It is dinner time.
Little C: "Dad. What do you love?"
Dad: "What?"
Little C: "What do you love?"
Dad: "What do I love?"
Little C: "No."
Dad, catching on to the script now: "Oh. What do you love, [Little C]?"
Little C, promptly: "Peanut butter and banana." *
And that, ladies and gentleman, is how an autistic kid goes from non-verbal to manipulative in just two short years.
The end.
*Side note: Peanut butter and banana sandwiches are one of the only foods my kid will consistently eat. He loves them like an addict loves crack, and they're pretty much all that sustains him on the nights when he is not refusing to eat a single crumb of whatever we've cooked.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Monday, June 3, 2013
Community
Wow. I posted this over the weekend, and sent an email to Glennon over at Momastery to pass along our little story. She posted it on her Facebook page today, and I quickly became overwhelmed at the flood of comments in response.
The internet is a scary place, sometimes. With all of the communities I lurk in, over time I've learned to always stay out of the comments section, for the most part. Nothing dents my faith in humanity faster than an open forum on...well, just about anything. People are human, I know--they want to be right and they want to know better than the next guy. Comment sections so often make me sad, thinking of all the people who feel the need to put others down solely due to their own insecurities. Plus, I'm SUPER sensitive to criticism, so hearing mean things always makes me want to crawl in a hole and cry, even if those things are not about me.
As of now, 4,341 people have "liked" that post, and 88 people have shared it. I've lost track of the comments, but every single one has been positive. Mamas chimed in their own autism success stories--not in competition, but in solidarity.
Do you hear that? they asked. That's the sound of us cheering for [Little C].
THAT comment was the one that started the crying.
Such a small story, just a window into our daily lives, but who knows how many people saw it today--who knows how many got to see a happy side of autism when so often the crying, fretting and self-injurious behaviors are what make for more interesting news stories.
Earlier today, the company I worked for decided to run a little blurb about the 1 in 50 article publication on our intranet homepage. The company I work for happens to be quite large, and I got several emails throughout the day, commenting on the article.
I usually never read these things, they said. But I read this one, thank you so much for sharing.
There were several iterations on this theme, and I couldn't help but wonder--will they remember this article when they, or someone they love, is affected by autism? What if the words I've used have repercussions much farther than I ever thought they would when I wrote them?
A little intimidating, that.
I guess you never know what's going to reach someone, or how.
So I guess I'll just keep chattering, K?
The internet is a scary place, sometimes. With all of the communities I lurk in, over time I've learned to always stay out of the comments section, for the most part. Nothing dents my faith in humanity faster than an open forum on...well, just about anything. People are human, I know--they want to be right and they want to know better than the next guy. Comment sections so often make me sad, thinking of all the people who feel the need to put others down solely due to their own insecurities. Plus, I'm SUPER sensitive to criticism, so hearing mean things always makes me want to crawl in a hole and cry, even if those things are not about me.
As of now, 4,341 people have "liked" that post, and 88 people have shared it. I've lost track of the comments, but every single one has been positive. Mamas chimed in their own autism success stories--not in competition, but in solidarity.
Do you hear that? they asked. That's the sound of us cheering for [Little C].
THAT comment was the one that started the crying.
Such a small story, just a window into our daily lives, but who knows how many people saw it today--who knows how many got to see a happy side of autism when so often the crying, fretting and self-injurious behaviors are what make for more interesting news stories.
Earlier today, the company I worked for decided to run a little blurb about the 1 in 50 article publication on our intranet homepage. The company I work for happens to be quite large, and I got several emails throughout the day, commenting on the article.
I usually never read these things, they said. But I read this one, thank you so much for sharing.
There were several iterations on this theme, and I couldn't help but wonder--will they remember this article when they, or someone they love, is affected by autism? What if the words I've used have repercussions much farther than I ever thought they would when I wrote them?
A little intimidating, that.
I guess you never know what's going to reach someone, or how.
So I guess I'll just keep chattering, K?
