Tamara Like Camera

Imagine my surprise this past Monday, when a day that started with the dreary fog of a Harry Potter dementor invasion, bloomed into a sunny 85 degree weather day. I was so prepared to be pissed off at the weather. Somehow I had the foresight to dress my daughter weather-appropriately in a Hendrix t-shirt, rolled up jeans and mary jane sandals. I forgot to do the same for myself and wound up out for a few hours in a flannel shirt, my “play clothes” jeans and some very old sneakers. Shame on you, Tamara. I looked enviously at all the girls in their sundresses and skirts and tank tops – all of the things I’m dying to wear that hang untouched in my closet. What a waste of a good day on a bad outfit.

It wasn’t the first spring awakening, though. It was just the warmest day in Northampton in 2011. I’d even call it a hot day. I put Scarlet to bed in her spring easter bunny pajamas and she was flushed and restless and smelling like coconut sunscreen.

Such a summer experience. And it was brief but that’s ok. It’s still spring for awhile.

Spring was first declared to me just a day earlier by Grandpa Larry on Easter Sunday in Storrs, CT. It was felt by all of us. Saturday we had woken up with ice on the car and the news that the hilltowns got two inches of snow! We had even used a hat on Scarlet!

So we weren’t exactly expecting to be greeted by warm sun in Connecticut just a day later. Clearly because, although adorable, this wasn’t the right outfit for a warm day:

(She applies her own sunscreen. You may be able to tell.)

We chilled out on the deck for a long time.

This is what the bliss of a warm sun, a cool drink, a dog by her feet and being in her Amma Peggy’s arms looks like:

Crayons, stuffed bunnies and bracelets are very interesting things to examine.

Amma took Scarlet for a walk. I stayed back with a book in my hands and the sun in my eyes.

They picked flowers for me.

Then there was art time. Ever notice how people have art faces? Surely you see it on musicians a lot. I had an ex who liked to draw and if you watched him draw, he’d make the funniest, cutest faces. He’d raise his eyebrows up and down and bite his bottom lip a lot. Scarlet has a cute art face too.

The masterpiece.

I was having so much fun doing nothing while Scarlet went for a walk and drew with crayons. I didn’t realize the best was yet to come. It started when I just innocently went into Larry and Peggy’s beautiful backyard to see their bird feeders. Scarlet followed me out, climbed down the deck stairs and ran yelling happily but like a madwoman into the yard. She was so happy to be free. She ran and ran and ran…The words I use to describe these next photos are “frolic”, “prance” and “spastic joy.” Really. We can all learn something from this.

This one might be my favorite of the set.

I love how her pants came unsnapped and she looked like royalty for awhile in her red velvet. It looked like a king’s robe.

This next set happened in slow-motion to the tune of some very familiar (but I don’t know the name) romantic classical symphony:

Finally we took off the red velvet and revealed a sagging diaper. She ran free and flushed and happy some more.

It was freakin’ fun. This is how we get through the long, hard last half of winter. When the holidays are over and the cold snow seems endless, we know we have this to look forward to. It’s just as endless as winter..but in a good way.

This is gonna sound nutty, but sometimes when people compliment my writing, it makes me feel even more neurotic than if they hadn’t. That does NOT mean I don’t want people to compliment my writing. I do want and need it so badly. It’s just that on a bad day when someone tells me something I wrote resonated with them, I panic and think I’ll lose whatever magic I had with that particular post. And I fear I’ll never get it back. It makes sense that I panic because I lost my touch with writing for years. But there were circumstances involved. And I didn’t fight for it. Now I fight for it. I will always fight.

And I realize something. Writing will never go away. I’ll write many posts that will pale in lackluster comparison to some of my brighter and more time-spent ones. And that’s ok. The point is to keep going and not get paralyzed with inadequacy and fear. What I’ve learned is that writing is a part of me that has been here since…I learned to write. I was probably born with the need and then learning to write gave me an outlet to pour out creative fiction and even more creative non-fiction. I need it to survive. I’m learning that many writers and photographers don’t even think they’re good. And you may wonder – “If I don’t think I’m good at what I do, why do I share it with everyone?” And it’s because I can’t not. It’s not about thinking I’m good. It’s just about having to do it because I can’t rest if I don’t. I was born this way. This is who I am. And you can’t lose something so ingrained in who you are. I can lose an arm but I can’t lose writing. That’s such a powerful thought. It makes me go on against all self-created odds.

Some posts flow and some are forced. This one flows. This one I wrote in two seconds, my fingers flying at well over my once-tested 87 wpm. I’m not trying at all. This is just happening and my fingers are trying to keep up. This one takes me away from eating and watching TV and reading because I keep remembering sentences and thoughts I want to add to this. The forced ones are harder to publish but I do it to keep on a timely schedule. And just maybe, it sounds better to you than it does to me and maybe you can’t even tell it was forced instead of flowing. I think you probably can tell, though.

I like that I won’t lose the need to write. It’s both hopeful and true. You can’t beat that.

I Am Tamara. This is my photo-journalistic look at the obstacles and joys in my life as a toddler mama, wife, writer and photographer in the Happy Valley land of Western Mass. I have a lot to say and I sometimes think I might explode if I don’t. Tune in to my photographic ramblings here.