Summer in a Snapshot

Mary and her little lamb, Little Bo Peep, and Little Boy Blue marched in our village’s Annual Fourth of July Parade. My two preschoolers wearing calico dresses, bonnets and aprons, fit right into Waterford, originally a Quaker village and relatively unchanged since its establishment in the 1740’s. My husband, a not-so-little, six-foot-three-inch Boy Blue, carried our sweaty black sheep after a failed attempt at walking him on a farm rope. Hometown America at its best.

Other parade entries surrounded my family as I attempted a few good snapshots. Children riding horses joined the procession and a brass band played from a flatbed truck. Kids on decorated bicycles weaved in and out of the crowd as villagers in lawn chairs waved flags and cheered from the sidelines in the 95 degree heat.

A photo from that festive day became our Christmas card, but I’m not in the picture. Partly because I wasn’t in the mood to dress up as Old Mother Hubbard, and partly because I was behind the camera.

Moms are almost never in snapshots. My fellow mommies and I sometimes fret over whether our kids will wonder whether we were there for the fun events recorded in their scrapbooks.

Our photo album features two muddy little girls who stained their bathing suits by turning their wading pool into a mud bowl. While I cautioned them against smearing mud all over their bodies, I gleefully snapped a series of photos. They look tickled to dirt over their accomplishment.

Another picture shows five brave and happy little preschoolers at their first overnite campout on our lumpy front lawn. I hope my girls remember that I, too, crawled into a sleeping bag and joined in chatter and song for that June slumber party.

Though there are beautiful shots of my girls eating ice cream cones, hugging their Daddy, cuddling a lamb, proudly displaying their eight-foot sunflowers, or sporting a toothless grin, there are few pictures of the one who scooped the ice cream, noticed the father/daughter moment, placed the lamb in their arms, watered the sunflower seeds, or helped pull the tooth with a piece of dental floss.

And yet, this picture can change. Handing over the camera will be a start, but joining the parade is probably more important. And if we join in now, maybe our children will want us to stay in the picture later. Afterall, wading pools, campouts, sprinklers, and hometown parades are much more fun when Mom and Dad are involved.

Recently, I had a wakeup call when a friend’s cancer returned and she anticipated weeks to live. She wanted to go to Disney World --now. She wanted a family portrait taken --now. She wanted to videotape messages for her young children’s future-- now. It made me reflect on our family’s memories and my children’s future. What will our children remember?

The big picture is that memories begin--now. This summer and all year round, I’ll be a participant --not just a spectator. Tonight when lightning bugs twinkle in the fields and Julia yells, “Let’s catch firelies!,” I’ll find the butterfly net and bug box. We’ll all kick off our shoes and run barefoot through the grass chasing the flickering sparks. Click. Nice shot.

Copyright Ann Stewart 2004
Used by permission
No reprint without author’s permission

Please comment by contacting Ann.