Monthly Archives: September 2009

The Littlest Heroes Project | Emily

I made my way through the loungeroom, then sat myself at the table.  It wasn’t long before I was greeted by a hug.  You know, the there-are-arms-wrapped-tight-around-my-neck-and-I’m-not-sure-how-long-I-should-hug-back-before-pulling-away-but-I’ll-enjoy-it-in-the-meantime type hugs. And I did enjoy it.  She gave a great hug – definately a wonderful way to get the session started.

Emily has Global Develpoment Delay, and also has ASD tendencies.  Her way of showing acceptance of me was to hug me, nice and tight.  A genuine, motiveless, nice and tight hug.  What a great way of saying to someone, you know - I really am happy to have you in my space.  I’m very tempted to remember it myself for future meetings – if only we weren’t all so un-selfconscious as Emily.

Emily’s mother applied recently for a session, through the The Littlest Heroes Project.  Towards the end of the session yesterday she showed me the last ‘decent’ photograph they had of Emily, taken four years ago.  I felt so sad for them, in the sense that there was a whole chunk of Emily’s life that they’d not been able to capture, and record, and recall the moments of joy that had been.  And I’m sure there were plenty of those moments.  Despite Emily’s inability to express herself, as you or I might, there was definately a visible happiness, a calm in her spirit.  She is truly beautiful, inside and out.  Actually, flicking through the photographs last night, I was surprised at just how lovely she looked.  At just seven years of age she has a beauty and grace well beyond her years.  And it was an absolute pleasure to be able to capture that for her family.

As a charity session, not only was the session time and fee donated, but they will also receive all the digital files on disc to keep for themselves, as well as a print of each of the images.  It is a tremendous blessing on my part to be able to do this for them.  They’ve missed out on four years already, having other issues and priorities to focus on. It would make me incredibly sad if I weren’t able to offer something that I take for granted in order that they don’t miss out on another year.

If you, or a young child or person (under the age of 21) you know is currently fighting, or has fought, or suffers from any serious childhood disease or life-altering disability please get in touch with the team from The Littlest Heroes Project. Once your application is accepted they’ll be more than happy to put you in touch with a local photographer who will, in turn, be tremendously blessed to be able to offer his or her time.

Below are some of the images from Emily’s session.  I love each and every one of them.  I especially love the last set of four though, taken at the end of the morning as we were winding up.  Emily’s brother, Aaron, had been determined to get in the shots the whole morning, and I’d promised him his turn when Emily’s was over.  I’m so glad that I got to capture the two of them together.  There was such an obvious bond between her and her older brother.  It was precious to see.  It makes my heart very happy indeed.

Melbourne Portrait Photographer

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Narrelle x

{ Children’s Photographer Melbourne }

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Just Beachy

When I asked Jaedon what he wanted to do tomorrow, I didn’t really expect an answer. Not apart from ‘Have some chocolate toast for breakfast, pleeeeeeease mummy’.  But I actually got a very definate answer, in two parts.

Part one: I’d like to go for a drive, mummy.  (and let me add here that both Matt and I obviously still have a hint of English-isms influencing our accents.  If you could hear how he says Mummy, there’d be no way you could refuse what he was asking for. Even chocolate toast for breakfast.)
Reasonable request. Ok, sweetie. We can go for a drive.  Where would you like to go?

Part two: I’d like to go the beach please, mummy.  The beach?  I’m not sure where that one came from, but he said mummy again, in his beautifully sweet voice, so who was I to say no.  And the boy who doesn’t like to get dirty, or wet – and I’m seriously talking DOES. NOT. LIKE. to get dirty or wet – went and got his swimmers out, along with Alicia-Rae’s, and made sure I didn’t forget to pack them. We were going to the beach after all.  You know, the place with plenty of sand, and dirt, and water….

I thought maybe he’d forget, or realise the error of his ways as he slept, and dreamt of endless stretches of dirt and wet sand. But I woke to him standing at my side of the bed, whispering in my ear, Mummy… We’re going to the beach today, Mummy.  Joy.

For all his fussiness and compulsive neatness, we had an absolutely wonderful time.  It was as if he’d neatly tucked that side of himself away, deciding to simply be a boy, and do what boys {normally} do best.   I think we all forgot ourselves for a few hours, and just delighted in being. Together.
And even as I sit here, recalling the day, I can’t quite shake the magical joy it was. Nor do I want to. It’s tough being a parent sometimes (yes, I admitted it), and I wonder from time to time what it would feel like to be able to do what I want, when I want.  I have a vague recollection of what that was like.  But at that point in time I was exactly where I wanted to be, doing precisely what I wanted to. And needed to.  It’s nice to just be.  So, boy did I soak it up.
And what makes me extra joyful is I have that magical afternoon captured. Frozen forever.  Even since last night I’ve looked at the photographs at least a half dozen times. Feeling, remembering, smiling. Sighing. Breathing in, exhaling, and being thankful.  Thankful for my life right now. And thankful for my boy’s sudden and necessary desire to go to the beach.

