A southwest Michigan Photographer's personal Story about why i ever picked up a camera

There’s something about the rhythm of everyday moments, little feet on hardwood floors, bedtime songs sung off-key, the way sunlight hits the kitchen table at just the right angle, that makes time feel both endless and fleeting all at once.

Twelve years ago, I became a mom. W was born early and spent the first week of his life in the NICU, giving us a crash course in fear and gratitude at the same time. When we finally brought him home, I sat his carseat on the kitchen table, looked at my husband, and said, “Now what do we do?” We were exhausted, in awe, and entirely unprepared, just like most new parents. And that was only the beginning.

The firsts came fast: first giggle, first steps, first time he slept longer than two hours in a row. (That last one took over a year, he was determined to keep us on our toes.) I was trying to figure out how to be a mom while also trying to remember who I was as a person. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, I picked up a camera because I needed a way to freeze it all. To hold onto it a little longer.

Then came G. From the second she entered the world, she made sure we knew she had arrived. Strong-willed, independent, and hilarious, she could talk circles around most adults by the time she was four. She’s my hype girl when she wants to be, and my most honest critic when she doesn’t. Her one-liners are legendary in our house. And she can play softball like nobody’s business. Watching her take the field in Southwest Michigan tournaments, whether in Paw Paw, Hartford, or St. Joe, feels like watching a real-life highlight reel unfold.

And then there’s K. My in-between baby who has been the literal sweetest since day one. Shy but brave, soft-spoken but so sure of herself. She taught herself to ride a two-wheel bike before she was three and a half because she refused to be left behind. She may not know what she wants to be when she grows up yet, but I have a feeling it will be something in the nurturing field. She has a caretaker’s heart. She is still the first to offer me a hug and a kiss, even at eight years old.

W is now twelve, G is ten, and K is eight. And somehow, I blinked.

I still carry the camera I picked up all those years ago. Only now it’s a lot fancier, and it’s in my hands almost every day. I use it to document families right here in the southwest corner of Michigan. Whether it’s on the shoreline of Lake Michigan, chasing golden hour in Benton Harbor or St. Joseph, or in a backyard tucked behind cornfields near Decatur, I do this because I know how much these moments matter. I know how quickly they pass. I know what it feels like to wish I could go back and live it one more time.

Photographing families isn't just a job for me, it’s personal. It is every giggle I caught from K when she thought no one was watching. Every victorious fist pump from G after a home run. Every determined dribble from W on a driveway hoop, dreaming out loud about the NBA.

These memories are my everything. Helping other families in Southwest Michigan hold onto theirs is why I do what I do.

Because someday, it won’t be sticky hands and toy-strewn living rooms. It will be high school games and senior pictures. Then college move-ins and empty bedrooms. But these photos, these tiny time machines, let us hold on just a little longer.