Sometimes you’ve just got to force yourself to laugh, when the only other option is to cry.

Yesterday Nate was away on some church related duties, leaving me home with the kids.  I needed to tidy up the house for some guests we had coming over pretty soon after Nate got home.  But Mackay was hungry.  And come to think of it, I was hungry, too.  Looking through the cupboards and fridge, not much popped out to me.  Mackay suggested pancakes.  Random, but sounded good.  So with one hand, holding Zack in the other, I helped Mackay mix the batter and make two pancakes.  One for myself, and one for her.  All one handed I set the table and got everything ready for us to enjoy our afternoon snack.  The dishwasher was running, and we were down to one large glass, so I filled the cup completely with milk for us to share.  I was even able to set Zack down while we began to eat.  Which is quite a blessing around this house.  About a fourth of the way through my pancake, Mackay passed me the milk.  Pushed it to me, actually.  And it tipped.  The large, completely full glass of milk went down.  All over my shirt, my skirt, the table, the floor, and my pancake.

I closed my eyes to think.  *It had taken a lot of energy to get everything ready for this snack.  And I had just sat down to enjoy it.  And the always frugal side of me thought about how much milk was just wasted.  What a mess.*

I opened my eyes to find a puddle of milk in my skirt.  And my pancake swimming on the plate.  I just sat there.  Trying to decide how to respond.  I let out a little chuckle.  Completely forced.  But it was either that or a not-so-friendly option.  When I felt the milk seeping through the skirt onto my legs, I stood up, letting the rest of the puddle just spill to the floor.  I took my clothes off, got new ones on, and grabbed a rag to start the clean up process.  As I was filling rag after rag with wasted milk, Mackay asked if she could get another glass.  Um, no.  But I said, “Mackay, YOU just spilled all this milk all over me, the ground, the table, and my pancake.  And now I have to clean up YOUR mess.  So no, don’t ask me for more milk.”  She was quiet.  I may not have answered as perfectly as I could have.  But I thought it was pretty good considering how frustrated I felt.

After a few more minutes she asked, “Mom, can I apologize?”  Part of me wanted to say no.  I was still upset and didn’t want to forgive her.  But of course I said yes.  She said, “I am sorry for spilling the milk all over.  It was an ‘assident’.  I was trying to keep the milk inside the glass.  I didn’t mean to.”  The word ‘assident’ made me smile a little bit, and I couldn’t help but forgive her.  Of course she didn’t mean to.  I think parents in general think children mean to make all those messes, because they seem to happen so frequently.  But in reality, they are still learning about the world around them, the laws of physics, and how to use their bodies.  How could I be mad at that?  And then she added, “And if you don’t want to get me some milk…” in my mind I completed the sentence ‘that’s okay’, thinking how cute that would sound.  But instead she said, “…you can get me some juice.”  That’s it.  I laughed.

My kids are growing.  And I want it to stop.  Right now.  When Zack got his first tooth I felt like I was having a mid-life crisis.  It meant I was no longer the mother to a newborn.  But that he was growing.   I didn’t like it at all.

Last night I got home really late.  Nate and the kids were already asleep.  I sat on the couch, turned on the tv to watch a little bit of the news, and got my laptop positioned on my legs to settle in to getting some work done.  After only about ten minutes I heard Zack begin to cry.  I couldn’t get him to go back to sleep, so I prepared a bottle for him.  He gulped down all 8 oz, and then slept peacefully in my arms.  (When does that ever happen these days.)  When I had him complete unconscious over my shoulder, I looked down and realized that I was not holding a newborn.  Not only was his body completely covering mine, but his legs were bent onto my legs.  At that moment he looked huge.  (Although yes, he is only in the 5-10^th percentile adjusted for premature babies.)  When did this happen?  I hugged him a little tighter and held him a little longer.  Somehow trying to stop time.

And then there’s Miss Mackay.  She walks around the house with random pieces of paper she calls her debit cards and cell phone.  She can’t leave the house without her purse and sunglasses.  And she has recently learned the phrase, “You’re annoying me.”  She can carry on conversations like an adult, often asking me, “So tell me about your day…”  or “Tell me more about…”  (yesterday it was the clouds, today it was volcanoes.)  And I’m not comfortable with not knowing the answers.

Stop, Time.  Please just stop.

But then I realized that Zack can still be my little newborn.  In those quiet, rare moments late at night.  When I can cuddle him, and hold him, and hug him, and squish him, and kiss him, and just smell him.  And I noticed that Mackay still has dimples in her elbows and on her knuckles.  And sometimes when she’s already gone to sleep, I can climb into bed with her and just hold her.  Because she’s mine.  And they’re mine.  And those are the moments when I can just stop time.  When the craziness of the day has faded away, and silence has ultimately conquered.  And try to memorize them just as they are.  Today.

And remember, sometimes pictures don’t always work out so well.  And when you put a hair-obsessed baby next to a 3 year old with hair, something’s bound to go wrong.

People always ask me how I can be a stay-at-home mom to two children, and be a photographer.  I always smile and laugh.  And maybe add a shrug of the shoulders.  I was always the girl in school who took the honors and AP classes.  In college my “sweet spot” was 20 credits.  (Even while being pregnant and having a baby.)  And I still don’t mind the deadlines, constant e-mails, and added stress that juggling my family life and my photography life has provided me.

What would I do if I got bored?  Well, that question is so far from my mind right now I can’t even tell you.  And I like it that way.

One day a few months back I was sitting on the couch with Mackay and Zack reading a book.  My phone rang unexpectedly, so I left the kids on the couch, and jumped up to get it.  It happened to be a potential client.  I was trying to speak with the lady while keeping an eye on the kids.  (From a distance, so their noise wasn’t picked up by the phone.)  A few minutes into our conversation, I heard Zack giving a little concerned whimper.  I looked over to see Mackay holding him upside down by his feet.  (His head not even touching the ground.)  Zack’s concerned noises seemed to be a polite plea to me saying, “Um, mom.  A little help here.”  “Aah!”  I ran over to rescue my child, while holding the phone to my ear.  Chaos ensued.  I was trying to recover and calm my children, while keeping a calm, professional demeanor on the phone.  Eventually I skipped over the “professional” facade and let the woman know what was going on in my house.  She didn’t seem too impressed.

Eventually I hung up the phone with the thought, “You can’t win ‘em all.”  I wasn’t upset with my children or my circumstances of working from home.  I love my children, and plan to always put them first in my life.  The woman, obviously, never called back.  Oh well.  If she isn’t willing to understand the crazy fun of a three year old holding a 6 month old upside down, she’s not the client I want to be working with anyway.

But someday, it wouldn’t hurt to have my own office.  (I’m already envisioning how I’ll decorate.)