I’ve spent the bulk of today going through 2011′s images, picking some out for a year-end slideshow, re-living the sessions and weddings and all the travel we did. It wasn’t the busiest year for weddings… 2012 is already shaping up to be a great deal busier than 2011. But what 2011 lacked in busy-ness, it more than made up for in just about every other way.

In 2011, we put 24,000 miles on the car, traveling to weddings in Missouri, Virginia, North Carolina, DC, and South Carolina. We stayed in seven different hotels, ate at countless fast food joints, and became really fast friends with the Gas Buddy app for iPhone. We cooked at home whenever we could, and we each gained at least ten pounds. Ellie started the second grade, turned eight years old, discovered Justin Bieber, and got her hair cut to above her shoulders. I chopped almost all my hair off. Mike grew a beard, hated it, and shaved it off. We all found out that we love scarves and thick, comfy socks. Mike and I ate some AMAZING food in some incredible restaurants, from Aubriana’s right here in Wilmington, to Kramerbooks in Dupont Circle, to Maggiano’s in Durham.

2011 wasn’t just fun and travel and calories. We lost Dino, watched some good friends move far away, and went the entire year without seeing my mom or my siblings. In “this isn’t bad, but it’s kind of weird” news, Ellie gained a stepmother and stepbrother in 2011, along with a hamster named Gibble. Mike started a new job, and I reunited with an old boss who has asked me to do some contract administrative work for him in my spare time next year.

In 2011, Mike and I got engaged. (Squeeeeeee!!!!!)

One of the most significant developments from 2011 was Mike picking up a camera at a session early in the year. He’d spent years pursuing photography as a hobby, but it honestly didn’t occur to me that he might want (or be able) to do it professionally. That is, until I downloaded his images. Holy crap, the man can shoot! And, better still, he LOVES it. I’ve spent the last decade rejecting second shooter after second shooter, for reasons ranging from “your work never rises above awful” to “I can’t babysit you while I’m working” to “you smell really, really, really bad”. A good second shooter is hard to come by; an excellent one (who smells good, doesn’t need babysitting, and actually knows what he’s doing with a camera) is damn near impossible. And I somehow stumbled upon the man that not only wants to marry me (squeeeeeee!!!!), but also happens to be an excellent second shooter.

So, in 2011 I quite naturally began the transition from Charo: Solo Shooter to Charo + Mike: Shooting Team. How lucky am I, to be able to work side by side with the man I love (and am marrying! Squeeeeee!!!!!)… pretty damn lucky. (Along with this change we’ll be launching our new website soon… but… one thing at a time for now!)

And, finally… the real point of all this rambling. The pictures. The pictures of the people who made everything possible for Mike and I this year. Our clients friends, who got married, had babies, celebrated anniversaries and family reunions and birthdays, and asked us to capture their joy. In the slideshow below are 165 images of incredible couples, families, friends, who trusted their memories to us. I don’t know how best to express my gratitude and my pride, other than to commemorate their beautiful faces just one last time this year.

Happy New Year. I love you all…

Mike,

You came into my life right when I needed you most (and right when I was most adamant that I wanted to go it alone). You showed me how to laugh without worrying that laughing makes my double chin more like a triple chin, or maybe even a quadruple. You taught me to allow myself to be adored, to be wanted, and to believe that I deserve it. You showed me that every part of me is lovable, even the parts I’ve always abhorred. You’ve been there for times that were amazing, and times that were best left forgotten. Times I was beautiful, and times I was decidedly not. We’ve been poor and rich together, sick and healthy, thin and fat, and always, always happy. From our ramen-and-jammies nights to our high-heeled-dinner out nights, it’s been nothing but joy… and a neverending gratitude for what we’ve both found in each other.

You’re my yin, my counterbalance, my solid ground. I’d be a fool to not say YES.

In case it isn’t clear… we’re getting married!!! After witnessing hundreds of couples commit the rest of their lives to one another, it’s our turn! I could not be happier. I could not be more excited.

Thank you, Mike. For loving me. For being the incredible person you are. And for making an honest woman out of me.

We tried for a self-engagement photo, but I’m terrible at pre-focusing with the self timer, so we got one so-so in focus shot, and two halfway decent but really blurry shots… and then we just took pictures of each other for good measure (and maybe for the bio page). Here we are… your future Mister and Missus B.

I can’t lie – I love it. I love watching Dexter and old reruns of Law & Order SVU. I love having The Daily Show on my DVR. I LOVE CABLE!!!

