Not even a month ago I decided to take this photography dream of mine seriously. I posted an add on craigslist for free photo shoots and told friends and family about my venture. I made a facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Amber-Jensen-Photography/264183676928619), started a photo blog (http://amberjensenphoto.blogspot.com) and put up a Flickr page (www.flickr.com/photos/amberjensen). So far I've an outstanding amount of response but have several shoots booked from my craigslist add but haven't actually shot any yet. For now, I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all. I just can't believe it's taking off so fast. My current goal is to launch my business in October. Complete launch will entail, business licence, business insurance, business cards with all links included, an actual portfolio book to take to shows and show clients in person, a website/portfolio connected to a photo lab for print ordering and brochures. After launch, free pictures are over and I'm on to making some moolah. I can already see my shots getting better and better as I learn all the in's and outs of my camera and photography in general.
I'm really looking forward to my first paid shoot. It won't be until them that this is really real to me. For now it's just a hobby that is moving me toward a long time goal.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The dread has set in...
I knew this day would come. I had hoped it wouldn't. I had made out little charts and lists that would help me meet my goals and avoid it all together but somehow I knew I'd have to face it. Maybe it's because it's been something I've feared my whole adult life. Maybe it's because it's something I've never faced and had assumed I could employ the same extreme tactics at the last minute. Or maybe it's just because I was moving along, at this new mom-time pace which is substantially faster than normal person time, and I looked up and it's here. I should have seen the warning signs, the little snippets of time that would let me know I should kick it in high gear to out run my foe... But, like I said, it's here and I'm now facing it... Shorts and swimsuit season, with my new and not-so-improved mommy-bread-dough-suit body.
I have spent my entire adult life being relatively consumed with my appearance. I have yo-yo'd off and on diets. I have loathed my body and punished myself for not being able to fit into my ever tinier size 4's. This battle is nothing short of ridiculous from where I sit now. I look back at the pictures of that body I hated so much and I actually long for those thighs and pine for that tummy. How could I have been so short sighted? Did I really think that a size 8 was fat? What would my old self think of my new self jumping up and down in a pair of way-to-small Spanx while trying to shimmy my way into a 14? Old me would probably have puked in her mouth.
As I sit here wearing all jersey cotton, draw string and maternity underwear and bra I can't help but wonder what made me be so dang hard on myself. I'm nowhere near happy with the fact that I will be shopping borderline plus size and will have to be told, "We don't carry that size in the store but there's a great selection online," at more than one retailer, but why, oh, why have I lost my urge to move. My urge to choose salad over soup and my desperate need to be thin.
I don't want to hate and punish myself but could seriously use at least a quarter of the motivation of the girl who once religiously kept a food diary and woke up at 5am to go running. I have enough motivation to say I want to be thin but then those damn cake pops turned out really well, or the neighbor made baked spaghetti for dinner. I actually set an alarm on my phone to go off every morning at 5:30am. It says, "Get Fit!" It went off this morning and I rolled over, looked at it and actually audibly said, "not this morning."
So, as I contemplate whether to brave the stores for a minimal large or rather extra-large sized summer staples, I can't help but wonder if I'm enabling myself. If I buy things that I"m comfortable in will I remember how my knees and feet hurt in the morning from packing around all this extra weight? Will I remember when my hand reaches for the second helping? And then the other question...Does it really matter? Should I worry about it? I have this perfect little boy because this flabby body was just strong enough to carry him and keep him healthy. I laid in bed for 10 weeks. What did I expect would happen?
Today is always the day. It's always the day I plan to make a menu. It's always the day I plan to go for a run. It's always the day. That's how I got to this beautiful day. The sun is out and I am faced with two choices...maternity panel shorts or admit that there have been way too many today's-the-days that haven't been and suck it up and so some flippin' sit-ups already.
I just have to face the fact that I got me here, rough pregnancy or not and I'm the only person that can save me from elastic wastes and drawstrings. I hope that the old me can forgive the new me and maybe help out a little with some compassionate coaching and encouragement. I know in my heart that if I could do 27 weeks of light duty and 10 weeks of bed rest that I can face shorts season with a smile and stretchmarks while I very slowly and carefully make better choices. I have to know that or I'll never get out of this dough suit.