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Toast. I AM TOAST.
Y'all. Remember that water park I told you I was going to photograph for our local special needs family support center? Well, that was tonight, and I'm still reeling. This is probably not even going to be coherent, but here we go.
I've been to walks, I've been to fundraisers, and I kinda thought I was a little inured to the special needs community by this point. You know, settled in--like this was becoming old hat. Comfortable, even.
No big deal.
Tonight, though, turned all of that on its head. I showed up drained from a hot day spent in New Orleans, thinking I would just wander around with my camera, get some practice in, maybe catch up with some people, and hopefully get home in time to hit the sack a little early.
From the first, though, it was just different. I've gotten a little hyper-sensitive to people's reactions to special needs kids, particularly my own. I'm always looking for the puzzled frown, the rolling eyes, the impatience at the struggles with simple tasks so easy for everyone else. There was NONE of that from the staff at this water park.
NONE.
The head honcho of the park chatted with me casually as I snapped away at the long (LONG) line of people waiting to get in. He joked around with kids waiting impatiently. He smiled at frazzled mamas. He and the army of life guards who were on duty for this thing never batted an eye at anything or anyone there that night. The facility didn't make a penny of profit from this, although they closed the park early to admit a group of almost 500 people--all individuals or family and friends of those with special needs.
There were specially designed water wheelchairs to allow those with physical handicaps to navigate through the water.
Aside from the amazing-ness of the staff, there were the families, guys. Parents were able to relax and just let their kids play, without having to bristle at judgmental looks from other people, or worry about whether or not what their child was doing was socially acceptable. Siblings were able to just have fun and not feel pressured to constantly run interference for their brothers and sisters.
I was struck again tonight by the feeling of privilege in belonging to this community. I left humbled tonight, guys. Neurotypical siblings giving their special needs brothers and sisters piggyback rides, helping them down slides, really ENJOYING their company in a non-judgmental environment--without a shred of discomfort or impatience.
I can't wait to go through these pictures.
Aspects of this special needs community can be HARD.
But good GOD, does the fire of it forge some amazing people.
I've been to walks, I've been to fundraisers, and I kinda thought I was a little inured to the special needs community by this point. You know, settled in--like this was becoming old hat. Comfortable, even.
No big deal.
Tonight, though, turned all of that on its head. I showed up drained from a hot day spent in New Orleans, thinking I would just wander around with my camera, get some practice in, maybe catch up with some people, and hopefully get home in time to hit the sack a little early.
From the first, though, it was just different. I've gotten a little hyper-sensitive to people's reactions to special needs kids, particularly my own. I'm always looking for the puzzled frown, the rolling eyes, the impatience at the struggles with simple tasks so easy for everyone else. There was NONE of that from the staff at this water park.
NONE.
The head honcho of the park chatted with me casually as I snapped away at the long (LONG) line of people waiting to get in. He joked around with kids waiting impatiently. He smiled at frazzled mamas. He and the army of life guards who were on duty for this thing never batted an eye at anything or anyone there that night. The facility didn't make a penny of profit from this, although they closed the park early to admit a group of almost 500 people--all individuals or family and friends of those with special needs.
There were specially designed water wheelchairs to allow those with physical handicaps to navigate through the water.
Aside from the amazing-ness of the staff, there were the families, guys. Parents were able to relax and just let their kids play, without having to bristle at judgmental looks from other people, or worry about whether or not what their child was doing was socially acceptable. Siblings were able to just have fun and not feel pressured to constantly run interference for their brothers and sisters.
I was struck again tonight by the feeling of privilege in belonging to this community. I left humbled tonight, guys. Neurotypical siblings giving their special needs brothers and sisters piggyback rides, helping them down slides, really ENJOYING their company in a non-judgmental environment--without a shred of discomfort or impatience.
I can't wait to go through these pictures.
Aspects of this special needs community can be HARD.
But good GOD, does the fire of it forge some amazing people.
