Big Feet, Little Feet

Big Feet

• Yesterday evening, after a particularly full, event to next event-to next event-to next event etc. few days, my husband and I collapsed on our couch. He stretched out on one end, propping his feet upon me as I sat on the couch’s opposite end. Tiredness had befallen us quickly. I absentmindedly began kneading my fatigued spouse’s feet as we chatted. Perhaps it was because I was quite so drowsy, but my mind began to wander as I studied my husband’s feet. 
• As I scrutinized, I began to consider them. I had never noticed their shape, really. It was like I was looking at the feet of someone with whom I was newly acquainted. For some reason, looking at his feet made me realize I have much yet to learn of my husband. 2+ years of marriage (prayerfully many more to come) and I don’t yet know my husband’s feet. His hands, yes. Their strength and masculinity I noticed the first weekend we met. I wonder what new things of him and his life I have yet to discover.
• He asked–smiling at me in the way only he does–what I was doing, perusing so diligently his lowermost extremities. I simply told him what was swimming through my head. He laughed a little, continuing that me-only smile, and continued his rest. 

Little Feet

• The 6 y.o. has a friend who’ll be with us all this week. We had decided last week we’d have a day to paint nails soon. After playing imaginatively upstairs for a bit, with hot pink and sparkly purple shellac in hand, they bounded downstairs and shyly asked me to paint their nails. The glee appeared on their faces when I agreed.
• As I played mani-pedicurist for the last half hour, they mused back and forth about whether or not I should paint a heart on their big toes, or maybe purple polka dots on top of the pink base, or stripes! When they beheld the lovely sheen of the fuchsia’s second coat, they decided to leave their toes plain.
• As for their hands, something must have compelled them to branch out a bit…

Death by Reference

A fifteen year old boy from my church died in a tragic accident last week. I didn’t know him personally nor ever had the pleasure of interacting with him since we belong to a rather large church. Yet my husband and I attended the funeral, and the somber atmosphere was felt as soon as I walked into the sanctuary.

I found myself tearing up at several points during the service, and even just sitting quietly, waiting for it all to begin. I wondered why I was so deeply affected during the moments my eyes were welling, despite never having met the boy in the casket outside. In part, I was certainly “weeping with those who wept” as part of my church family. Being part of the family of God means all other Christians are family: brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers. I should feel loss when others lose because of this.

The circumstances reminded me of my grandma’s funeral. She is the closest person to me who has died in my 20+ years of life thus far.  And yet, even at her funeral, the harder part for me was watching my mom cry. I remember my mom viewing her mother–dressed in her favorite color, purple–one last time, laying in her casket.  She cried and hugged my dad’s neck tight.  Seeing this caused me to cry and put a hand on my mom’s arm.  It was harder for me to see my mom losing her mom, and also to think about losing my mom.  As close as my mother was to hers, I’m pretty sure that she and I are yet closer. I couldn’t imagine losing her, and that made me weep even harder.

At this week’s funeral, the youngest brother of the deceased said a few sweet words. I noticed a dear friend blotting away tears as the little boy spoke. I began to drop tears from my eyes too, thinking about her two sons, thinking about the younger having to process through losing his older brother.  Then I began to think about what it would be like to lose someone so close to myself, and I gripped my husband’s knee. He probably didn’t know that’s what caused my tears.

I seem to experience death by referencing losing someone else closer to me than who has really died. I don’t know why. When I write that down, it seems odd, like I’m taking away from the one who is no longer. Yet I don’t know what it’s like to feel that type of loss, and for some reason my mind just begins this referencing, unwittingly.

I’m only in my mid-twenties, and as a friend reminded me recently, the day will surely come that I will be the one experiencing deep, personal loss. A little like, “you’ll understand when you’re older…”  I think that’s true.

Our prayers go out to this grieving family. I long for the day that every tear will be wiped from our eyes.

Father’s Day ‘11

Happy Father’s Day, to all the dads in my life.

To mine:

To my dear father-in-law, and to the future father of my children:

To my friend, who’s faithful fathering is an encouraging inspiration:

To my little brothers who’ll be fathers one day.

One sooner:

one later: 

To my spiritual father, who has always pointed me to my true Father:

I’m grateful for all of you!