I have spent my entire adult life being relatively consumed with my appearance. I have yo-yo'd off and on diets. I have loathed my body and punished myself for not being able to fit into my ever tinier size 4's. This battle is nothing short of ridiculous from where I sit now. I look back at the pictures of that body I hated so much and I actually long for those thighs and pine for that tummy. How could I have been so short sighted? Did I really think that a size 8 was fat? What would my old self think of my new self jumping up and down in a pair of way-to-small Spanx while trying to shimmy my way into a 14? Old me would probably have puked in her mouth.
As I sit here wearing all jersey cotton, draw string and maternity underwear and bra I can't help but wonder what made me be so dang hard on myself. I'm nowhere near happy with the fact that I will be shopping borderline plus size and will have to be told, "We don't carry that size in the store but there's a great selection online," at more than one retailer, but why, oh, why have I lost my urge to move. My urge to choose salad over soup and my desperate need to be thin.
I don't want to hate and punish myself but could seriously use at least a quarter of the motivation of the girl who once religiously kept a food diary and woke up at 5am to go running. I have enough motivation to say I want to be thin but then those damn cake pops turned out really well, or the neighbor made baked spaghetti for dinner. I actually set an alarm on my phone to go off every morning at 5:30am. It says, "Get Fit!" It went off this morning and I rolled over, looked at it and actually audibly said, "not this morning."
So, as I contemplate whether to brave the stores for a minimal large or rather extra-large sized summer staples, I can't help but wonder if I'm enabling myself. If I buy things that I"m comfortable in will I remember how my knees and feet hurt in the morning from packing around all this extra weight? Will I remember when my hand reaches for the second helping? And then the other question...Does it really matter? Should I worry about it? I have this perfect little boy because this flabby body was just strong enough to carry him and keep him healthy. I laid in bed for 10 weeks. What did I expect would happen?
Today is always the day. It's always the day I plan to make a menu. It's always the day I plan to go for a run. It's always the day. That's how I got to this beautiful day. The sun is out and I am faced with two choices...maternity panel shorts or admit that there have been way too many today's-the-days that haven't been and suck it up and so some flippin' sit-ups already.
I just have to face the fact that I got me here, rough pregnancy or not and I'm the only person that can save me from elastic wastes and drawstrings. I hope that the old me can forgive the new me and maybe help out a little with some compassionate coaching and encouragement. I know in my heart that if I could do 27 weeks of light duty and 10 weeks of bed rest that I can face shorts season with a smile and stretchmarks while I very slowly and carefully make better choices. I have to know that or I'll never get out of this dough suit.
Friday, June 17, 2011
The nap is the limit
My son is almost 6 months old and I'm just now realizing there is going to be a time soon when I will have actual free time. Not those precious snippets stolen to empty my bladder, when I put him in some crazy jumping apparatus or on a blanket on the floor, real uninterrupted me time. Heck, it may even be something crazy like two full hours of quiet. Who knows, the naps the limit.
The mornings have become a sneak peek into what I can expect soon I hope. Hank wakes up almost exactly 10 hours after the minute his head touched his crib. That is usually 6am. Lately he's been pretty on target but some days are special. Some days he's a few minutes, maybe 30, off. On those mornings, like this morning, my eyes fly open like cheap rolly blinds, and I spring out of bed. First, I check to make sure he's alive, then I head to the laundry room where I fold the laundry that is on top of the dryer, usually one load plus what's in the dryer. Then I start another load and go the the bathroom...in peace. Next, I quietly put away the tidy piles of scented laundry and wait for the tell-tale rustle of my son in his crib. This small window of productivity before the first call to duty is like raking the sand of a zen garden. Granted, it usually only lasts 10 or 15 minutes but those moments are bliss.
During the day, it's a bit different. The nap thing isn't going as well as they map it out for you in the books. In fact, it's going terribly. Today for instance, I put him down, asleep, and left his room for first nap. I proceeded to get my hands all gooey and sticky making cake pops. Not 15 minutes into it I heard him rustling around over the monitor. I crept up the stairs to his room where I saw his little head bobbling around above the bumper. I snuck closer and, BANG, eye contact. That did it. He went from quiet little angel to screaming banshee baby. I then picked him up, changed him, soothed him back to a manageable state and placed him gently back in his bed. While slinking stealthily down the stairs I heard him start fussing. So, I sat down and waited. 3 minutes of fussing and I went back up to his room. There was his little head bobbing around again. I got on the floor and crawled closer. "Eh, meh, heh, neh, neh, neh..." His complaining was growing garbled. Yes, more garbled than baby talk. I peered over the edge of the crib bumper and there he was, eyes fluttering, struggling with all his might to keep them from slamming shut.