Little Nugget
A little nugget this morning:
We've been working on Little C's motor skills, which are still a bit laggy here and there. Dressing himself is one of the lags.
We are MAKING him dress himself every morning, and he is less than enthused about this new process. He often whines, "I can't. It is hard for me."
I have taken to responding, a la Momastery, "Yes, you can. You can do hard things."
Then we work on it
This morning, we laid out his clothes for him, intending to work on them with him once we were done with our morning routine.
Baby boy dressed himself, then came to me and said solemnly, "Mom. I can do hard things."
Yes you can, kid. Yes you can.
We've been working on Little C's motor skills, which are still a bit laggy here and there. Dressing himself is one of the lags.
We are MAKING him dress himself every morning, and he is less than enthused about this new process. He often whines, "I can't. It is hard for me."
I have taken to responding, a la Momastery, "Yes, you can. You can do hard things."
Then we work on it
This morning, we laid out his clothes for him, intending to work on them with him once we were done with our morning routine.
Baby boy dressed himself, then came to me and said solemnly, "Mom. I can do hard things."
Yes you can, kid. Yes you can.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Linear Thinking at its Best
Speech is a thing that is almost universally hard for those on the autism spectrum. Some of those with autism never speak, some speak in ways we would not expect, some start speaking in the expected time frame as children, only to find as they grow that speech is not the same as communication.
Others, like little C, need to learn to speak--need to pick their way deliberately through the maze of communication skills that most children master at an early age, and with ease.
He's come a long way, this kid. I sometimes forget just how far, and how much of an effort communication still is for him, in some ways. It amazes me, really, when I get small glimpses into what his process is for communication. It humbles me, too. He's fought so hard to get where he is, and although he has every right to be grumpy and frustrated and angry sometimes, he almost never is.
Seriously, some days I'm in a bad mood and even I couldn't tell you why.
I got one of those glimpses into little C's head tonight. When I came in the front door from a run, he was crying--brokenhearted--in the middle of the kitchen.
When I asked him what was wrong, he slowly, haltingly sputtered out, "I want them inside."
"Who do you want inside, baby?"
"They're outside."
"What's outside, baby? What do you want?"
"They're outside and I want them inside," he wailed.
At this point, he was spun up. It's heartbreaking, when he struggles like that. Generally, we've learned to get past this point and help him articulate what he needs, but he still stalls when he's particularly upset.
Tonight, he was particularly upset, but I knew we had to hang in. We didn't get this far by letting him skate. So I tried again.
"[Little C]. Tell me what you need, baby."
Tears streaming down his face, he took a deep breath and hiccuped the words, building them painstakingly in his head as he went.
"Lightning McQueen...and Mater...are outside, and I want them inside."
After congratulating him for doing such a great job in letting me know what he needed, we walked through putting on his shoes and socks, I took his hand, and we went outside to retrieve his friends. Sure enough, they rested peacefully underneath our slide in the back yard, waiting for him.
It turns out that at some point while I was out, he realized he wanted his toys, and remembered where he had left them. In order to get them, he needed to go outside. In order to go outside, he needed to put on his shoes and socks.
Shoes and socks are our latest battle here lately. Motor skills have been lagging for a little while, but so often it is easier--and quicker--just to dress him than to work with him in dressing himself.
So, he's been a little spoiled, this kid. This has resulted in a rather traumatic transition to having him dress himself every morning. Shoes and socks have become sort of a mascot for this daily frustration he feels.
Once he realized he would need to put on his shoes and socks to retrieve his toys (and knew his daddy wasn't going to do it for him), he started melting down.
He pulled it out, though. Although it's hard for me to realize how much of an effort this type of thing still is for him at times, I was so, so proud to watch him realize what the problem was, and then take the steps needed to get through it.
Moments like this are the ones that get taken for granted by typical parents every day. As hard as the hard times can be, I don't know that I would have known the depths of pride and gratitude that this kid has introduced me to, were it not for autism.
He's climbing mountains - slowly, methodically, but one damned mound of dirt and rock at a time.