And I absolutely adore the photos. I think it’s the first time I’ve felt absolutely compelled to do something with them.  I guess its a bit like the cobbler’s house here – we don’t actually have a lot of photography adorning our walls (aside from the fact that we can’t, as we’re renting while we build).  But I already have some of these earmarked for nice big canvases, and most likely an album.  It’s nice to feel like I’m on the client end of my photography.  :)

If you’d like to view the slideshow of our beautiful afternoon, I’d love for you to share in it.  Just click here.
But, of course, I’m still going to share some of my favourite shots with you now.  You didn’t think I wouldn’t, did you?
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Narrelle x
{ Children’s Photographer Melbourne }

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Today

One of the downsides to a break in blogging is getting back into the swing of it.
I’m sitting here thinking of all the things I could natter on about.  About how our kids have been sick for the last two weeks, taking turns at keeping us up at night, and attentive during the day. About how I had my own share of sickness, for 48 very long hours.  About how we lost internet connection for a whole day and I felt like I had my arms cut off. Or I could talk about the extra cuddles I got as I lay on the couch comforting and being comforted in turn. About the deep feeling of satisfaction and primeval sense of purpose in mothering my babies, and the rawness and gratitude of then being nurtured by my children. Getting a brief glimpse at the circle of life.  And I could probably mention the joy in being undistracted, having a whole day with nothing to do but play (must remember to switch the internet off more often).
But I’m not sure where to start.  And if I started writing, really writing, I might not know where to stop.

Instead, for now, I’ll make do with a photo. I can always manage a photograph.  Even in the midst of sickness and craziness our lives get documented.
This one is a piece of today.  It was a beautiful day. A day well spent, and fully treasured. 

Child Photography Melbourne

Narrelle x

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.live.

As we battled our way across the road, dodging pedestrians with the stroller, I heard the siren. I saw the crowd part, just as I imagine the Red Sea would once have done. I didn’t think much else of it though – I was too preoccupied with getting across the road safely, before the green man turned red and stopped flashing. I stood at the entrance to the train station, searching the boards for the train that would take us to daddy. We were meeting him for lunch. Sushi actually. From the great little takeaway just up the road from his office. I had four trains to choose from, all leaving from different platforms, from one end of the station to the other. I spent a few minutes calculating which would leave soonest, and which I could realistically get to on time. I’m known for lunging at train doors, just as the doors sqeeze shut. Sometimes I make it to the inside, sometimes not. I gave myself a bit of time and headed for a train that would allow me to make it with minutes to spare. There was no hurry. I even stopped at the newspaper stand to check out the day’s headlines, and contemplated buying some chuppa chups for the three of us. Then I checked my email inbox from my phone. I hate to think that I might be missing something. I sent a text to Matt to let him know we were almost on our way.

I’d forgotten about the siren, about the medics’ mad dash into the station.  As I was filling in time, they were fighting for it.
On the way to the lift down to the platform I passed them. The man with his shirt torn off and his face obscured. The ambulance officers administering CPR. The curious crowd. The police officers moving them on. Through the glass as the lift lowered itself  downwards I watched his body rise and fall with each effort to get his heart beating again.  I felt mine beating double time, almost as if it were trying to make up for the deathly still one before it. I bowed my head and willed him to live, as a tear slid from the corner of my eye. I prayed for the stranger, struck by how fragile life is and how suddenly it can be over.
At this point I don’t know whether he made it or not, and I’m glad of this.  It gives me hope that his last minutes on this earth weren’t spent on a train station floor, as an object of curiousity.  Instead he’s laying in a hospital bed, thankful that he came so close and was given a second chance. I think of all the wonderful things he has planned for when he’s recovered.  the dreary habits he’s going to discard. the fears he’s going to throw away. the joy he’s going to seek. the dreams he will chase. the life he will live.
And each time that scene plays itself again inside my mind I will be reminded to do the same.
And I will you to do likewise.

Live.

Narrelle x

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There was definately something about Mary

There are moments when I walk away from a session with a deap-seated knowledge that I’m made to do what I do. I feel happy. content. complete. fulfilled. excited. all-a-quiver. quiet. elated. at peace.
This was one of those times.
I got into my car and headed away, waving goodbye as I left, a smile on my face and a chesire cat grin in my heart. The grin’s still there, by the way. Each time I think of little Mary, and her beautifully sweet nature, and her innocent heart, it lights up again. Gosh – I could go on and on about how much I loved this session, about how much I loved little Mary, about how wonderful it felt each time she ran to me with one of her hugs. How she reminded me of what childhood is all about. How she made me want to capture that so bad.
As I watched the images upload I gasped, then smiled. More than once. They were just how I wanted them to be. I could breathe again.

Allison and Tim, I’m thinking this could be one of my favourite sessions to date. It was an absolute joy spending time with you and your gorgeous girl. I can still feel her spontaneous, genuine hugs, even if , at the time, I was simply something to grab on to, to stop from falling. I’ll take them as hugs. And I’ll hold onto the warm fuzzy feeling that went with them. There’s nothing quite like the honest joy of a child – I could breathe in solely of that all day if my body didn’t rely on oxygen. And if Jaedon wasn’t already betrothed I’d be begging for an arranged marriage between the two of them.

Here’s just a few for now, though I’d love to pop the whole lot on here. They represent to me what I love about photography, and children, and life. And the blending of the three.

Children's Photography Melbourne

Child Photography Melbourne

Child Photographer Melbourne

Melbourne Children's Photographer

Children's Photographer Melbourne

Narrelle x

{ Child Photographer Melbourne }

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M o r e   i n f o