I laid down on his floor, listening to his valiant effort to win the nap war. The fan running, the faint looping of Death Cab...I swear, it was seconds before my own eye lids were getting heavy. Seriously, this little person has a stronger will than me?! As I laid there, I heard him give in, sigh and place his head gently on the soft fleece that protects him from the 50 thread count crib sheet. I slowly crawled out to the hall, stood up and let out a sigh of my own.
I'd like to say it was an easy transition back to making those cake pops but by the time I made it back to the kitchen my dipping chocolate was hard as a rock and my cake balls were warm. Back in the fridge with the balls and back up the stairs with me. That little poop was only out 5 minutes before he let out the loudest cry I'd heard all day. As I entered the room he popped his little head up and stared me down with alligator tears streaming from both eyes. Now this child has my number. He can produce these colossal tears in less time than it takes me to open his door. So, what could I do? I rescued him. He had had all of maybe 20 minutes sleep.
For nap number two I was less diligent. He wouldn't sleep in my arms, the crib or the floor. I let him have quiet play time with his floor toys and blanky and then we went for a walk outside. His little eyelids fluttered the whole time but never relinquished their steadfast open position.
Now, here we are at third nap. I know he's up there awake. I have only half of my cake pops done and the same laundry is still in the washer and dryer that I put there this morning. I'm exhausted and I know he's got to be delirious. When I finish this I will once again sneak op the stairs and belly crawl to his crib to see if he made it to dreamland. He'll more than likely be waiting for me with those lazy little peepers just barely cracked to catch my peeking.
By the time Scott gets home, all I want is to lock myself in the bathroom until bed time. But what fun would that be. I either help Scott get something ready for the grill or start figuring out what I'm going to feed us. This makes no sense to my husband who assumes I've had all day to plan dinner and possibly get it started. By the time we eat, it's time to put Hank to bed for the night. I leave the table and kitchen a mess and head upstairs for the last showdown. He gets a nice warm bath and soft jammies. He starts his flirting and cooing while I put him in his night time duds. I believe this is to soften me up and to apologize for frazzling me during alleged nap times throughout the day. The bedtime ritual is the same, each night it is a smooth transfer. After jammies are on he gets a night-night bottle while I rock him and place his favorite blankie over his eyes. By the end of the bottle he's out and I hold him a little longer just to make sure. Then I regretfully place him in his crib. I stand there, sad that the day is already over and then I leave his room.
When I come back downstairs I'm a little cranky. The lights are too bright, the TV is annoying, the kitchen is usually still a mess and I realize that he's sleeping and I finally have my own time. Only I don't get to use it as mine, it belongs to the house and the husband. Once the kitchen mess is cleaned up and the odds and ends of the day are picked up it's pretty much time for bed. Now, I can exercise my option to forgo the cleaning up of dinner and the days kitchen stuffs and curl up on the couch to crochet a few rows on whatever it is that I'm trying desperately to make but that usually backfires. The next morning is the same fight and the mess is usually still there but added to the next nights mess.
Soon, soon, I will have my own moments. There will be a real nap and during that nap who knows what I could accomplish. I might crochet a rug, bake some cookies, write a chapter of a book...The nap is the limit.
The mornings have become a sneak peek into what I can expect soon I hope. Hank wakes up almost exactly 10 hours after the minute his head touched his crib. That is usually 6am. Lately he's been pretty on target but some days are special. Some days he's a few minutes, maybe 30, off. On those mornings, like this morning, my eyes fly open like cheap rolly blinds, and I spring out of bed. First, I check to make sure he's alive, then I head to the laundry room where I fold the laundry that is on top of the dryer, usually one load plus what's in the dryer. Then I start another load and go the the bathroom...in peace. Next, I quietly put away the tidy piles of scented laundry and wait for the tell-tale rustle of my son in his crib. This small window of productivity before the first call to duty is like raking the sand of a zen garden. Granted, it usually only lasts 10 or 15 minutes but those moments are bliss.
