Random Photo Tuesday: I think I might be addicted to my camera.

I decided not to take my camera to Marine World. That may not sound shocking to most people, but for me, a complete photo fanatic, it's a big deal. Imagine a kid trying to nap without his security blanket or a crack addict going to… where do crack addicts go anyway?... well it would be like a crack addict going wherever they go… without their crack. In other words, for me, leaving my camera at home is not a small thing.

I take my camera with me everywhere. Well not everywhere but close enough. To go to an amusement park, a day packed full of potential photo opportunities, without my camera was a huge deal. There are many times when I have the camera with me that I intentionally choose not to take photos because instead of feeling like just the event photographer, sometimes I just want to be there, be part of the experience. but that's different than leaving the camera at home. There's something comforting about having the camera with me just in case.

The only reason I considered leaving my camera at home was because Scott started in with the same old stroller argument: We don't need a stroller. Alyssa is old enough to walk. Normally I shut that one down immediately but I decided to give it some thought. I realized that if we didn't take the stroller, I would have to carry everything on me. This meant, at a minimum, an extra change of clothes for Alyssa (because with a 3-yr-old you just never know what might happen), baby wipes, sunscreen, jackets for all of us and probably the 3-yr-old herself at some point.

I stood in the shower debating with myself. Did I really want to haul all of that stuff and my big old camera? I knew that if I took it I would have to worry about it. Pulling it out of my backpack only to shove it back in moments later. Trying to protect it on roller coasters, water rides, etc. Not to mention feeling the pressure to capture everything on my memory card. Constantly trying to get the perfect shot.

I tried to convince myself I'd have more fun without it. I could just enjoy watching the kids in the varying states of ecstasy that are cotton candy, merry-go-rounds and roller coasters instead of trying to preserve those moments for all time.

But then I wondered: would I? Would I truly be able to enjoy those moments or would I just be frustrated and annoyed as I watched the photo ops roll by, uncaptured? I mean really, why even bother going somewhere fun without my camera anyway? Might as well just sit under a rock.

The fact that it is such a big deal to me makes me a little nervous. Like come on, Dione, get a grip. Have I really become so obsessed with trying to capture the moments that I'm not even living in the moment at all anymore? Am I just viewing my world as a potential photo opportunity instead of just LIFE? Yeah, I'll enjoy this later when I look at the pictures, for now I need to figure out how to get this guy to move his big head so I can get a better shot. This leads me to my next perfectly logical question: if I weren't so obsessed with taking pictures, would I just keep my kids locked in a box all the time? I'm kidding of course. I would let them out on Christmas and Easter in case there were other people taking pictures.

The problem is that I want to remember everything but I don't trust my memory. The time flies by so quickly and I keep hoping that by photographing it I'll be able to somehow get these moments back. Sometimes I'll see a photo from long ago and, for just a second, I'll remember what it felt like to be in that moment… I'm putting great faith in the snapshots I'm taking now, hoping that someday when the girls have grown up and moved away that the pictures will transport me back here again, so that when I see the photos of Alyssa at three I'll be able to remember how it feels to have her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. That I'll remember what her voice sounds like when she's calling me to wipe her poopy butt. Okay I don't care to remember the poopy parts, but I want to remember all of the good stuff. And I'm not even sure I trust myself to know yet what is good stuff. So I take pictures of everything. No, not the poopy parts. That would be gross.

I want to remember the good stuff and I want the girls to remember it too. I want them to remember all the fun we have together. I have so many great memories from childhood and I occasionally wonder if I actually remember those things or if I only think I remember them, because I've seen the photos so many times. I even wonder about the memories that don't have photos to go with them… Did the photos of other events near that time help me remember? When I remember Tim Smith in our Kindergarten classroom opening jars of paint and pouring them all over the smelly brown carpet it's his smiling school photo face I remember doing it.

I'm a wealth of mostly useless family trivia thanks in part to my huge log of photos. The arrival of digital photography and, with it, thousands of date-stamped images… It's kind of like having a back-up system for my brain. When did we take that trip to Yosemite when it rained the whole time? How old was Amanda when she ran into the dresser and got that huge bump on her forehead? I'm not good at remembering dates but my date-stamped photos are BRILLIANT at remembering for me.

I lost my external hard drive last year. Crash! Several months' worth of photos permanently lost. Actually I don't even know how many months. I haven't stopped to figure it out because I still can't even bear to think about it. All those memories lost. I know it's not really that big of a deal but I can't help feeling like there's a gaping hole in my brain…a part of my past that's missing.

