Here are some tips that I learned the hard way.  Now these aren’t hard and fast rules.  They’re just a collection of things that have worked for me.  None of these photos have been post-processed in any kind of photo editing software.  This is just like what you’d see out of your own camera (theoretically).

(Also, I am certain I have many, many options of ‘what not to do’ pictures in my archives, but it was easier to take new ones so I could show you what I didn’t like about a certain picture and how I fixed that problem.  My kids were happy to help for approximately 7 minutes.  It took more than 7 minutes.  That’s when Marshall got roped into helping me.  Bless his heart.)

1. Do what feels right.  If it feels weird, it’s probably going to look weird.

I asked Lydia to start sliding down and she stopped here.
Awkward positioning = awkward looking picture

2. It’s all about the light.  If you can’t find good light (or shade), don’t take pictures.  Have your subject facing the light, but not directly in the light.

These two pictures were taken in the exact same spot.  She didn’t move her feet at all.  In this first picture, she’s looking at me but the sun is killing her.  (She may be exaggerating the situation slightly.  I have no idea where this melodrama comes from.)  But for the second one, I placed my body between Lydia and the sun.  You may not always be able to use your body, but you can usually find or generate some kind of shade.

3. Look behind you.  Both ways.
Don’t have a gigantic ugly truck or, in this case, the edge of a picnic table in the background of an otherwise decent picture.

All I did was move myself a little to the side.  She stayed in the same exact spot.

Also look behind you before you step backwards.  I’ve hit the dirt a few times because I was so focused on the image.

4. Search for unique perspectives and even unusual angles, but also be sure to take some straight on shots as well.

These shots are cute enough, but I wouldn’t want every one of  my pictures to be this way.
(Actually, I’m not sure how I feel about the first one.  It looks like her legs are sprouting out of the corner, doesn’t it?)
Also? Some people really like pictures like this, so I guess it’s really a personal preference thing.

5. Watch out for shadows – especially your own.

I did several things wrong here.  I overexposed the image(which shouldn’t happen if you’re on automatic or using a point-and-shoot) and I didn’t position myself so that the cars were out of the shot.  But with a little cropping and photo editing, those things are workable.  But see his cool shadow on the ground?  Yeah.  That’s my head right beside it.  It’s technically photoshopable, but it would have been a lot easier if I’d just paid attention and fixed it in camera.

6. Don’t forget that you can hold your camera the other direction.  Fairly often I see a picture that has the subject doing something and a lot of distracting dead space around them.  Hold your camera vertically and fill the frame with the subject.  (Of course you don’t want to take all vertical shots either!)

I like the first shot.  It’s pleasant and shows off the playground.

But look what happens when I rotate my camera.  Lydia becomes the centerpiece.

Horizontal shots aren’t bad!  It just depends on the feel you want.
Mostly, I think people are just in the habit of taking horizontal shots and forget that vertical is an option.

7.  When taking pictures of adults or even groups, shoot from above.
This is another tip, not a rule.  Sometimes you can take a picture from straight in front of someone and it looks great, but if you shoot them from above, it gives the neck and opportunity to stretch out a little and get rid of that pesky double chin (you know, if you had one).

(Also?  Marshall’s such a good sport, isn’t he?  ”Hey can I post an unflattering picture of you on the internet?” “Sure.  Why not?”  The man deserves some kind of medal, I assure you.)

8.  When taking pictures of kids, get down where they are (or lower).

Another tip and not a rule.  There are times when you want to get the whole scene and so you stretch up high and take a bird’s eye view shot.  And other times when you want to be looking down on them.  But look at how much more engaging the second picture is.

9. Anticipate the moment.  I have been known to sit with my finger on the shutter release button for quite a while.  I knew the shot would come, I just had to wait for it.  Learn how long it takes for your camera to actually take the picture after you push the button.  I’ve missed many a picture (especially with my phone camera) because I was waiting and waiting and waiting and then didn’t snap fast enough when the moment actually happened.

In these pictures, I knew that if I waited long enough, he’d look up at me and smile.  And that it would be an authentic smile because he was showing off his creation (i.e. hole that he was digging and making into a city).

10. Learn your camera.  Know what all those little pictures on the dial mean.  If you don’t have time to sit and read the manual, there is usually a quick guide that explains the basics.  Don’t just skim over it.  Look at the different modes and try them.  That way when you need them, you’ll know which one to use and how it works.

