When All The Kids Are Home It's Family Photo Time

Everyone is in the photo!

We had a rare confluence of events for a few days this week ... all the kids were home! Including  the ones in college and newlyweds Taylor and Bethany, who stopped by on the way home from their honeymoon. That means several things:

--An emergency $200+ trip to the grocery store;
--There are 17 people in the house;
--The dishwasher is working overtime;
--All couches, mattresses and floor space are occupied by sleeping people;
--The board game playing begins early in the day and continues to the wee hours o' the morning;
--It's family photo time.

I'm not sure if the neighbors were alarmed when we marched down the street yesterday to a nearby vacant lot for photos. Whatever the case, it had to be impressive seeing an army of Sabos taking up Marshall Lane.

I am very fortunate to work with Sara Harris -- she of the "best photographer in the land" status -- who graciously offered on very short notice to break out the camera for a photo shoot. The back story to our photo shoot is that after considering everyone's schedules, the older girls had set the time at 1 o'clock. Which was great except for one minor detail: We needed a photographer.

The morning of the photo shoot I traveled to a meeting with one of the clients of the firm I work for. And who should be accompanying myself, my boss Stephanie Heinatz and my son Ethan (along to see how things go down in the PR/Marketing world) to the meeting? None other than Sara Harris. One thing led to another on the trip home and soon enough she was offering her photography services. What a blessing!

The older Sabo lads looking manly!

The skies were cloudy and it was mild weather so basically it was a perfect day for a shoot -- especially considering there was no chance of a glare off my bald dome. To whomever owns the vacant lot down the street, thank you for letting us spend a few minutes there.

One thing I noticed when Sara was shooting photos was that she was waaaaaaayyyyy back there. Or so it seemed. I guess that's because she had to fit everyone in the frame ...

Here's a few samples of Sara's handiwork. As you can see, I'm a very blessed man. Julie looks fabulous and the kids look great. Happy New Year and thanks again for stopping by my blog.

The Sabo ladies looking fine!

A Year In Instagram Photos In Gloucester, Virginia: Rivahstyle

We live in a little 3-bedroom house with 2 bathrooms that's 1,600 square feet. Well, almost 1,600 square feet. Basically there's kids everywhere. We rack 'em and stack 'em.

But one of the things I love about our little house is that we're three blocks from a white sandy beach on the York River. The sunsets are amazing. The kids have a blast down there. I love to walk down there and enjoy the peace of the tidal saltwater. I thought I'd share some of my Instagram highlights from the past year of living on a peninsula, a few blocks from the beach. If you'd like to find me on Instagram, I'm @jmatthewsabo and I'll follow back!

Do you have a favorite?

The One Thing Everyone Should Do Today

Sunset-watching requires waiting. Trust me.

I was rummaging through the archives of Sabo musings and came across this one from my old "12 Kids and Counting" blog that I banged out six years ago. I'll link to it here and I think you'll like it and relate to it -- it's about trying to hustle through the express line only to have the customer in front of me whip out a checkbook and sssslllllooooowwwwllllllyyyyy write a check. The blog post is all about waiting and how we're unaccustomed to waiting. And how there's a Biblical principle of waiting that we seem to have forgotten in this culture.

Here's the link: `And Wait On Your God Continually'

But it also got me to thinking about what I've learned shooting photographs of sunsets. I've been on Instagram for a few years and my calling card is sunset photos. We live on a peninsula here in Gloucester and our house is three blocks from a private beach on the York River and a we're a couple of  miles from the beach at Gloucester Point where the iconic Coleman Bridge spans the water.

Over Thanksgiving Ethan was home and I grabbed him just before sundown late one afternoon and trekked down to the beach to impart some fatherly wisdom on photographing sunsets. By no means am I professional photographer. I have friends who are professional photographers and I would not insult them by saying I'm even close to their abilities.

That said, I've learned a few things about sunsets over the years. Here's my three takeaways.

1) Get outside. In order to shoot a photograph of a sunset you have to actually see it. If that sounds a little too obvious, it is. It's my personal opinion that the world would be a better place if more people spent more time personally enjoying sunsets. It takes time and effort to get out and see a sunset but the rewards are incalculable. Take time out of your busy schedule of surfing the net, posting on Facebook, Tweeting, commuting, "working" or otherwise wasting time to watch the sun go down. Enjoy the peace, the view, the beauty and the serenity. You'll feel better, I promise. And take a picture of it.

2) Be patient. The York River is one to two miles wide where I typically watch the sun go down. What I've noticed is that the most astounding part of the sunset occurs about 10 minutes after the actual sunset. I learned this the hard way. When I first started photographing sunsets, I'd watch the sun go down and then call it a day. But a couple times I was walking home from the beach and turned around several minutes after sunset to see the sky aflame. Then I would run down to the beach for the best shots. There's a lesson here: Beautiful things take time. You can't rush them. You can't hurry them up, or microwave them or get them in the express line. Slow down, enjoy the view and let the sunset marinate to perfection.

3) Share it with somebody you love. I saw the clouds in the sky the other day and knew it was going to be a hot sunset. So I grabbed Julie and told her we were going on a date. We went down to the pier at Gloucester Point Beach and watched the sky catch fire behind the Coleman Bridge. It was beautiful. And I'll say from personal experience that sunsets are best enjoyed when you're kissing the love of your life.

