outtakes.

I love a good photo of the kids. I especially love it when they are looking at the camera, smiling and in cute outfits. I REALLY love it when I can instagram out red eyes or bad lighting, and strategically crop out my unfolded laundry. And I BEYOND love it when I can pay someone to pose them in a field of tall grass, edit out all the tears and whining, and make them look like they are always jovial, fun-loving and color coordinated.

My blogs have lacked pictures recently. And I am ALWAYS taking pictures. But the ones on my camera roll right now aren't the perfect ones. They are the outtakes.

Picture it. The kids are snuggled together in an insanely cute, candid moment. I grab my camera and ask them to look up and say cheese. Caleb resists at first, but after some coaxing, gives an animated fake smile and a long, dramatic “cheeeeeeese.” Kenzie is not even remotely interested and is looking everywhere but the camera. Probably with a fake butcher knife in her mouth. (From her fake kitchen. It's okay.) So I start dancing around and yelling “lalalalalaalala,” but that only makes her want to not look more. Then she attempts to crawl away at which point her brother grabs her and pulls her back. She screams, he laughs, the adorable moment that once was is nowhere to found.

But I take a picture of it anyways. Actually I take about 52 pictures of it. Just in case.

Yes, I have a lot of outtakes. And though I sometimes don't think they are worth sharing with others, I pretty much never delete them. Every day, I keep clicking away. There is a need in me to capture all of it.

But a camera can’t capture everything. Nor can words for that matter, so I know that my pictures and blog won’t ever adequately preserve all the memories I never want to lose. I wish they could. I wish with one click I could vividly store in my brain the beautiful little things I get to see and hear and feel as I watch my kids grow.

Like the night I was driving home in the dark after a long day and checked the rearview mirror to see Caleb and Kenzie silently holding hands in the back.

Click.

Or the evening when I was rushing around trying to get Caleb’s dinner heated up and on his plate and he turned around in his little blue chair and out of nowhere just said, “mommy. I love you.”

Click.

Or the lazy afternoon when Luke was sick, laying on the couch, and Kenzie – the girl who never sits still - just crawled into his arms and laid on his chest and he just stroked her hair, breathing in the deliciousness of having a daughter.

Click.

Or the hectic morning when Luke was running late and trying to rush everyone out the door, but Caleb stopped us and said, "group hug." And instantly the stress level dropped, our moods lightened, and time froze for a moment as all of our arms wrapped around each other.

Click.

Sometimes it feels like we live the same moments every day. Moments and routines that are impossible to forget. Bedtimes, naptimes, playtimes, mealtimes. But someday it will be different than this. Still good, but never again this.

So I not only keep my outtakes, I love them. I hold on to them. I hold onto them as if they were treasures and tell myself to take more for that day far away when I long to remember every detail of now. It is in the outtakes that they are captured just as they are. Not edited or fancied up. Just. As. They. Are. Their faces, their expressions, their littleness, their interactions, their imperfections.

The raw images that will one day remind me how it felt to watch a little family grow in love, and two little kids grow into something pretty spectacular.