Photographing Happiness: Perspective

Well here we are at 8:28pm on the 12th. Last month I had this post  written the night before and woke up the morning of the 12th and hit publish. And I loved feeling that warm feeling in my gut when I have things done on time and am so well organized. January is always like that for me.

This year it was even easier to fall off my organized train because let’s just say it’s been…weird here in the states since the Inauguration of [45]. Everything I have ever felt that was good about America seems to be quickly leaving. And I want to run away.  I know I can’t and I know we won’t. SO we will resist and at the very least, be a lot more informed about policy and politics in general (is it bad to admit that I liked it better when all my politics came from The West Wing?).

ANYWAYS. Onto my 12:


This is the middle. My 4 year old. He’s been looking so much older lately, and this picture just knocked my socks off as you can see the teenager (if not the man) he will become:

They are so little. In this giant giant room at the Cultural Center of Chicago:

Around and around they go. Spinning faster and faster and faster:

Still too little for mom’s shoes. Still not too big to find every crumb on the floor fascinating:

I took this the day of the inauguration. When all the little people were (of course) still full of light and hope and kindness and happiness. When the jumping in the puddles added 15 minutes to our walk to the car. And that’s all that mattered:

I don’t think it ever died, but I love it having a bigger stage:

I loved this picture of all these amazing people at the Women’s March in Chicago. With the Trump Tower looming in the background:

Sometimes your kids are cute. Sometimes they look like their only little gang on their walk to school:

Where does the man-made stop and the nature begin:

Tiny little woman wearing a babushka crossing the street? OR a two year old?:

When that armful of sticks is way more important than seeing where you are going:

When all that energy of the marches turns into something real:

Share on: FacebookTwitterPinterest

Your email is never published or shared. Required fields are marked *