Kids are mean.

Adults are mean.

Sometimes people are kinda rotten.

Today a little girl told my daughter that she “wasn’t cool” and then proceeded to get up from the lunch table and find another spot to sit down.

[This is me envisioning doing terrible things to that little girl.]

But I get it. I really do. I get it because I am mean, too. I have done means things, both as a kid and as an adult.

But I also get it because kids are forgiving. Adults can be empathetic. I really don’t want to hurt people’s feelings. We are all nice, at times. We are all really not nice, at times. We know what bullying is because we’ve been bullied and we’ve been the bullies. If not out loud, then definitely in our hearts.

So today, with my child who exhibited no hurt feelings at the rudeness of this fellow third grader, I talked about kindness. And I reminded her to be the kind of person Jesus want us to be—kind, loving, compassionate, friendly. I reminded her to look for the kids who are getting left out and laughed at. I reminded her that unkindness really is “uncool.”

I also talked about how people will say mean things in this life. It’s just a fact of this life. You can’t run and hide from the hard things; they exist so we must be aware of them. But you can confront them. You can recognize that sometimes people say things that just aren’t true. And other times you can understand that if you burp at the lunch table and then laugh, that some little girls will not want to hang out with you.

Sometimes you’ve got to tamp down the weirdness (a phrase I’d like to put on a t-shirt actually) and then sometimes you’ve got to find those quirky friends who get your version of weird.

But whatever you do, remember to be kind. Quit being a jerk to those who don’t look the way you want them to. Be gentle with the burpers. It’s what Jesus would do.

And parents, be gentle with your kids. School can be rough so make sure that you are their soft places to fall, that home is a respite from the mean people. Affirm your children without being aghast at the rudeness of others. The rest of the world may be rough, but your kids need to know that you love them unconditionally, quirks and all.

July 27 was a beautiful day in Lincoln, Nebraska. I watched the sun rise next to my laboring friend Lauren and remember remarking that today would be her son or daughter’s birthday. Remember these images from Lauren’s maternity shoot? And this one a few days after Judah was born. Well, here is the rest of the story—with permission from Lauren and Josh—as seen from the lens of my camera.

We arrived at the hospital in the wee hours of the morning. Lauren worked through contractions in the dark quiet room for awhile, and then she walked the hallways. First with Josh, and later with me.

I’ll never forget our brief explorations of the hospital before it really woke up for the day. Lauren sashayed through the empty halls, powering through contractions as she walked in order to move the baby downward. We stepped outside and watched the sun begin to rise. When we arrived back in the room, Josh was sound asleep on what some nurses call the “empathy couch” due to it’s lack of comfort. There’s something about a husband resting that, in these two labors I’ve attended at least, puts a laboring wife’s mind to ease. I like Lauren’s happy smile in one of the following shots—she could still smile at this stage.

The sun’s brightness reflects on Lauren’s face. She is not sleeping here, don’t be fooled. Things are starting to get intense.

Out of the tub. The clock keeps ticking and we’re getting closer to meeting Judah.

And then he arrived. And all the hard work, all the growing of these past nine months, revealed itself in the form of a gorgeous gift of a baby boy. It was unbelievable. Even now I struggle to find the words to describe what it was like to see him for the first time. Thank goodness for photos.

Nine weeks of foster parenting classes together. One life-changing call for the placement of two little boys. Approximately a year and a half of watching them work through the foster care system like champs. Two family photo shoots. One profound and perfect adoption court date. One pregnant belly. Five people in the Cranford family by the end of the day on September 17, 2013 (and yes, I am counting wee Cranford in utero who we’ll meet face-to-face this winter).

Praising God with my friends today.

I needed a break. She needed a break.

First pumpkin spice latte of the season was almost a spiritual experience, though I’m embarrassed to admit it meant that much to me.

Homework sits, undone, on the kitchen table while she plays in the rain for HOURS.

I’m thankful for the rain, for the clouds, for the stream overflowing behind our house, for the little neighbors so happily playing together, for the hummingbird moths fascinating my daughter, for pumpkin spice lattes, for friends that call and text, for a husband who sent me to Starbucks even though we’re trying to save money, for a clean countertop, and last-but-not-least chocolate chip cookie dough.

I have not forgotten the date—no, I woke up with it on my mind. 9/11. Somehow it seems fitting that it’s a rainy day.

I’ve known Jacob and Allison for some time now, so it was a privilege to capture some family photos with their extended family a few weeks ago. Between enjoying their little ones at play—and convincing them at times to join the rest of the family in peeking at my camera—and wandering about in the Haymarket and Cooper Park, I really had a lovely time with the entire group. And watching grown men interact as brothers always turns back the clock, doesn’t it?

Thanks, Gerbers! I hope you enjoy these images as much as I do. You are a fine-lookin’ bunch!

**Brief sidenote: Jacob and Allison are fabulous foster parents to a baby boy right now. Perhaps one of my favorite family portraits includes him, but you, my dear friends, will not view it here. At least not now. I may not be able to acknowledge this precious child in photos, but I can acknowledge him in words. So now you know. (Remember, loved and cherished but not forgotten.)