How To Document Life With Kids & Staying Present

How do you balance documenting your family, your kids, and your everyday life while still being present in the moment?

Being a parent has been one of the most challenging things I've taken on. Adding that layer of trying to document my life and my growing family can easily double, triple, or even quadruple that difficulty. The very act of raising the camera to my eye created a barrier. I was looking at the lighting. I was looking at composition. I was thinking about the perfect expression to document for the photo. And at that point, I was no longer there – I wasn't present. If you can relate to this, there is a way to find balance if you're struggling with finding a balance. But I found that it didn't look like how I envisioned it in my head.

I adhere to two creative rules when photographing and documenting my family. The first is I always have a camera with me. It's either worn around my neck, slung around my shoulder, or in a fanny sling. I wish I could always have it in my hand, but when it comes to my family, that's just not the dynamic that's realistic. Sometimes one of my kids needs me to carry them, I need to grab them a snack. I just always need the ability to have my hands free. And connected to this is you need a camera that you're always comfortable carrying. I have my Ricoh GR III, GR IIIx, Fujifilm X100V (but check out the latest X100VI that's in stock!), or the Fujifilm X70.

The following rule, which is more important, is committing to daily practice with your camera. You have to be at a point where it's seamless and instinctive to operate your camera without fumbling with the technicalities or settings. Anything that might take you out of that moment.

I had a headstart with this, as I was already photographing weddings for four years before my first kid was born. I already knew how to navigate difficult situations and photograph with manual settings on the fly — even with many things going on. So, if you're not yet, please practice as much as possible to get to that instinctive nature with settings, finding light, lens choices, etc. Even thinking about, “Is this the right lens? Is this the right auto-focus setting?” can frustrate you and hinder your ability to be present in the moment.

How do I document my family without drawing attention or distracting from that moment? From making it "not" candid anymore?

The simple answer is: I don't.

I believe in being a present member of the family, so that means that the photos of my family are never taken in stealth. My kids are always well aware that their dad has his camera and is taking pictures of me. I've actually worked very hard to make photography a positive experience for my family. I've explained to them the significance of taking photos – to me as an artist – and the importance of preserving memories. I show them pictures all the time, and I invite them to have that conversation so that they can talk about the memories, so they can remember what happened.

The most fun now is having my kids collaborate creatively with me to make photos. Giving them input tells me what to take a photo of and what they will do while I take it. And this act of bonding over creating the photo creates a separate memory beyond the physical photograph itself.

When we get into photography, we have this aesthetic taste — this bar that's like, "This is a good photo." And we start learning to take photographs to try to recreate things that fit that bar. When documenting my family, the first thing I had to let go of to start being more balanced about this process was knowing when it's okay to just get “a shot” instead of “the shot.” There were times when we had a birthday party or we were on a trip, and I was frustrated because I didn't get “the shot”. Maybe it was out of focus, maybe a kid was blinking. But I realized that maybe the imperfect shot is the perfect shot because the perfect representation of that particular moment is that you didn't get it. These are your kids' personalities and your dynamic with them.

Even something as simple as the photo not being composed well, being out of focus, or having motion blur is actually a documentation of how you, as a photographer, were feeling and operating the camera at that time. That's how I can accept if a photo is not perfect by artistic or technical means. It's okay just to have a photo that reminds you of what happened instead of always striving to ensure that you get the exact photo of the moment that that memory occurred.

There's a crucial caveat to documenting my family: sometimes, I have to be okay with letting the shot go. I don't have a photo of it at all.

There are moments when the camera must take a back seat. If one of my kids needs comfort, if my wife needs help doing something, I have to be able to read the room and understand when the photographer in me has to step aside. This is not to say that things are always like this. Sometimes, there are times when things are chill, and I have time to find my shot. Perhaps my wife has got them, and I take a few steps back and document this scene where my two kids and my wife are walking down this cool hallway with this cool light.

I'm very lucky to have my wife, a partner who acknowledges that photography is important to me and that giving my family this documentation of our lives is essential. And she values this. But she also values the assurance that I will know when the photo is not worth it. I won't let the pursuit of photographing a moment compromise our family’s safety, happiness, or relationship.

In this grand scheme of things, as tempting as “the shot” can be, photography is only a tool that's supposed to enhance our lives and how we cherish them, but it should never overshadow your life.