Others, like little C, need to learn to speak--need to pick their way deliberately through the maze of communication skills that most children master at an early age, and with ease.
He's come a long way, this kid. I sometimes forget just how far, and how much of an effort communication still is for him, in some ways. It amazes me, really, when I get small glimpses into what his process is for communication. It humbles me, too. He's fought so hard to get where he is, and although he has every right to be grumpy and frustrated and angry sometimes, he almost never is.
Seriously, some days I'm in a bad mood and even I couldn't tell you why.
I got one of those glimpses into little C's head tonight. When I came in the front door from a run, he was crying--brokenhearted--in the middle of the kitchen.
When I asked him what was wrong, he slowly, haltingly sputtered out, "I want them inside."
"Who do you want inside, baby?"
"They're outside."
"What's outside, baby? What do you want?"
"They're outside and I want them inside," he wailed.
At this point, he was spun up. It's heartbreaking, when he struggles like that. Generally, we've learned to get past this point and help him articulate what he needs, but he still stalls when he's particularly upset.
Tonight, he was particularly upset, but I knew we had to hang in. We didn't get this far by letting him skate. So I tried again.
"[Little C]. Tell me what you need, baby."
Tears streaming down his face, he took a deep breath and hiccuped the words, building them painstakingly in his head as he went.
"Lightning McQueen...and Mater...are outside, and I want them inside."
After congratulating him for doing such a great job in letting me know what he needed, we walked through putting on his shoes and socks, I took his hand, and we went outside to retrieve his friends. Sure enough, they rested peacefully underneath our slide in the back yard, waiting for him.
It turns out that at some point while I was out, he realized he wanted his toys, and remembered where he had left them. In order to get them, he needed to go outside. In order to go outside, he needed to put on his shoes and socks.
Shoes and socks are our latest battle here lately. Motor skills have been lagging for a little while, but so often it is easier--and quicker--just to dress him than to work with him in dressing himself.
So, he's been a little spoiled, this kid. This has resulted in a rather traumatic transition to having him dress himself every morning. Shoes and socks have become sort of a mascot for this daily frustration he feels.
Once he realized he would need to put on his shoes and socks to retrieve his toys (and knew his daddy wasn't going to do it for him), he started melting down.
He pulled it out, though. Although it's hard for me to realize how much of an effort this type of thing still is for him at times, I was so, so proud to watch him realize what the problem was, and then take the steps needed to get through it.
Moments like this are the ones that get taken for granted by typical parents every day. As hard as the hard times can be, I don't know that I would have known the depths of pride and gratitude that this kid has introduced me to, were it not for autism.
He's climbing mountains - slowly, methodically, but one damned mound of dirt and rock at a time.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
A Few Updates
Strap in, folks. This is gonna be a little schizophrenic (I know. Contain your shock, K?)
1) The "1 in 50" Parenting project has been sidelined, perhaps permanently. I got a letter from the editor last week, announcing that the company had been bought out by a rival, and the magazine would be discontinuing publication after their July issue. Aside from my initial disappointment at my article going *poof*, I really was pretty saddened by all of this. This was a great company, with editors who had been kind and encouraging during my interactions with them, and with employees that had apparently all been given very little notice before being let go. Yet another casualty of the digital age, I supposed, but a sad one.
2) Facebook is an even bigger @sshole than I thought. Not only will it still not allow me to create a business page, it's locked down my personal account because it's pissed at me for trying too many times to create a business page. I now have limited Facebook access for the next 30-days.
3) Irefused to accept did not realize how addicted I was to Facebook until said lock-down. It has not been a pleasant 24-hours.
4) Google+, however: Not an @sshole. I was able to create a business page there with almost zero effort.
5) I kinda <3 Google+. It's much easier to navigate and interact with, and the photos are gorgeous compared to Facebook's compression-riddled mess. It is, however, still kind of a ghost town. But, my page gets prioritized search results, so there's that.
6) 48 hours of working on logos and watermarks makes me realize that graphic arts designers earn every penny that they make.
