Freckled Mommy started years and years ago. Back when blogging was *the* thing to do. It started back during blog circles and before most social media platforms. Then, Instagram popped up on the scene and I snatched up the freckledmommy handle. I've been writing stories of my family and my own personal thoughts (rants?) since our 21 year old was a fresh-n-plump baby. Originally they were just for us, then the stories became part of an online scrapbook for our family near and far.
When my nearly 18 year old was born, I began writing. And when her little sister came along two years later, I started teaching myself photography and taking a handful of courses so that I could photograph their sweetness. I knew my words and stories about their lives was only so much; photographs were even more. I had to think of a way to freeze time, to stop them from growing so quickly. And that? Was photography. With just one press of the shutter I was able to keep those hand dimples closer to my heart forever. I could remember more vividly that little curl in the middle of her forehead. The messy faces and missing teeth would go on for years.
When our youngest was 2, we found her face down in a family member’s pool. Unresponsive. Gray and listless. Her little curls stuck all across her toddler face. My yelling couldn’t bring her back. My begging wouldn’t make her wake. After a bit, she did return to us. She somehow, by the grace of God, came back to us that day. Her daddy clinging to her soaked half-dressed body. I knew, we all knew, that on that day we were changed forever. Of course, people say that well known cliche so often, but I can assure you we were most certainly never the same. I look at her life, and the lives of my other children much differently now. I take even more time to notice the little things. To pull out my camera and film them playing, giggling, running through the sprinklers on a hot day. I notice their chipped nail polish and dirty faces even more and I never, ever, want to let that slip by.