(All photos in this post were taken by Kori Hoffman)

Peony Petals

The wedding shower in my hometown last weekend was a success. The bride was all aglow. It was a joy to see my dear friend smiling, eating good food, and getting to spend time with friends she hasn’t seen for a long time. 

My sweet sister-in-law (who has recently begun a blog of her own!) gave the bride a lovely green vase as her shower gift.  In her typical creative-thoughtful fashion, instead of wrapping the gift she filled the vase with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and set it in the middle of the table. The bride got to enjoy the vase immediately as it fulfilled its intended purpose holding lovely blooms.

The peonies were so beautiful and fragrant, we couldn’t stop smelling them! The peony has been one of my favorite flowers for some time, but they are not always easy to find. Having access to some that weekend, I had to steal one for an early morning photo session the day after the shower. The light was perfect that morning, and my parents’ new white rocking chairs provided a nice backdrop.

I decided to leave the photos pretty much straight out of camera, only sharpening a couple the tiniest bit.

Monet said that he owed becoming a painter to flowers. Perhaps I can say the same concerning photography. I just can’t seem to keep my lens away from them…

Brother #1

This is Brother #1:

He is cooler than cool. Hence the Aviators.

He has a full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. My favorite is an image from Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree; the little boy is looking up into the tree’s leaves about to catch the falling apple.

This is Bro. #1 and his lovely wife. She’s a redhead. They got married 6 months after us. They have matching freckles and porcelain skin, which gets sunburned quite easily. Match made in SPF.

This is probably my favorite photo of them. I love its off-kilter composition. And her eyes. Are they not dazzling?

I’ve always thought of him as my “little-big” brother. Little because, a. He’s younger (obvious), but big because, b. he’s bigger than me as of 10th grade, and also, c. he’s super protective. Like, really protective.

This is comical because Bro. #1 pushes my buttons in ways proven impossible by any other human. He will debate me to the end of time, causing my forehead veins to bulge and eliciting sisterly responses so wrought with frustration they are audible only to canines. 

But if someone else says something about his sister, it’s ON like DONKEY KONG!

That’s something he would say.

(

“I love my sister! And if you have anything to say about her ruby slippers or curly fro, Ernie and I will take you down!”

On Family Vacay last summer, my mom and Bro. #1’s sweet wife had bought ingredients to make sangria for us after dinner. We were all digesting on the porch, laughing, enjoying the sun set together. Bro. #1 suddenly blurted in a wannabe-gangsta voice…

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The Broadaways

Last weekend, I had my second opportunity to do a family photo shoot. They were gracious subjects, and so patient as I dealt with my camera’s idiosyncrasies. I’m not sure if it’s because I have two younger brothers, but little boys have a special place in my heart. They’re just funny! So it was really fun to spend time catching moments with these little guys.

Here are a few of my favorite shots of the Broadaway family:

Although the focus of this photo is the parents’ shared glance, I love how the little one is looking straight into the camera. Mr. Serious. 

Quintessential father-son moment. So high!

I think this one might be my personal favorite:  1. Mom’s laughing smile is so natural and beautiful.  2. Older brother reached over on his own to give his baby brother that squeeze!  3. Baby’s reaction to said squeeze is adorably priceless. It’s a real interaction between family. Catching those moments is always a treasure.

This little guy is all boy, his mama tells me. He couldn’t resist exploring the rocks, climbing the hills, pointing this way and that in the little valley behind our new apartment, which is where the shoot was held.

Goodness gracious. What a face.

Broadaways, thank you so much for letting me do this with you. Your boys are endearing, and your family so sweet!

A Photo A Day: Family Vacay Part 5

I don’t know whose toddler these belonged to, but it looked like whoever she was, she just toddled right out of her little flip flops onto the beach.  I couldn’t resist.

And, just for nostalgia and fun, one final/random/crazy…

Family Conversations, Episode 3:

[Scene:  On our way home from a little exploration in the Windy City, along with dinner at Gino’s East, a Chicago icon.  We’re tired and full of deep dish pizza.  And sunburnt.  And loopy.  The week is winding down.  My dad is maneuvering through the dense Chicago traffic, whilst attempting to take in the scenery about him.  He passes a nuclear power plant.]

Dad:  Hey, is that [referring to nuclear power plant] a place to live?  

Bro. #2:  … If you’re BATMAN!!!

Dad:  Oh, whoops… just kidding.