7) I need a website. No, strike that, I need someone to make a website for me. I've just dipped a toe in this overwhelming pool thus far, but I am already feeling extremely ill-prepared for this. I haven't touched HTML since the days of Geocities.
GEOCITIES, folks.
8) Bubbly, effusive, grateful moms of kids you've photographed are the best. I recommend that everyone get one, really. Huge morale booster.
9) I've discovered the "scheduled post" option in Blogger. Something happened with Little C tonight that I want to blog about, but I don't want to include it in this schizophrenic mess, so I'm going to employ this new button I've discovered. This means you'll get another post from me this week, in a much more coherent format. So, um, yay?
Schizophrenic me, signing off.
1) The "1 in 50" Parenting project has been sidelined, perhaps permanently. I got a letter from the editor last week, announcing that the company had been bought out by a rival, and the magazine would be discontinuing publication after their July issue. Aside from my initial disappointment at my article going *poof*, I really was pretty saddened by all of this. This was a great company, with editors who had been kind and encouraging during my interactions with them, and with employees that had apparently all been given very little notice before being let go. Yet another casualty of the digital age, I supposed, but a sad one.
2) Facebook is an even bigger @sshole than I thought. Not only will it still not allow me to create a business page, it's locked down my personal account because it's pissed at me for trying too many times to create a business page. I now have limited Facebook access for the next 30-days.
3) I
4) Google+, however: Not an @sshole. I was able to create a business page there with almost zero effort.
5) I kinda <3 Google+. It's much easier to navigate and interact with, and the photos are gorgeous compared to Facebook's compression-riddled mess. It is, however, still kind of a ghost town. But, my page gets prioritized search results, so there's that.
6) 48 hours of working on logos and watermarks makes me realize that graphic arts designers earn every penny that they make.
7) I need a website. No, strike that, I need someone to make a website for me. I've just dipped a toe in this overwhelming pool thus far, but I am already feeling extremely ill-prepared for this. I haven't touched HTML since the days of Geocities.
GEOCITIES, folks.
8) Bubbly, effusive, grateful moms of kids you've photographed are the best. I recommend that everyone get one, really. Huge morale booster.
9) I've discovered the "scheduled post" option in Blogger. Something happened with Little C tonight that I want to blog about, but I don't want to include it in this schizophrenic mess, so I'm going to employ this new button I've discovered. This means you'll get another post from me this week, in a much more coherent format. So, um, yay?
Schizophrenic me, signing off.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Presto Change-O
So. I am tired, y'all. The good kind of tired, mind you, but damned tired.
I had my first official photo session yesterday, and I got paid for it.
Shocking, right?
I've come to the conclusion that I'm apparently incapable of going at anything at less than the speed of obsession. Seriously, who knows if I'll end up being a whole lot of good at this photography thing, but damned if I'm not gonna know every nook and cranny of it eventually. At least in theory--putting theory into practice is a different animal all together.
I put it out into Facebook land a few weeks ago that I needed guinea pigs. You know, the hapless, furry and defenseless little creatures previously used for lab experiments before PETA got all huffy?
Yeah, those. (DISCLAIMER: I LOVE GUINEA PIGS. PLEASE DON'T THROW PAINT AT ME, PETA).
Anyway, it seems that people are perfectly willing to be hapless guinea pigs, if the price for being such is free. I was flabbergasted, really. Facebook comments and messages started coming in from people I barely remembered I knew, and I was all, "Are you sure? I mean, I'm new at this. And by 'I'm new' I mean 'Please don't get made at me if I screw up your pictures, K?'"
And then the people that said they wanted me to take pictures for them actually scheduled sessions with me.
I kinda thought they were bluffing, really.
So the first session was "booked" and as soon as I got over the giddiness of "booking" and me in the same sentence, I was all Joe Photographer. Seriously, I went out there with my bag, and my light stand, and my off camera strobes...and then as soon as the guy showed up, I promptly forgot how to use all of the things.
