it’s 8:12 p.m. i was supposed to write earlier. much earlier. before the day wore off any attempt at being creative.i dressed, brushed hair and teeth. drove to school. cleaned and cooked. stacked another load of laundry on top of the pile that is about to topple. i read. helped with homework. taught french and math. i kissed booboos and got mad a couple of times. i waited for the day to be over. i hate this feeling but today i kept hoping for my husband to walk so i could escape.
wednesday is my escape evening. i retreat to the local Barnes and i write. read. knit or just watch people. it’s 8:16 and i still struggle with what to write. then i remembered what my daughter told me in the car today while we drove by a park.
“Maman remember when you took a picture of me here”. she was two and a half when we took that picture. she remembers the details, the location. i created a special moment for both of us. something else she can remember. a bond between us.
i take pictures every day. i take pictures because i love capturing my children.
i take pictures also because i am afraid.
i take pictures because it is the only way i found to slow down and just be in the moment.
i take pictures because time passes by fast. the things i always thought i will remember fade away. my first years with my babies are a fuzzy memory, i try to recall the moments, the expressions, the first words but it’s all blurry. until i look at my images and then it becomes clearer. i remember.
so while i am forging ahead in my motherhood adventure i keep my camera with me. it gives me a sense of control, it allows me to slow down and really see my life. i take pictures, i collect pictures.i collect memories. i engrave our story in light. i am a memory keeper.