The other night, Mike found Can’t Hardly Wait on one of the On Demand stations. Eeeeeee! One of my all-time favorite movies! It is just as funny today as it was several dozen watchings ago. If you haven’t seen it, go rent it or buy it or find it On Demand. It’s got Seth Green in it. ‘Nuff Said.

So, in honor of that movie, and of our impromptu movie date night, here’s a link to the Soundtrack to Can’t Hardly Wait on Spotify.

The only thing missing from the official soundtrack is Yaz’ “Only You” – which is a song that I’m really sappy about, mostly because of the movie. So here’s a bonus track for you.

Happy First Day of Christmas! (It is the “first day of Christmas” today, right? Because the twelfth day is on Christmas Eve? I’ve never really understood how that works)

You’re eight years old. EIGHT YEARS OLD!

Oh Beanie. You’re such an amazing little girl. Sorry, BIG girl. Watching you grow up and become the incredible person you are today… that’s been the absolute best part of the last eight years. You and I have experienced so much together… lost teeth, Santa cookies, road trips, tickle time, Sunday pancakes, an endless parade of pets… the nonstop search for Duckie, who is always lost just when you’ve needed him for bedtime.

Only you don’t need Duckie for bedtime anymore. That’s how I know you’re really eight years old now. Maybe Duckie will just sleep in our bed from now on. Surely he’s a little lonely.

All these years, and all these memories… and so many more memories to make! I must have fifteen thousand photos on my hard drives… all of you, you and me, silly things we’ve done, places we’ve gone… pictures you asked me to take of your bears, your Duckie, your toys. I can only imagine how many hard drives we’ll fill up over the years to come.

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on, Pie. Everything from those big brown eyes to that heart-melting smile, and all the way down to your silly little toes. And let’s not forget your little HANDS. Those hands, wow. I’ve always been in love with those little hands. They started out so pudgy, dimpled knuckles and sausage thumbs. Now, they look like tiny versions of my hands. Maybe it sounds a little weird, but every time you put your tiny hand in mine, my heart jumps just a little bit. I love holding your hand. I guess it won’t be long before you won’t need to hold my hand across the street or in crowds. So maybe I soak it in a little more now, while I still have the chance. Time goes by so fast.

I loved being your official party-booth photographer last weekend, and meeting all the kids from school. I loved watching you play and talk with your girlfriends, and I especially loved watching your face light up when you opened your presents. I can’t wait to paint those wooden heart bobble things with you, and hopefully read a new Roald Dahl book together. Maybe we can squeeze into the recliner together and snuggle while we read. While you’re still small enough to sit on my lap. While you’ll still indulge me. I’ll take as much as I can get.

I love you, Miss Bean. To the moon and back.

Just a quick look at what’s coming up from Miss Bean’s 8th Birthday Bash yesterday! Yes, she is eight years old already… it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.

Hang tight – I’ve got tons of pictures and stories to post today!

I woke up in a great mood this morning – and without being cajoled and bribed out of bed by Mike for our morning coffee and news ritual! It felt good – I’m refreshed, I’m happy, and I’m almost… ALMOST… feeling a Christmas vibe. Okay, don’t get me wrong – most everything about the season makes my blood boil. But then I think about little Miss Bean, who asked me a few weeks ago, “Mommy… do YOU believe in Santa Claus?” She still believes. Pretty sure this is her last Santa year. Remembering how magical Christmas was to me when I still believed in Santa… well, that helps me get over my insufferable disgust at the over-commercialization of it all, and just enjoy what it is to the Bean.

Miss Bean will turn 8 on Friday. EIGHT! How did that happen?!? She’s so tall, and wise, and goofy. For her, December is a HUGE month… her birthday is early enough in December to not screw up Christmas, AND Santa visits two houses for her on Christmas Eve. It’s a pretty big deal (and he’s WAY more organized than I could ever hope to be).

Ooooh, speaking of Santa – check out this wonderful blog entry that my friend Andrea Kelly shared on Facebook the other day! It’s such a great letter to a child who finally asks “Tell me the truth, ARE YOU SANTA?” I hope when that day comes – about a year from now, I’d guess – I am as eloquent and careful with my response. I also hope she asks me and not her dad, but that’s another post for another day

Before I head out into this bitter cold for shopping and errand-running, let me leave you with a song. This is one of the few Christmas songs I can tolerate (the others are U2′s cover of Baby Please Come Home, and oddly enough Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas). Of COURSE this is a Pearl Jam cover of a Stevie Wonder song – what else would make my “best songs ever” list? Bonus: the lyrics are beautiful.