During the day, it's a bit different. The nap thing isn't going as well as they map it out for you in the books. In fact, it's going terribly. Today for instance, I put him down, asleep, and left his room for first nap. I proceeded to get my hands all gooey and sticky making cake pops. Not 15 minutes into it I heard him rustling around over the monitor. I crept up the stairs to his room where I saw his little head bobbling around above the bumper. I snuck closer and, BANG, eye contact. That did it. He went from quiet little angel to screaming banshee baby. I then picked him up, changed him, soothed him back to a manageable state and placed him gently back in his bed. While slinking stealthily down the stairs I heard him start fussing. So, I sat down and waited. 3 minutes of fussing and I went back up to his room. There was his little head bobbing around again. I got on the floor and crawled closer. "Eh, meh, heh, neh, neh, neh..." His complaining was growing garbled. Yes, more garbled than baby talk. I peered over the edge of the crib bumper and there he was, eyes fluttering, struggling with all his might to keep them from slamming shut.
I laid down on his floor, listening to his valiant effort to win the nap war. The fan running, the faint looping of Death Cab...I swear, it was seconds before my own eye lids were getting heavy. Seriously, this little person has a stronger will than me?! As I laid there, I heard him give in, sigh and place his head gently on the soft fleece that protects him from the 50 thread count crib sheet. I slowly crawled out to the hall, stood up and let out a sigh of my own.
I'd like to say it was an easy transition back to making those cake pops but by the time I made it back to the kitchen my dipping chocolate was hard as a rock and my cake balls were warm. Back in the fridge with the balls and back up the stairs with me. That little poop was only out 5 minutes before he let out the loudest cry I'd heard all day. As I entered the room he popped his little head up and stared me down with alligator tears streaming from both eyes. Now this child has my number. He can produce these colossal tears in less time than it takes me to open his door. So, what could I do? I rescued him. He had had all of maybe 20 minutes sleep.
For nap number two I was less diligent. He wouldn't sleep in my arms, the crib or the floor. I let him have quiet play time with his floor toys and blanky and then we went for a walk outside. His little eyelids fluttered the whole time but never relinquished their steadfast open position.
Now, here we are at third nap. I know he's up there awake. I have only half of my cake pops done and the same laundry is still in the washer and dryer that I put there this morning. I'm exhausted and I know he's got to be delirious. When I finish this I will once again sneak op the stairs and belly crawl to his crib to see if he made it to dreamland. He'll more than likely be waiting for me with those lazy little peepers just barely cracked to catch my peeking.
By the time Scott gets home, all I want is to lock myself in the bathroom until bed time. But what fun would that be. I either help Scott get something ready for the grill or start figuring out what I'm going to feed us. This makes no sense to my husband who assumes I've had all day to plan dinner and possibly get it started. By the time we eat, it's time to put Hank to bed for the night. I leave the table and kitchen a mess and head upstairs for the last showdown. He gets a nice warm bath and soft jammies. He starts his flirting and cooing while I put him in his night time duds. I believe this is to soften me up and to apologize for frazzling me during alleged nap times throughout the day. The bedtime ritual is the same, each night it is a smooth transfer. After jammies are on he gets a night-night bottle while I rock him and place his favorite blankie over his eyes. By the end of the bottle he's out and I hold him a little longer just to make sure. Then I regretfully place him in his crib. I stand there, sad that the day is already over and then I leave his room.
When I come back downstairs I'm a little cranky. The lights are too bright, the TV is annoying, the kitchen is usually still a mess and I realize that he's sleeping and I finally have my own time. Only I don't get to use it as mine, it belongs to the house and the husband. Once the kitchen mess is cleaned up and the odds and ends of the day are picked up it's pretty much time for bed. Now, I can exercise my option to forgo the cleaning up of dinner and the days kitchen stuffs and curl up on the couch to crochet a few rows on whatever it is that I'm trying desperately to make but that usually backfires. The next morning is the same fight and the mess is usually still there but added to the next nights mess.
Soon, soon, I will have my own moments. There will be a real nap and during that nap who knows what I could accomplish. I might crochet a rug, bake some cookies, write a chapter of a book...The nap is the limit.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Happiness
I was recently asked, "Are you really as happy as you make yourself out to be on Facebook?"
I must admit, I knew that question was bound to be asked someday.
I simply answered, "Yes."
The truth is much more complex than a simple one word answer but at that moment I couldn't think of how to put into words all the things that flashed through my mind in that instant...
My wedding day: The breath taking feeling of truly knowing that I was about to seal myself to the one person in the world that honestly understands me, my flaws and what drives me. The way time made the overwhelming joyous feelings of that day run together and fade like the colors of a watercolor painting. Bleeding into more colors, being overcome by and overcoming other pigments. The wash of the water melting the hues like wax and then strengthening their resolve by pulling it all together at the end. Yeah, it was the happiest day of my life. But the transition of that feeling is almost better than the initial surge. It slowly faded into a contentment so pure it needs no haughty colors.