All of them. Except the point and shoot camera-thingee, so we actually ended up getting some pretty good photos. Even if I did try to blind the poor guy with my reflector at one point.
Oh well, I'm sure his LinkedIn profile is very GQ, now. Plus, there was last minute Mexican food afterward with a friend/stuff holder, so: WIN!
Then came the magical engagement session. Well, "engagement session" is probably a bit glorified, since it was initially booked as a regular I'll-stand-still-and-let-you-take-my-picture session, but then the girl got engaged, so then it turned into a I'm-so-excited-about-my-new-ring session.
I planned, I Pinterest-ed, I packed a (little) lighter for this one...and forgot to check the weather. So we ended up eventually arriving on location (which, incidentally, have I mentioned that I have no sense of direction? Apparently this is important for finding the locations you would like to use for shoots), shortly before a monster lightning storm. As in, I looked up at one point, and this chick's hair was standing literally straight on end.
At which point we decided that Hey, maybe we can take shots of the ring INDOORS!
Which we did. And I got some hella nice macro shots out of it.
So if I were to tell you at the beginning of this week that I had one adult male who acts like he's been modeling all his life, one up-for-anything adult female with an exciting recent life event, and a family of five, including three kids under ten, one of which was a baby lined up...which of these would you have said were going to go down the proverbial drain?
Yeah, I had pretty much guessed the kids, too.
But wait, there's more!
This wasn't just any family, folks. These were some of the most laid back parents ever, and the cutest and most cooperative kids--together in one absolutely beautiful location.
I'm almost kinda mad at them now, because really, they're setting me up for failure on my next session. It's not at all reasonable to expect that kind of experience to ever happen again.
They were cute. They mugged. They stood still when I asked them to, Glory to God.
What the hell? My own kids don't do that. Ever.
(Okay, fine. The cuteness and the mugging happen from time to time. Mostly when other people are looking.)
Anyway--I had fun, the family had fun, I [mostly] remembered how to work my camera, and the dad insisted on paying me for what I had offered as a free, experience-building session, just based on what he saw on my camera's LCD screen. And I've got at least one referral already lined up from them, and the dad wants my card to pass around.
I DON'T EVEN HAVE CARDS, Y'ALL.
What I do have now, however, is a logo. A logo created with excruciatingly poor Photoshop skills, while brainstorming with a friend over Facebook, and in between editing photos in Lightroom.
I had my first official photo session yesterday, and I got paid for it.
Shocking, right?
I've come to the conclusion that I'm apparently incapable of going at anything at less than the speed of obsession. Seriously, who knows if I'll end up being a whole lot of good at this photography thing, but damned if I'm not gonna know every nook and cranny of it eventually. At least in theory--putting theory into practice is a different animal all together.
I put it out into Facebook land a few weeks ago that I needed guinea pigs. You know, the hapless, furry and defenseless little creatures previously used for lab experiments before PETA got all huffy?
Yeah, those. (DISCLAIMER: I LOVE GUINEA PIGS. PLEASE DON'T THROW PAINT AT ME, PETA).
Anyway, it seems that people are perfectly willing to be hapless guinea pigs, if the price for being such is free. I was flabbergasted, really. Facebook comments and messages started coming in from people I barely remembered I knew, and I was all, "Are you sure? I mean, I'm new at this. And by 'I'm new' I mean 'Please don't get made at me if I screw up your pictures, K?'"
And then the people that said they wanted me to take pictures for them actually scheduled sessions with me.
I kinda thought they were bluffing, really.
So the first session was "booked" and as soon as I got over the giddiness of "booking" and me in the same sentence, I was all Joe Photographer. Seriously, I went out there with my bag, and my light stand, and my off camera strobes...and then as soon as the guy showed up, I promptly forgot how to use all of the things.
All of them. Except the point and shoot camera-thingee, so we actually ended up getting some pretty good photos. Even if I did try to blind the poor guy with my reflector at one point.
