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I think that there are entire years where my mom was never in a picture. I’m running around and grinning. Dad is looking at the photographer with love in his eyes, coffee in his stomach and smoke in his lungs. The Sisters are sitting & standing on the same side of a table each with A Look on their faces ranging from What? to WHAT!!!! My mom is there, every time – she has the best camera, the best skills, and even the darkroom for a time.

This weekend was one of those weekends where you gather around the old pictures and talk about who you recognize, and what year it was taken, and what story went with why she had a paper bag decorated as a chicken on her head … again.

I thought a few times about the Mom Stays in The Picture article that came out 18 months ago. About the pictures (assuming anyone could get them off the drives and phone) that are available of me.

A lot of them are taken from the length of my arm. I’m in close quarters with people I love. I have 14 chins all eclipsed by the pores on my nose – but I’m getting kissed by someone. The awesome spot we are at is hinted at over my shoulder. My hair looks great so I took a picture.

I think selfie became the name because it is a less formal version of self-portrait, but it has been used sometimes in a way that implies that it is silly and vain. There is a huge gap between documenting your existence and being vain. It is all all so fleeting and fast, my face is changing and won’t ever go back, people around me are changing and I don’t want to forget how beautiful they are in that light on that day. Sometimes I’m behind the camera, but I love a good selfie. Yours or mine. Snap on.