There is a beauty in raising boys that I did not expect to find. It is lodged somewhere between the screaming and the sword fights and the pushing and the spilled juice. I feel like I am always scrambling for a tiny piece of sanity, a rest in the midst of the deluge that is guiding (just 2) tiny men. The task of helping them set sail on life’s waters seems overwhelming, especially considering that the water in front of them looks nothing like the water that was in front of me at their age.
I love photographing my boys on film because the authenticity of film just screams “THEM” and there is somethin’ oh-so-beautiful about that. Something I don’t want to miss. Something I don’t mind staying awake for.
Love,
me
