About this blog

Lichen is the symbiotic relationship between a fungus and an algae. It is also my name.

My dad gave me my first Nikon when I was 12 and I have had one ever since.


I started this blog as a place to showcase my photos. Over time it has grown into a diary of sorts, a story in the making. The birth of my son, Asa in March of this year has taken the blog in an obvious direction. These days there are lots of photos of him and lots of stories about my experience of motherhood. I don’t see that changing much any time soon.

In 2007 I married Angus.

Our life is anything but ordinary. Angus is a musician, traveling and touring with his band, BROTHER. I married into the rockstar life. As much as is possible Asa and I go along. We take long road trips together, we fly across the country together and we stay in all manner of accommodation along the way. This is not always easy, but remaining as a family is most important right now, so we make it work.

I love to cook, love to eat and love to piece together different recipes. I dabble in gardening, card making and scrap booking. My days are filled with washing cloth diapers, deciding what’s for dinner and learning Photo Shop, one tutorial at a time. Chances are, you’ll read about all of these things here at One Moment Captured.

Thanks for visiting,
Lichen.

Blue eyed boy

Eyes so blue, like his grandmother, like his aunt. They're a surprise every time I see them.

They catch me off guard, these eyes like blueberries, eyes like sapphires. I don't expect them. Brown, perhaps, hazel most likely, even green. No mom, they're blue.

Blue like storming seas, blue like early winter mornings. Blue like my baby boy's eyes. Asa blue.

He takes his swinging seriously

New Trick: Standing up in the crib

Holy crap! Just last night I sat Asa down in his crib and this happen:





This was shocking, to say the least. Asa has loved being "stood up" on his feet for a while now, but it's always me doing the pulling. As of last night, around 7pm, he will do it himself, thank you very much. 

It's like I blinked and he's mobile. He shimmies on his tummy now, comando style. He sits up sometimes, but usually ends up folded over his legs, trying to suck his toes. Once or twice now I have put him down, turned around for something, and turned back only to find him across the room sucking on my sandal. Kid is quick, thats for sure.

And now with the pulling up - cruising and walking can't be too far behind. This is a whole new ballgame and I have a feeling I am in for some long innings chasing after this one. Here we go...

New trick: Sitting up

Introducing: New Tricks

The first in an ongoing series.




This installment is Sitting Up.

Trying something new

A new template, a new format, a new blog. Welcome.

When he's gone

When he’s gone, things are not quite right.

This old house takes on an eerie quiet, a sustained silence that’s unnatural. Even the walls know he is away and refuse to creak as usual. The floorboards and the stairs groan as I lumber up them, baby on one hip, dirty laundry on the other. But the groan is half hearted and weak, as if even these inanimate objects, these pieces of our home, protest his absence. I sigh my agreeance as I round the landing and head towards the washer.

In the morning I feel it the most, this strange lacking. The bed is enormous, comforters and blankets stretch for miles, and strain as I might I cannot take up enough room to make this bed feel full. There are big, gaping expanses of mattress all around me, empty places he should fill. I am swimming in pillows, tossing and turning on a sea of sheets, as dawn slowly rolls in. I hear Asa in his crib by the bed. Early morning grunts and squeaks, calling out to the new day. It’s time to abandon this too-big bed and get up.

Morning fades into afternoon. Hours filled with fighting for nap time and feeding rice cereal; dish washing and email checking. Mundane tasks linked together by my pacing feet. The day progresses, moving forward from 3 to 4 and 5 o’clock, but something is amiss, something is not quite right. The hollow tick of the clock in the kitchen is out of tune and out of synch. The coffee mug feels misshapen in my hand. Our day falters, unsure of it’s direction until we end up at night. Bedtime again and the crumpled expanse of bed lays before me, just as empty as when I left it this morning.

When he’s gone things are not quite right because we belong together. Because we are a family, a unit, a party of three. We were made for each other, the three of us, and things are only as they should be when we are as we should be – together.

But tomorrow, he comes home. And the world will be right again.