Bonus Tip: This may seem obvious, but the biggest thing you need to take good pictures is a camera – one that’s always with you.  The best moments are rarely the ‘Hey, y’all!  Let’s take a picture!” moments.  It’s the oh-my-goodness-that-is-just-picture-perfect-isn’t-it moments that you want to capture.  So when you are lying in bed with your sweet little one, put that sucker on silent and snap away.   Those are the memories that will just make your heart pound when you look at them again.  Like this one:

*****
I am so very excited about being a Community Leader at BlissDom this year!  The photography track that the BlissDom ladies have put together is phenomenal!   The conference is sold out, but you can still have access to this great content with BlissDom at Home, which will be available for purchase after the conference is over.

But tonight you had a case of not-feeling-so-well and grumpitis
And I decided it would be best for everyone if we stayed home from church.

We sat and ate dinner.
You babbled and I watched you.
And you made a glorious mess.
(The runny nose didn’t help.)

I ran warm bath water and added some oatmeal soak.
Raging diaper rash has made bath time less than enjoyable for you lately.

I step into the tub and pull you in with me, slowly easing your backside in.
Whew!  No screaming this time.

You curl up to me, enjoying the skin-to-skin time as much as I do.
You try to stretch out and lie flat, but the water’s too deep.
I let your head rest on my thigh and you sigh contentedly.
Eyes closed.  Head tilted back.  Rosy cheeks.
You look like you belong on the beach.

Then you turn to me, your belly on mine.
Your head on my chest and your small hand on my breast.
I mourn once again the fact that I was unable to nourish your body with my own.

I feel your breathing.  The rise and fall of your chest on mine.
And I think back to a time not so long ago when we were in this same moment.
Nearly a year ago.
My, how things have changed!
(And yet stayed the same.)

I’m sorry you are sick.
But I so loved being with you tonight.
Just us.

As someone who stays home with littles, I don’t have the opportunity to have much adult interaction.  Sure, I see people at school drop off and pick up, but it’s a little quick chat here and there.  I occasionally go to lunch with friends, but if you’ve ever been to lunch with me and my crew you know that the conversation is staccato at best and there are a lot of interruptions.
“Sit down and eat”
“Do not touch that lady’s hair again!”
“Oh!  Don’t pick that up off the floor and ea…too late.”

But this is where social media comes in.  Social media platforms are an integral part of my life.  It’s my connection with the real world.  And so I post.  I post a lot. ( Too much for some, I know.  Just hide me if you want.  I’ll never know.)  And I connect with real! live! adults!  And we laugh at my kids together and talk about important issues and tell jokes and make witty observations.  Those are the things I miss most about working outside the home.  Social media gives me the chance to have a little of that.  It makes this stay-at-home gig seem not quite so lonely – especially on a day like yesterday.

Yesterday, in the midst of all the tears and snotty mumbles, I got an email from a company I am working with on a post and it asked a lot of reflective questions.  One of them asked how friends would describe you.  I’ve never been good at those, so I reached out to my friends on Facebook.

And boy, oh boy, did my friends come through.  On a day when I was feeling like quite the failure, I found a big boost in an unexpected place.  You guys picked me up without even knowing it.  Words like engaging, vivacious, talented, artsy, faithful, generous, personable,  inspiring, confident, cheerful and creative, smart and compassionate, strong and honest.  Wow!  (Y’all are too kind.)

I don’t say this to brag on myself but to brag on you, on this community.  You can find experts that tell you that all this hyper-connectivity is bad for us.  That we aren’t created to handle this many relationships.  But I disagree.  My online friends have become my real life friends.  I’ve reconnected with some great friends I had lost contact with and I have cultivated friendships with people who were once just acquaintances.   Staying at home is lonely.  But you guys make it less so.  And I’m thankful for each one of you.

Where you are…
Where you are right now?
It’s lonely.
I know.  Oh, I know.
And it hurts.
Oh, my how it hurts.
I’ve been there.
And – in some ways – I am still here.
(Is one ever in complete remission?)

My heart reaches out to yours.
And I hope, I pray that your heart can hear mine.
Because I want you to hear.
I want you to hear how powerful and brave you are.
And I want you to hear how loving and caring and kind you are.
(Those things can’t be counted with statistics or dollar signs,
but they are the things that really matter.)
And I want you to hear how you’ve changed me.
How your words and your actions have pulled me up when I was low.

I needed you.
I need you.
And you need me.
(And that’s as it should be.)

