So I took my mother to Santa Fe to watch my son while I was at my Birthing From Within workshop. She was crazy-excited to be there, and strolled my boy all around town while I was in session.Here's the thing: my mother is photo-crazy. She takes pictures of everything, even things she's not supposed to. She once nearly got us kicked out of a Glen Campbell concert at the Ryman for wanting to capture his "Gentle On My Mind" solo. And I learned on this trip that she has even mastered the art of discretely removing her camera's memory card, lest her camera get confiscated.
Not only does she like to capture everything on film, but these days, she likes to capture everything with her grandson in the frame. The only thing about that is when he is bundled up, unable to move, resting in his stroller, he ends up looking more like Flat Stanley or the traveling garden gnome in the Travelocity commercials rather than the charming, animated master of fun that he is.
Take this pic for example. This is Jack in front of what is purported to be the oldest house in the United States. No offense here, Jack, but a well-shot photo of something ancient looks odd when it is dotted with an unenthusiastic baby in a manufactured travel system (which is marked by our "ABQ" checked-luggage tag, no less).
But I'll file this picture away and treasure it always. Why? Because it only looks like a picture of the oldest house in the United States. What is really captured here is a darn good day that my mother shared with her new grandchild, my mother's inextinguishable enthusiasm, a moment that my son may not otherwise recall, a nod that they were there. They were really, really there.
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