Reeve is going to a birthday party tonight where everyone is supposed to dress as a Disney character.
He Skyped me from his dorm room in Glasgow as he was putting together his outfit for the evening: top hat, vest, jacket w/tails, upturned starched collar, umbrella, white (exfoliating) (“Whoa! These are cool!”) gloves, and . . . powder-blue Puma running shoes?
A cricket’s gotta be able to jump, I guess.
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Screen shot of Jiminy holding up his foot to try to show me his swift blue shoes.
Tags: costume, jiminy cricket, reeve, skype
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A bit of behind-the-scene trivia regarding the photos in our May-June 2009 piece on footbaths:
The article describes how calming it can be for young people—as well as adults, but who doesn’t already know that?—to take a break from the day and soak their feet in soothing, fragrant water.
Mothering staff photographer Melyssa Holik and I lined up a photo shoot with the daughter of a staff member, bought our official footbath supplies and official footbath containers (a.k.a. salad bowls), then learned the day before the shoot that we needed to shoot in mid-morning, when the light was optimal, a time during which our model was—go figure!—in school.
In looking for a substitute, we quickly realized that not just anyone could step in on the appointed day and help us out. No, this job called for someone both available at 9:00 in the morning (just about anybody on our staff), and with very small feet. (Salad bowls, remember?) Not wanting to make anyone feel self-conscious about shoe size, Mel and I cruised the office, discreetly eyeing our coworkers’ feet. . .
Happily, we didn’t have to go far, and the featured feet in the footbath piece belong to Mothering Marketing Director Elizabeth Carovillano, a perfect salad-bowl-fitting size 5. Thanks, Elizabeth!
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Image above is the opening spread of the article. Photo by Melyssa Holik.
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Tags: 155, elizabeth carovillano, footbath, melyssa holik
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I found these three at Goodwill this weekend.
One look at the expression on the pig’s face reveals (to me, anyway) that I caught this trio in the midst of plotting an escape adventure. (Keep an eye out for Incredible Journey Redux: Two Ruminators and a Pig, coming to a theater near you?)
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Tags: cow, farm animals, goodwill, pig, sheep, sky
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. . . and mailboxes and computer screens this week: our May-June 2009 issue. Here’s a sneak peek at the cover.
The new issue has all kinds of good stuff, including Peggy O’Mara’s beautifully put-together response (and final word, in my opinion!) to the recent Atlantic Monthly article by Hanna Rosin, “The Case Against Breastfeeding.” A text-only, online version of Peggy’s editorial is here.
And I’m particularly excited about the stunning photos we’re running in Lauren Lindsey Porter’s article on attachment parenting—”ooh factor” all over the place! More on that later. . .
Tags: 154 cover
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Last month, during the full moon, I got a call from a very emotional Reeve. Exhausted, sad, homesick, frustrated with his performance at school. Not sure what to do with himself during the upcoming three-week break between school terms. (He’d arranged to spend several days with two of his classmates at one of their homes in England, but didn’t know about the remaining two weeks.)
It was late, and I was still at work, trying to finish things up so I could go home, and I was emotional myself—aching for him but feeling that he really just needed to stop thinking and get some sleep.
Consequently, I was kind of short with him, listening for only a couple of minutes before saying bluntly, “So [rather than go out on an exotic adventure like all of us back home wish WE could] why don’t you just come on home for the break?”
He rallied somewhat. “That would be pitiful, Mom.”
We hung up, and I sat in the dark office and sobbed. Wishing Reeve could be happy where he was, wishing he could summon the oomph to claim this opportunity and make his upcoming spring break something he’d remember fondly. Missing him and wishing he would come home, then immediately feeling guilty for the thought.
The next day, he called to tell us he had found “hella deals” ($20!) on airline tickets! And was going to spend the last ten days of his break in Sardinia!
Sardinia? I had to look it up. (As our friend Seth put it later: “Sardinia? Is that a planet?”) (For the record, Sardinia is a large island off the coast of Italy. And, no, the people who live there are not called Sardines.)
I was thrilled, of course. And proud of Reeve for taking charge and pulling out of a potential emotional tailspin. And very, very nervous about him traveling alone in a country where he barely speaks the language.
These ups and downs. I don’t think the parenting books talk about how the emotional highs and lows (and the quick swing from one to the other!) of parenting continue even after a child is officially an adult. Or maybe they do, and I just wasn’t paying attention.
Above: Reeve kicking back on the shores of the Mediterranean. (Photo by Reeve Taylor)
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In my line of work, I see a lot of baby pictures. As you can imagine. (No. Belay that. I’m not sure you can imagine . . . we’re talking LOTS of baby pictures. Babies nursing, babies sleeping, crying, crawling. Cover babies, messy babies, funny babies, happy babies. . .)
Occasionally, I come across a photo where there’s no denying that the baby in question is related to the mom or dad or sibling in the photo. Maybe it’s an obvious physical trait, like coloring or body type, or a distinctive facial feature, like the dark eyebrows my husband and son both have—but often it’s more indefinable. A mannerism or idiosyncrasy, angle of posture, gleam in eye or tilt of head . . . caught by the camera. (Photo at right of my son, Reeve, at age three, and my brother, Grant—demonstrating an uncannily similar method of mocking the photographer. Genes?)
I find this very moving. It’s as if our genes are doing the familial claiming for us, whether we will it or no, or are aware of it or not. And the camera is usually pretty insistent on pointing out the genetic connection.
Anyway, this came home to me the other day—along with the realization that this “genetic claiming” or resemblance among family members can also be seen in photos of the same individual across time.
I was going through some old photos and happened upon one, taken about 40 years ago, in which my sister, Cathy, and I are dancing. I was immediately struck by how much, in the photo, Cathy at age 6 looks like her son Ian. But I was even more struck by how much, in the photo, I at age 7 look like . . . me. See for yourself. (Top photo was taken in December 2008. Bottom photo, December 1968. That’s me on the right in both cases.)
I know, I know. A long, roundabout way of stating the obvious. We look like our families; we look like ourselves. Still, it’s kind of fun to see it laid out so plainly via the medium of photography.
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PS And a really weird thing about this is that between the taking of these two photos, I had at least ten years of training in dance. Sure wouldn’t know it from these pics. (Don’t tell my mom. . .)
Tags: baby pictures, family resemblance, genes
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