Oh well, I'm sure his LinkedIn profile is very GQ, now. Plus, there was last minute Mexican food afterward with a friend/stuff holder, so: WIN!
Then came the magical engagement session. Well, "engagement session" is probably a bit glorified, since it was initially booked as a regular I'll-stand-still-and-let-you-take-my-picture session, but then the girl got engaged, so then it turned into a I'm-so-excited-about-my-new-ring session.
I planned, I Pinterest-ed, I packed a (little) lighter for this one...and forgot to check the weather. So we ended up eventually arriving on location (which, incidentally, have I mentioned that I have no sense of direction? Apparently this is important for finding the locations you would like to use for shoots), shortly before a monster lightning storm. As in, I looked up at one point, and this chick's hair was standing literally straight on end.
At which point we decided that Hey, maybe we can take shots of the ring INDOORS!
Which we did. And I got some hella nice macro shots out of it.
So if I were to tell you at the beginning of this week that I had one adult male who acts like he's been modeling all his life, one up-for-anything adult female with an exciting recent life event, and a family of five, including three kids under ten, one of which was a baby lined up...which of these would you have said were going to go down the proverbial drain?
Yeah, I had pretty much guessed the kids, too.
But wait, there's more!
This wasn't just any family, folks. These were some of the most laid back parents ever, and the cutest and most cooperative kids--together in one absolutely beautiful location.
I'm almost kinda mad at them now, because really, they're setting me up for failure on my next session. It's not at all reasonable to expect that kind of experience to ever happen again.
They were cute. They mugged. They stood still when I asked them to, Glory to God.
What the hell? My own kids don't do that. Ever.
(Okay, fine. The cuteness and the mugging happen from time to time. Mostly when other people are looking.)
Anyway--I had fun, the family had fun, I [mostly] remembered how to work my camera, and the dad insisted on paying me for what I had offered as a free, experience-building session, just based on what he saw on my camera's LCD screen. And I've got at least one referral already lined up from them, and the dad wants my card to pass around.
I DON'T EVEN HAVE CARDS, Y'ALL.
What I do have now, however, is a logo. A logo created with excruciatingly poor Photoshop skills, while brainstorming with a friend over Facebook, and in between editing photos in Lightroom.
BAM.
It looks like I'm totally good at this, right?
I sure hope so, at least, because in the next two weeks, I've got one [thankfully small and informal] wedding to second-shoot, one special-needs water-park/luau event (How the hell does one shoot a water-themed luau? Anyone?), and a horse-therapy center that is supposed to call or email at any time regarding some pro-bono promotional shots.
See? Full throttle, that's me.
The eventual goal is to get proficient enough to actually do this, and do it well--making my services (such as they may ever be) available to special needs families and organizations as much as possible. Every time I am able to take a photo of Little C in which he makes good eye contact, or engages the camera with a smile, I am ever so grateful that I have picked up this camera. Until I did, I hadn't gotten a frame-able shot since before we took him into a studio when he was around eighteen months old. I can still remember the paint-peeling screams coming out of him at the pop of the strobes, the panic at the attention of the camera-man. I remember tiny toddler hands clenched so hard to his ears that they were bright red when I tried to pull them away.
The thought of overwhelmed kids in crowded studios, and sad parents with empty picture frames depresses me. More than that, though, it motivates me.
So. Bayou Rose Photography for the win, K?
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PS- I am Cydley99 on Flickr. Also, the new Flickr is awesome. Follow me? Please?
PPS- I will [hopefully soon] have a Facebook business page. As soon as Facebook stops being an @sshole, anyway, because apparently they think I'm doing something shady and won't let me create a page right now.
STOP BEING AN @SSHOLE, FACEBOOK.
Anyway, follow me at Bayou Rose Photography, eventually? Please?
PPPS - Given all of the social media mentions in these post scripts, I feel obligated to inform you that I am Cydley on Instagram, although I should probably also warn you that I am extremely boring. And, I'm not sure that I understand filters. Or hash tags. Or Instagram.
There. I'm done.
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