It’s my turn to be needed.
And it’s your time to just be.

Shh-shh-shh.
It’ll be alright. 
~for more just write posts visit heather

You are chattering away lately.  When I come into your room in the morning, I always say “Good mornin’” and you’ve started groggily mumbling “moh-een”.  You ‘talk’ to us all the time.  I really wish we could understand what you’re saying!  Because you obviously think you’re very funny.  You’ll blabber on and just laugh and laugh.  (Don’t worry.  I do the same thing sometimes.)

You love all of your siblings so much.  I love the way you and Asa seem to talk without words.  Just a look here or there and little sounds.  And then with Lydia…your eyes just sparkle when she focuses her attention on you.  She thinks she’s your little mama and you love it that way.  Carter is a little more reserved with you, but when you interact it’s adorable.  He throws his arm around your neck and you lean into him – eyes closed – and smile.

You make us all smile.  You always keep us on our toes.  You are almost always up for a cuddle.  Your favorite food is cooked carrots and you transitioned from bottle to cup overnight.  You love to sit in Asa’s little recliner and it is so stinking cute.  You love to ‘read’ books and play with trains.  You still cross your legs like they were in utero – although that’s beginning to fade away.

You are one.  I can’t believe you’re one.
But I also can’t believe that it’s only been 367 days since you first came into our lives.
I pray we have thousands and thousands more.
We all love you so, so much.

p.s. Yesterday when you gave me an unprompted kiss and then giggled, my heart nearly exploded from happiness.

Asa,
It sounds cliche to say, but it doesn’t seem possible that you are three years old.  You are my little buddy.  No matter where I go, you are never far behind.  You still like to be held and carried and cuddled – but only when you want to.  You are funny and tough and bull-in-a-china-shop all the time.  You fall and pop right back up.  You crash into the wall and keep on going.  Nothing phases you.  You love all of your siblings and being with them, but your favorite time of day seems to be when the bigs are gone to school and Alden takes a nap.  It’s one of the few times you have me to yourself and you relish every moment.  I do, too.  I love to watch you play.  You are so animated, with those enormous, sparkling eyes.  You are going to break some hearts with those.  It’s hard sometimes to get on to you when you do something wrong because of those eyes.  You are just so dang cute.  Lately when I tell you not to do something, you say “oh.” in a very short, staccato way that makes me laugh.  Even if you are doing something you know you shouldn’t do, when you get in trouble for it you just say “oh.” like you had no idea that it wasn’t allowed.  And when you ask to do something and the answer is no, you say ‘aaaaawwwww…’ in the most adorable way possible.  You hang your head down and slump your shoulders over and look like Opie Taylor.

Happy third birthday (a little late), bud.
I love you!

Dear Marshall,
As I write this, we’ve seen each other no more than about 2 hours today.  Your commitment to your work is something that I am proud of.  There have been times that I’ve been at my wits end with your schedule, but it’s hard to be mad when I see all the good that you are doing.  You don’t just have patients.  Every child that walks through the doors of your office is made to feel like royalty.  You are good at your job.  You are passionate about learning and keeping up with all the new recommendations and literature.  You don’t just walk into a room and rush through the exam, you are specific about educating parents and patients about why you are doing what you are doing.  You care.  You care a lot.  And it shows.

But you are so much more than your work.  You are a fabulous father and wonderful husband.  When you get home, you pick right up with helping around here.  It’s usually wild when you walk in the door – loud, hungry children, me trying to cook, dogs whining to go out – but you don’t let it bother you.  And just by you being in the room, it makes things better.  (I feel like I’m oozing cheesy right now.  (I am.)  But it’s true.)  I don’t thank you enough for all that you do.  Thank you so much.  I couldn’t do it without you.  Sharing this crazy life with you is truly one of my biggest pleasures.

I should stop now. I’m kinda making myself gag with all the cheese.
I love you.  Happy (belated) birthday.

Dear Carter,
You.are.amazing.  You are so smart and kind and funny.  I sometimes miss the little baby that you were, but I am so in love with the person you have become.  You are so grown-up all of a sudden.  You crawled into your Daddy’s lap tonight and said, “When I’m eight years old, I’ll be too big for this.”  And I know there will come a time when you really are too big to crawl into our laps, but I most certainly hope it’s not next year.