The acquisition of the amazing Fort Jensen: We had waited, like crouched panthers, for the deal of the century. All the sacrifice and extra hours at work would pay off someday. That someday was last June. The story of how we came upon the house is less important as the fact that we made it through a grueling 6 months of hell before we got to move into it. When signing day came I don't think my feet touched the ground once. We were both elated, stunned and slightly overwhelmed that all of our hard work was just beginning. The first day at our new home was like standing on the precipice of the Grand Canyon. Our breath was shallow and our hearts giddy all day, all week, all month. I still often get that feeling. The feeling that begs, "Why us, why were we so lucky, why were we so willing to fight for this?" And then I sigh, as I remember the strength and fervor of the admiration we once had for this place. It too faded into something more emotionally manageable.
The birth of my son: The overwhelming blanket of joy that prevailed for days. How that deafening elation lightened into more of a surreal feeling of attachment and uncanny love. The tears that welled up every time I looked at him burned my eyes and branded my heart with bitter sweet happiness. Those moments would be fleeting I knew. That's the part that hurt so bad. I knew it wouldn't last, those sweet moments of tininess. The tears of joy would be replaced by smiles. Each day he grew bigger my heart hurt and soared at the same. My baby would never be the same that he was in that moment. He reminded me that I am human, human and not perfect, but every day is new. When I look at him today, with his gummy grin and ice blue eyes, I don't feel like crying with joy, or weeping for the days gone by. I feel a sense of peace. Peace that even as time passes we have a choice to be what we want to be, everyday. Everyday with him is the best day of my life.
During the time that these things took place we have also suffered terrible sadness, loss, and plain 'ole crappiness with the loss of my coveted job, the near collapse of our marriage, the death of two beloved grandparents, near financial catastrophe, the death of two cats, the stress of my husband moving into his own office space, the loss of one great employee and two not so great ones,the unexplained disappearance of a cousin, learning to work with my spouse, learning to stay at home and do nothing, a high risk pregnancy, pre-term labor that landed me in the hospital for 21 days and at home on bed rest for a subsequent month, my falling out with several close family members, gaining almost 50 pounds while pregnant and on bed rest,what I believe to have been short-term post partum depression, our dog being hit by a train... These are all things that could have really sent me spinning. But, they all passed over and the sting faded.
I must admit, I knew that question was bound to be asked someday.
I simply answered, "Yes."
The truth is much more complex than a simple one word answer but at that moment I couldn't think of how to put into words all the things that flashed through my mind in that instant...
During the time that these things took place we have also suffered terrible sadness, loss, and plain 'ole crappiness with the loss of my coveted job, the near collapse of our marriage, the death of two beloved grandparents, near financial catastrophe, the death of two cats, the stress of my husband moving into his own office space, the loss of one great employee and two not so great ones,the unexplained disappearance of a cousin, learning to work with my spouse, learning to stay at home and do nothing, a high risk pregnancy, pre-term labor that landed me in the hospital for 21 days and at home on bed rest for a subsequent month, my falling out with several close family members, gaining almost 50 pounds while pregnant and on bed rest,what I believe to have been short-term post partum depression, our dog being hit by a train... These are all things that could have really sent me spinning. But, they all passed over and the sting faded.
I guess what I'm getting at is that there are always going to be the things we cherish smashed in with things we wish were gone. How we deal with these things is whats fundamentally the key. Happiness expert, Sonja Lyubomirsky, claims that 50% of our overall level of happiness is genetically predetermined. 10% of our overall happiness is attributed to circumstances. The remaining 40% is determined entirely by us. We are in charge. We have 40% of our overall happiness to control. This is our attitude, our sense of community, and all the things we do with our selves. What I'm saying is the above things account for only 10% of my level of happy. So, yes, I may be annoyingly shiny but I have cloudy days. I have days and moments when I want to light someones hair on fire. But I've wallowed in those moments in the past. I've cloaked myself in pity and rage. I know that those aren't who I am and that's not where I want to be. Most of the time I can really know that tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow is a new start. But sometimes I falter. Sometimes I cry. I know that that's okay. Because I'm ultimately in charge of my 40% and what I do with it can add or subtract years from my life.
So, am I as happy as I make myself out to be on Facebook? The true answer is... Most of the time. Sometimes I just don't want to broadcast my woes for the world to see because I know that, like the baby blues and the elation of birth, this too shall pass.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)