Well, I did do some baby-wrangling this week for Hugh. We had a pretty good time together - although he is in the army-crawling stage and moves quickly across the floor to grab at the potted plants.
Other than that I was primarily in recovery. Somehow the New York, family beach trip, moving out of my childhood home sequence of events really put me in a delicate emotional place. Too many endings and not enough beginnings, I guess.
Looking through my photos I realize that I don't like to take pictures of people. I usually rely on others to do that for me. I remember comparing photos with my father when we got back from our Alaskan fishing trip. Every one of his pictures centered on a smiling face, usually above a large, dead fish. All of mine were landscapes, flowers, rocks. I haven't really changed much - I like the lomo-esque no-flash pictures (also easier to take with my not-so-great camera) and find that I lose a lot of people details. But I like this one of my mom, right before we left Wayside. Things keep moving but I still feel stuck.
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