making wishes.

.

     My sweet little Asher turned four and I adore these photos of him carefully putting the candles on his blue cake ( which I'm fairly certain gave us food poisoning ) and then listening to his birthday song. I remember when Roman was Asher's age and he hated when people sang "happy birthday". Asher is a different child though, and his face simply shined pure joy and love. When we told him to make a wish, he wished for "a tomato," and made us all laugh at our silly happy boy. 

.

     I can't believe that four years have passed since this sunlight came into my life. I remember so well the way he came to the world on a warm and sunny July day. Those days are now starting to shift into a long ago memory; those baby days feel far and dreamy distant. In the weeks and months after his birth, I thought that maybe a day would never go by without his birth crossing my mind. The wonderful all natural childbirth that I was able to check off my life list stayed so close to me then, in the best of ways, filling me with strength. 

.

     Life and it's seasons are a funny thing. As we go through the motions of the moment, nothing different seems fathomable. I've gone through times in life that seemed like they'd never end, some in good ways and some not so very good at all. Usually it's a mixture; hard feelings and big obstacles with slices of joyful memories in between. 

.

     For sure, life just keeps pushing on, and we are forced to realize that it does move and it moves along fast. High school ends, and marriage won't always be about choosing the order of wedding photos for the album. Our babies won't keep, and they will certainly grow and grow and grow. The days will turn and spin and tomorrow becomes years ago and these moments now become faded memories. 

.

     As I clicked the camera to capture my son, my freshly turned four year old baby boy making wishes in the candle light, I was all too aware that these smiles would quickly become pictures, preserved for the future; to look back on soon and say, "I remember..."

.

.

.

.