Someday at Christmas men won’t be boys
Playing with bombs like kids play with toys
One warm December our hearts will see
A world where we are free

Someday at Christmas there’ll be no wars
When we have learned what Christmas is for
When we have found what life’s really worth
There’ll be peace on earth

Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where we can love free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime

Someday at Christmas we’ll see a land
With no hungry children, no empty hand
One happy morning people will share
A world where people care

Someday at Christmas there’ll be no tears
All of us are equal and live without fear
One shining moment, one cry away
For our world today

Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime

Someday at Christmas man will not fail
Hate will be gone and love will prevail
Someday a new world that we can all start
With hope in every heart

Someday at Christmas
Oh someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmastime

I wasn’t going to blog about this at all, but I ran across a couple of old photographs of Dino, and I realized that I need to share him and his story.

My ex-husband and I got Dino as a puppy in 2002.  He was a purebred chocolate lab.  Sweet, hungry all the time, a little dumb, definitely wiggly and, if you were lucky, a teensy bit cuddly.

Within a few months of him coming home with us, he started itching.  BAD.  Scratching so much that his skin bled.  In fact, he was so itchy that he could barely stop scratching long enough to eat.  If you’re at all familiar with the appetite of a labrador retriever, you’ll know – that’s DAMN itchy.

I took him to the vet, over and over and over again.  We got antibiotics to fight the infections that all the scratching caused.  We fed him yogurt to keep him from developing yeast infections from the antibiotics.  We cooked his food to make sure he was getting no preservatives or allergens.  We removed all the carpet in the house.  Had the house checked for molds.  Had him allergy tested by an internationally renowned animal allergy expert.  Put him on antihistamines.  Had him checked for every possible ailment.  Over the course of two years, we saw seven different veterinarians, visited three experts, had him tested and re-tested, cooked his every meal from scratch, bathed him in prescription shampoos, gave him expensive prescription medications… and still, he scratched.

The only thing that worked was a low dose of prednisone.  It didn’t keep him completely itch-free, but it helped.  He could sleep and eat without frantic scratching.

But he smelled.  He smelled something awful.  I can’t even describe the smell – it was some kind of funk that gets stuck in every fabric it wafts near.  It was barely controllable with bathing… mostly, he just stank.  And his coat was greasy and unattractive.  It made him really unappealing to visitors, even our friends and family.  No one wanted to be near poor Dino.

When my ex and I separated, it was decided that Dino would stay with him – he had the fenced yard and doggy door, and worked mostly from home with very little traveling, while I was living in an apartment and traveling long distances almost every weekend.  I would see Dino every few weeks, and occasionally had him over for long weekend visits – but mostly, he was not my dog anymore.

Years later, he became my dog again – it was to be a brief (several month) stay while my ex relocated and got ready to take him back.   It was so nice to have a dog again… especially my dog, the one I’d picked out as a puppy.  As smelly and greasy and ill-mannered as he was (and check out those claws that his daddy never trimmed – sigh), he was still my dog.  Man did I ever love him.

He was old.  He was old, and much sicker than he’d ever been before.  Whatever it was that made him itchy all these years was worse than ever.  He was losing some of his functions – the prednisone took several years off his life, and he really wasn’t doing so well.  A little senile, a little crotchety, and still a lot itchy.  Things went downhill pretty quickly, and it was strongly recommended that he be put down, as he was completely miserable.

That was probably the hardest thing I have ever done.

It’s been a couple months now.  I see Dino in every chocolate lab I run across.  Dumb and silly and hyper and just *itching* (har, har) for attention.

So that was the story of his health.  Now let’s talk about Dino, the dog.

He smiled almost all the time.  He hardly ever barked, but he jumped on visitors mercilessly because he just plain didn’t care about being yelled at.  He answered to ALL of our nicknames for him – Mr. Womps, Professor Brown, Doctor Brown, Womper-Doo, Doobie-Doo, Dino-Womps, Fats (he gained a lot of weight from the prednisone), and sometimes we’d even call him Dino.  He wanted nothing more than to sleep at the foot of my bed with his bone right next to him, safe and comfortable and loved.  He was a big, slobbery, brown mess with terrible manners (he would occasionally rest his head on my knee and look up at me with puppy dog eyes, and then belch.  Loudly.), an impossibly long tongue, and a big, dumb, perma-smile.  He was awesome.  He was pure dog, exactly the way dogs should be.  Except, you know, for the itching and the declining health.