I love your passion for learning.  You seem to soak up every piece of information that you hear.  You know more about planets and space and stars than I do.  You love math so much that you asked for math workbooks for your birthday.  When it comes to learning, you are wise beyond your years.  But the thing I love most is that you are still a kid.  You still love to play with cars and draw with chalk and ride your scooter and now your bike, too.  I’m so proud of you for learning how to ride your bike.  It didn’t come easy for you (and you aren’t used to that) and at one point you looked into my eyes and there were tears welling up in yours and I told you, “You can do this!  You can.”  And you, completely seriously said, “But Mama…tricky peddling is much trickier than tricky math.”  But you conquered tricky math and tricky peddling and now you proudly zoom by us all.  Seeing your smile when you finally got the hang of it was priceless.

Happy (late) birthday, my super seven year old.
I love you.

The wind blows the raindrops onto my bedroom window.
I should go edit those pictures, I think.
But instead I slip on my pjs and brush my teeth.

I flinch just a bit when I hear the garage door start to open.
(I am so easily startled when he isn’t here.)

“Kid looks pretty sick.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.  May have to admit him.”
And he’s out the door again.

I’ll just lie down and read until he gets back, I tell myself.
After one paragraph, the words begin dancing on the page and I realize that my eyes are crossing.
It’s 8:30.

*****

I hear him shuffling around in the other room and glance at the clock.
It’s well after midnight and he hasn’t been home long.
He realizes I’m awake and we lie in bed and chat in the dark.

This is what intimacy really is.
These moments when you aren’t even touching but you are closer than ever.

The chatter dies off and his breathing becomes slow and steady.

I knew it would happen like this.
I knew if I fell asleep that early, I’d wake up and be wide awake.

It’s even quieter at 3am than it is at midnight.
Or at least it seems that way, save the wind chimes.

I take advantage of the silence and let my mind roam freely.
And I write words that have been aching to come out – most of which will never be read by any other eyes.
And I edit pictures that have been sitting and waiting – most of which will never be printed out to enjoy.

I wish I had more time and resources to devote to both of them.
But part of my heart breaks when I realize that one day I’ll have plenty of time but no subjects.

Babies don’t keep.
It rattles around in my head again.
And I think of Katie Granju’s words, her story (and his).
And I am grateful for this day.
And these children.
And I am certain that today I
“made sure that our children
were protected
and educated
and loved as fiercely as we know how to love them.”

For a second time, my day winds down.
And I close my eyes and whisper big prayers with little words.
Amen and amen.

You can see more on my flickr stream.  They are gorgeous flowers!

And so I looked at the things around me.
—
Things I wanted and didn’t have.
Things I had and didn’t want.
—
And I realized that there were times – many times – when I was merely treading water.
And I was doing things that I hated and I was trying to make them perfect and it just wasn’t working.
And I looked at my children and remembered my dream, the dream that changed it all…
And the enormity of time crashed down on me.

Many times, I’d heard “babies don’t keep”
And I’m quite certain I muttered it myself a time or two.
But all of a sudden, the words spun around me as time rushed past me so quickly that I fell down.
I stumbled and struggled to get up and I looked around me.
And my baby, my sweet first-born baby, looked back at me.
He is seven. S-E-V-E-N.
No, no…babies don’t keep.
But I will keep them.
I will soak up the moments with them.
And, for them, I will say yes*.
And, for them, I will say no.
And though it may be selfish, I am also saying yes and no for me.
I want them to remember this.
I want to remember this.
And in order to remember it, we have to actually do it.
And so we stay up past bedtime and break our own rules,
we read scripture and say prayers,
learn to ride bikes and celebrate milestones.

And I sort through my To Do’s and To Dont’s
and I write – for them, for me
And I hold my baby in my arms and drink her in.

Babies won’t keep.
No, no…they really won’t.
The chores will always be there tomorrow.

And then something happened.

I spoke not a word to anyone.
I made changes both big and small,
Some for forever and some for the now.

And though I’d been feeling that relentless tug of depression,
I knew, I knew that this was it.
This was my moment to push it away and say,
“I will not let you win.  I will not.”

And though reading the words makes it sound easy, it was not.
It is not.

I imagine that it never will be.
Because even when things are bright and sunny, you know that dark and dreary will come.
And you wait and you wait and you wait.
And the waiting pulls you down and instead of hiding from It, you unknowingly run straight into Its trap.

But this time it was I who played the trick.
This time it was I who called It out and said,
“I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not gonna work!”

(If only it were always that easy.)

(I am grateful that this time it was.)