no when you do something that you're not supposed to.



I have to wonder if years from now, you'll remember any of this. Your experiences seem so potent now, colored with imagination and feeling and love. There's a lot of love that goes around, lots of kissing and hugs. Sometimes, you'll cuddle in close and sometimes you'll make noises of disapproval. But I know from the frequency with which you seek us out, hold onto our legs and make insistent noises indicating that you want up, and hold onto my neck with tight arms and kisses that the love is mutual. Will you feel that? Are you storing it up somewhere? I hope so because the thing that I want you to remember, most of all, is that you are very much adored.

Love, Mama

A June wedding

Our business is now in full swing. We shot our first wedding on Saturday and are beginning to get a handle on all of the images. We culled a few of our favorites out to share with their parents; her parents fly back to Panama on Thursday and we wanted to be able to give them a preview. We hope that you'll enjoy seeing our work as well.



(to see more, go to the Reversed Lens Photography blog)

A dramatic departure

A recent entry in Chie's journal:

You have been a Cuddle-To-Sleep baby since the day you were born. You'd snuggle in and wait for sleepiness to hit, and in those early months, it was often a long time coming. It took Herculean efforts to place you in your crib without jostling or otherwise disturbing you; if we did, the process of soothing you into sleep would begin again at the start. Sometimes you'd struggle and fuss, requiring vast amounts of fancy footwork to keep you calm. But even at those times, you did not want, under any circumstances, to be Put Down. We tried that, sometime in your third month, thinking that maybe-- just Maybe-- you would struggle your way straight into dreamland. We were dissuaded otherwise within minutes. Once you were out of the safe confines of our arms, you became very, very angry. It took a good half hour that night to calm you back down. So we resigned ourselves to getting you to sleep in the only way that we knew how. I don't even know how many hours I have spent rocking and bouncing to get you into a state of sleepy. It's been easier over the last few months. In fact, most nights you would just lay your head on my shoulder and within minutes, you were out. This continued up until about two weeks ago when, very suddenly, you Did Not Want to Cuddle. The first night that it happened, I was baffled. I laid you in your crib "to snuggie", as we call swaddling you, and then settled myself in the rocker for our nightly routine of rocking. You threw yourself back and struggled and fussed and finally, I laid you in your crib and said, "Ok, really, if you don't want me to hold you, I won't." You were asleep in five minutes.

I thought maybe it was a fluke. You have been known to have flukes, one exhibit of a new behavior that is never again repeated. But the next day, when you were ready for your nap, the same thing happened. And then it happened again that night. Daddy and I were completely incredulous. What had happened to our snuggler?

Maybe it's a product of this new phase that you're entering, of becoming A Toddler. Maybe you're just ready to spread your wings ever so slightly, or to have some time by yourself. I don't know. I do know that I am missing that time, those quiet moments at the end of your day when I'd hear your breath deepen as you neared a full sleep state. As I type this, you are mostly quiet in your crib; I hear a little exclamation every so often which is most likely part of a sleepy conversation with Spotty, your stuffed frog. I hope you sleep well, even without me to help you get there.