Dino made it all the way to nine years old before he left us.  When we first started him on his routine medication, they warned us that he may not make it to seven.  We were lucky.  Dino wanted to stick around a little longer than they expected him to.  He was always very stubborn.

The other day, someone asked me about him.  It was the first time I said out loud that he’d died.  I shocked myself when the words came out of my mouth.  I guess when someone is in your life for almost a decade, it takes a while to believe that they’re gone.  I still sometimes think that maybe he ran away, and he’s rooting through someone’s garbage looking for discarded panties to eat the crotch out of.  You know, a little heaven on earth for the Wompers.  That’s where I like to think he went off to, anyway.

Goodnight, Professor.  We miss you.

one image from each of my first five weddings, 2002:

Copying those images from disk to drive has been a remarkable experience for me. A few weddings I ran across already seeing the full image set in my head long before popping the disk in the drive. A few others, it took opening the image files to remember… but once I saw image #0001 in the directory, the memories came flooding back.

It turns out, I remember every wedding. Every bride and groom. Every flowergirl and ringbearer. Every tearful toast and raucous dance-off. I even remember where I was when I shot each event… emotionally, physically, where I was in my head, what was happening in my life.

I guess it’s been over the last week that I have really realized: this isn’t just a job.

If it were “just a job”, I’d pull the images from 2004-05-15, select the best for the blog, tell you that the bride’s name was Carson, the groom’s name was Mike, they got married on Bald Head Island… and I’d walk away. I wouldn’t spend thirty minutes sifting through the images, remembering Carson’s quirky sense of humor, the mishap as she exited the golfcart for the ceremony (that I caught on film – but politely omitted from the proofset because, eh, it wasn’t cute). I wouldn’t reminisce about the connection I had with this couple, how we laughed and joked while I… did my job. The job that doesn’t feel like a job. The job that leaves me with so many memories, so many connections, so much joy.

I have been witness to countless different ways of loving, each one valid and right for that particular couple, each one unique and wonderful and impossible to explain. I’ve heard secrets and watched as family members put old grudges aside to welcome a new member into the fold. I’ve watched brides break down over the silliest little details; I’ve even watched as a bride berated her entire wedding party for not being pretty enough (not kidding). I’ve also witnessed a bride hold everything together while the details of her wedding silently fell apart around her. I’ve met loving moms and bitter moms, prideful dads and detached dads, bridesmaids who sulked, groomsmen who arrived drunk, and wedding parties who were there only to support and love their friends, their brothers, their sisters. I’ve seen a lot.

Going through these old weddings over the past week has reminded me. Of every little wondrous emotion I have felt over the last nine years, witnessing these weddings. Your weddings. Your loves, your families, your friends, your dreams. I not only witnessed them, but in a small way, I was a part of them. I am 100% invested in each wedding from the moment I take my first shot until the day…. well, I haven’t reached that day yet.

This has been a happy week for me! Reliving these weddings, engagements, bridals… it’s revived a part of me that I forgot about… the part that keeps me doing this, year after year. The part that doesn’t let me get a “real job” with real benefits and a steady paycheck.

My flashback post series was spurred on by a desire to share some of my older work, work that never made it to my blog because no one was blogging back then… work that has been long hidden on backup disks in safes and storage lockers. I’ve shot some incredible events at amazing venues, and I hated the thought that all that work and history wouldn’t be seen by new clients and blog followers. In a way, it was a selfish mission – I wanted a little more exposure for some awesome work I’ve done in the past, and this was a fun way to get there.

But now that I’m really sinking my teeth into the series, planning out my posts, picking images, and reviewing all these weddings… I can see that there is a much better reason to share these with you. These images all have a bit of me in them. I could have spent the last nine years working a dull (but predictable) job, earning a modest salary, enjoying decent benefits, and getting to sleep in my own bed every night. But I chose this path instead. I chose endless road hours chugging red bull and coffee, thirty thousand miles a year, becoming a part of another family for one day, telling their stories, finding myself in those stories.

These weddings are part of my story, and this is the best way I can tell it.

And because I firmly believe every blog entry should have lots of photos, here’s one of aforementioned Carson and Mike, after their ceremony on Bald Head Island in May of 2004. Just look at these two. How could I even try to be disconnected from that? Their day is one of hundreds that have put me where I am today.

I love this job.

It snowed around 5″ in Wilmington NC last week!  After Ellie built her very first snowman, she asked me to take some video of her.  I can’t help it, I think this is the cutest thing in the entire world.

SIGH.