Slipping through my fingers...

Schoolbag in hand

She leaves home in the early morning

Waving goodbye

With an absent-minded smile

I watch her go

With a surge of that well-known sadness

And I have to sit down for a while

The feeling that I'm losing her forever

And without really entering her world

I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter

That funny little girl

Slipping through my fingers all the time

I try to capture every minute

The feeling in it

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Do I really see what's in her mind

Each time I think I'm close to knowing

She keeps on growing

Slipping through my fingers all the time

(Lyrics from by Siobhan McCarthy & featured in Mamma Mia).

I don't always know exactly where my daughter is sometimes and I don't like it one bit! She has been glued to my side (or her daddy's) or in the care of someone we've handed her over to ever since birth. How am I supposed to let her go her own way without worrying myself into a nervous breakdown?

To put this into perspective (I'm just clinging onto some) she is 10 years old and has started to call on friends and meet them in the local park. I know I can't stop her going and although I can warn her about stranger danger I can't terrify her with stories of kidnappings and worse. She came home half an hour late today - it wasn't really her fault, she ended up going to pick up her friend's brother with their mum. And I can't go ballistic at the mother who is much more laid back than me as she's been through it once already. I limited myself to two text messages and five bitten nails - I'm saving the other hand for tomorrow when she'll no doubt want to exercise her new right to freedom again.

But this isn't a blog about how to let your children go out on their own without worrying yourself sick (I have an inkling that will only happen when senility kicks in). It's more of a realisation that this time is so precious and so much of it has already slipped by so quickly.

I didn't find motherhood easy and I think I have only recently become completely comfortable in my role as mummy. I had postnatal depression and spent the first five months on a rollercoaster of emotion - "yay I'm a mother and my daughter is absolutely gorgeous"! Then five minutes later "oh my god what the hell have done, what was I thinking of?! I'm rubbish at this, everyone else is coping so well, they have lots of other mummy friends, I'm the only one on my own all the time". It all happened again when I had my son 2 years later and redundancy and stress related problems didn't help me settle into motherhood either.

I think the fact that I never knew my own mum (she died when I was a few weeks old) also had an impact. Lacking a role model must have had an impact on how I would adapt. I think I've done an OK job in the end, I'm never sure if I'm being fair, over-indulgent, too strict, too much in love with every hair, mole, smell, expression - but I don't think that makes me any different to any other mum. I have a feeling I seek approval more than I should and can't believe that she loves me and looks up to me as much as she does. It amazes me that she wants to copy how I apply my make up, do my hair - I'm not a girlie girl and did not do this with anyone when I was young. Through her I think I have come very late into girliness and am so enjoying going through this stage with her. I'm making the most of it as it will be shortlived - she already tells me when I look naff and, when I let her, she applies make up much more adeptly than I ever did.

And did I mention that she is hilarious and a great mimic? When she's in her comfort zone she has attitude in spades and will hold us all rapt with her performances. I can't understand why her teacher describes her as "quiet" - are you sure you have the right child?

I feel as if we are in a magical time at the moment - her  inbetween girlhood and adulthood and me finally completely content with being (1) mum and (2) photographer. I want to freeze this time and not let it slip through my fingers.

When I went to watch Mamma Mia for the first time I had never heard the song "Slipping through my fingers" before and I absolutely sobbed during the whole scene. I still think it was more than just a chick flick weep - more of a cathartic moment when a lot of stuff hit home. I love the lyrics and feel as if they were written for me and Abbie. She, however, thinks they're really dumb and has taken out an injunction against me playing the song at her wedding along with a slide show!

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

I have around 55,000 images in my picture library. If I assume that around 50% are work related that leaves 22,500 personal images taken since I got my first digital camera back in 2002. Forgive my shaky mental arithmetic but that works out at about 2,500 per year, or just over 200 per month on average... that actually feels quite reasonable, especially when I consider that I took 360 pictures on our recent holiday in Cape Verde. However, it would be an exhorbitant and quite impossible number if I was still using a film camera - imagine the cost in films, developing, postage or bus fare.

I guess that I could be considered a hard core user when it comes to my photography habit. Strangely enough I am often the only person with a camera at many social occasions, although increasingly less so these days. I feel bereft if I leave the house without at least one camera and am convinced that I will miss a golden opportunity - that once in a lifetime shot. Indeed it is a mantra and firm belief of mine that good photography is as much about opportunity as it is about knowing your way around a camera. Quite simply, it's often about being in the right place at the right time WITH YOUR CAMERA AT THE READY. But I'll save that lecture for another blog and endeavour to keep on topic, which, in case it's not yet apparent, is why do we take so many photographs (some of us admittedly more than others)? I'm excluding professional photographers, myself included and have my personal hat on.

The affordability and accessibility of digital photography has completely changed the way we take photographs and enjoy them. Photography is no longer confined to special occasions and holidays but is a part of our everyday life - a picture snapped on a mobile phone is uploaded onto Facebook in seconds for thousands to view and enjoy. When did someone last show you a dog eared photo of their beloved child or pet from a wallet? I'll bet it was displayed on a phone or IPOD. 

The digital age has changed our relationship with photography but I don't believe that the underlying emotional need has altered. We just do more of it for the same reason - and for me that is to freeze a moment in time, capture it and make it into something more tangible than a fleeting memory. Equally as important is the need to then share that moment with others. And as time goes by, those images of moments that were important enough to us to photograph become increasingly more treasured and special, because the memories fade and cannot possibly retain all the details.

The collection of photographs shown here are all taken from my childhood and represent just about all the pictures of me upto the age of about twelve. Baby photographs are conspicuous in their absence - my mother died when I was around 9 weeks old and photography probably wasn't top of mind for my poor dad. Despite that I am still struck by how few images there are, but this is probably not that unusual for the era (1965-1977). After this period I know there are many more photographs still in my dad's possession - he was a bit of  a gadget fiend and was (and still is) a keen photographer. But this handful of pictures is extremely valuable to me - I see things I couldn't possibly remember and without photography those details would be lost forever. The picture of my mum is one of only 3 that I have, sadly there are none of her with me. What I also find interesting is how much the line blurs between what we think we remember and what we are actually remembering from photographs. Our memories of smells and how things felt are often more accurate than of things we saw. I can remember how the big old sofa in the living room felt both velvety and rough and had soft gold fringes around the cushions but I can't remember sitting on it with my brothers and a ball bigger than me!

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!