I used to be afraid I might love my camera more than my own children. When I was pregnant with Amanda, I would occasionally make some awkward move to protect my camera and end up hitting my protruding belly instead. I would think, OH NO! What if I do this when the baby is here? I'd been carrying a camera around for a long time, I was used to taking care of it, but carrying a baby everywhere would be new to me. What if my first instinct was to protect my camera instead of the baby? I pictured myself walking through a small space and reaching to protect my camera while accidentally slamming the poor baby's head against a wall or a piece of furniture.

Luckily I never slammed my baby's heads into anything… well other than my camera. On many occasions I've bent down to pick up one of the kids only to clock them in the head with the big old camera hanging from my neck. Oops. Both my camera and my kids did just fine though until my instincts were truly put to the test shortly after I took this photo:

This was at my niece's wedding. Amanda and Alyssa were flower girls. Alyssa was only 9 months old so she was more of an honorary flower girl. I don't think anyone really expected her to make it down the aisle. But my sister (mother of the bride) found this adorable antique carriage and cleaned it up and painted it just in case. The plan was that Amanda would push the carriage down the aisle along with two other flower girls.

The first time I saw the carriage, the night before the wedding, I panicked a little. I was blessed with the ability to envision horrifying outcomes even in the most harmless situations. Alyssa wasn't one of those I'll-just-lay-here-happily kind of babies. I was used to having her in a 5-point-harness and that was just when she was sleeping. So the thought of having her pushed down a concrete path by her three year old sister in this little basket-y thing with wheels and no restraints at all… made me very, VERY nervous. I exchanged looks with my other sister, who is also blessed with the same ability to imagine disastrous endings (thanks Mom!). We briefly discussed the options: Bungee cords? Duct tape? Super-glue on her diaper?

But in the end we decided it was highly unlikely Alyssa would even sit in the carriage other than for a quick photo or two and who wants to make waves at a family wedding? Okay well a lot of people love to make waves at family weddings but I don't happen to be one of them. The wedding day arrived with record high temperatures (113 degrees in the shade) and Alyssa didn't want to do much besides sleep and nurse, so I was fairly certain a ride down the aisle was not in her future.

Except that when it was time for the wedding to begin she was bright eyed and raring to go. I cautiously put her in the stroller expecting to take her out a moment later, but Alyssa was perfectly happy to just sit there, smiling at everyone like she was a celebrity and this was her big moment in the spotlight. Other than a bit of bickering between Amanda and her 2-year-old cousin over which one of them should get to push the stroller, it went quite smoothly. Alyssa smiled as her cousin, Riley, pushed her down the aisle to oohs and ahhs. She continued to smile and sit perfectly still up in front as the ceremony took place. I got to sit just a few feet away from her, camera in hand, of course. And like I said, it was all going so well until Riley got a little bored and decided to play with the stroller.

She grabbed the stroller's handle and I can only picture what happened next in slow motion: The stroller started to tip over, with my precious 9-month-old inside, a couple of feet above the concrete… and I, in that split second, threw my camera and dove to the ground to rescue her (the baby, not the camera!).

I always imagine the whole crowd doing a collective horrified GASP as the aunt of the bride hits the ground mid-ceremony. When I think about it I can hear myself doing that slow motion yell you in hear in movies… the one that sounds like a beached whale in agony: "nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh-ooooooooooooh" as I flail awkwardly to the ground and catch the stroller and the baby before any harm is done.

Actually , I don't remember exactly how it happened. What I do remember is that I made the right choice! In that split second, I sacrificed the camera to save the baby.
I thought for sure my camera was a goner, but I was able to turn it on and, brave soldier that it was, it continued to take pictures until the reception was nearly over. Then it just suddenly stopped working. When we took it to the camera store they said it would need to be sent away to Canon. It would cost this much for shipping, it would cost that much for diagnosis, it would cost who knows how much for the repair and the parts… all completely worth it, in my mind. Anything to get it working again, but my husband doesn't think the same way I do.

Scott is an extremely frugal do-it-yourself-kinda guy. He has the kind of brain that can figure out how to fix a whole lot of things. But not quite everything. Not long ago Scott was rattling on about how a friend had paid $1500 for the most recent procedure to keep her dog alive and Scott said, "Isn't that INSANE? I wouldn't pay $1500 to keep ME alive!!!" I've always said that if I came home and announced I had a brain tumor and needed expensive brain surgery, he would grab a kitchen knife and tell me to hold still. I wasn't surprised when Scott decided he would try to fix my camera himself. I was horrified. But not surprised. It was like watching him operate on one of my children. And it didn't go well.

A lot of very delicate parts being tossed to and fro and a few too many"Hmmm... I wonder what this thing is for?"s.

Sadly, the camera, did not survive. Alyssa, however, was completely unharmed. And here she is a few years later at Marine World. Come on, you didn't really think I'd leave the camera at home, did you?