When Everything Is Right In The World

Striking a pose

It was Tuesday night and it was five of my boys and me. Again. The ladies of the Sabo house were off to women's Bible study, two kids were at soccer practice, one was at work and so it was the lads' night out. We made a quick stop at the True Value hardware store to pick up some supplies for my new found DIY woodworking projects and then headed for the beach at Gloucester Point. These lovely fall evenings (note the lads are in shorts & t-shirts and it's late October) are too alluring, too perfect not to enjoy with one of the last romps at the beach.

When we arrived down at the pier that juts out into the York River (you don't need a license to fish from the pier, which means fishing is better in Gloucester) the boys started hamming it up and I snapped some photos. Then we noticed lots of people with cameras around. A kindly gentleman ambling out the pier informed us that an Antares rocket was supposed to take off from the Eastern Shore and we should be able to watch it blast into orbit from the pier. It was 6:15 p.m. Lift off into the October sky was scheduled for 6:22 p.m.

Heading out for a better view of the rocket launch

News that we would watch a real-life rocket launch caused quite a stir among the Sabo boys. This was more than we bargained for. Are you kidding? This was really good news. Like, really good. You go to the beach trying to kill some time and you're going to watch a rocket streak into the night? For reals? Dude. From Gloucester Point to the launch site on the Eastern Shore of Virginia at Wallops Island, as the rocket crow flies, is about 70 miles -- it's double that by car -- so supposedly we would have a real good view from a safe distance.

I was armed with two cameras -- my iPhone5C and my Canon T5i -- and was really stoked to try the time-lapse feature on my iPhone. I figured that would be killer for a rocket launch. As we waited at the end of the pier, we encountered one variable that threatened to derail my photography efforts. Seth seemed intent on seeing if the water was still warm and kept leaning through the rails, even as Gabe wore him like a straitjacket. In the interest of safety I reluctantly herded my gaggle of Sabos back onto the beach. We still had an unobstructed view out over Chesapeake Bay where the rocket was allegedly going to streak into the nearly cloudless indigo twilight, but better yet, if Seth was intent on taking a dip at least we could fish him out before he got in way over his head.

It was 6:21. Seth was getting wet and was covered in sand, the four other boys were having races up and down the beach and some people behind us were getting the play-by-play of the rocket launch over some sort of hand-held device. It wasn't a Walkman, I know that. I was focused on the eastern horizon with my two cameras -- in between preventing Seth from becoming a mini-Jacques Cousteau. The people behind us, a mom and dad and two kids, started the countdown. The four Sabo boys slowed down then stopped to watch, their labored breaths mixing with the sound of the river washing ashore in tiny waves. Seth eyed the water.

Houston, we are ready for the rocket launch

The voices behind us got louder as the countdown got closer to one: "...three, Two, ONE! LIFTOFF!" We scanned the horizon, squinting intensely. My cameras were focused. I was prepared to blow up social media with our rocket photopallooza. We watched. We watched harder. Seth headed for the water before Gabe rassled him ashore despite his sharp protestations. And then we watched some more ... and then the cry from the dad behind us: "It exploded!" The boys looked at me. I shrugged. The boys went back to racing. Seth headed for the water.

I'm not going to lie. I was pretty bummed. I've never seen a rocket launch live, even from 70 miles away. The evening had taken an unexpected turn. It veered hard from your run-of-the-mill, ho-hum evening at the beach with five boys -- three, count them three, couples we encountered looked on in amazement at the collection of Sabos and remarked how full my hands were ... if only they knew -- into tantalizing excitement territory. I guess I shouldn't really be disappointed because just minutes earlier I had no idea I could have seen a rocket launch. But when the unexpected becomes even a glimmer of reality, only to literally crash to earth, there's still a sense of loss.

I've thought about this all day, actually. When the unexpected roars into your life, only to vanish seemingly as quickly. I won't go into details, but I feel a sense of personal loss on a completely different level. There was something unexpected that happened in our lives, only to be taken away. There's hurt, there's pain. It's not fun. I'm sad. I guess that's the best way to put it. Just sad. It's nights like these that I like to wander in to where our youngest is sleeping, in this case Seth. So peaceful. So beautiful. So perfect. Such a gift from God. I like to hear him breathe. I'll stand there and watch, listening to him breathe and for a little while everything is right in the world.

Low-Budget Date Nights. Or Parents With Funding Issues.

                                          Swan Tavern Antiques in Yorktown, Va.

You and your honey/hunk/sweet thing/lovey-dovey/sugar pie -- or whatever it is you call your spouse/mate/life partner/husband/wife -- may be so financially secure that every date night you take includes $15 appetizers, $30 steaks, $15 desserts and a short cruise for $100 a pop in the bay. Not to mention the tab for the babysitter. Plus tip.

The Sabos, however, operate in a different financial realm. Five Guys is high-end for us. We've been known to head to dinner with coupons. From McDonald's. We like going to the nearby Mexican restaurant because it's all about volume; we can take home enough food for a second "in-house" date the next day, provided our boxes of food can somehow survive the gauntlet of starving chitlins rummaging through the fridge over the course of about 24 hours. Basically there's a better chance of Los Angeles being smog-free in August than a box of Mexican food leftovers surviving more than a few hours in the Sabo fridge, however.

So almost subconsciously Julie and I have begun to specialize in the "creative dating lifestyle" category. For example, on our recent trip to Oregon we took a lovely stroll through her former hometown of Canby, Ore. She was a great tour guide and pointed out all of her old downtown haunts, walked me by her old elementary school and pointed out how small the trees used to be in Wait Park. It was a wonderful time together unencumbered by the demands of small children ... wait a minute. Now that I think about it I recall pushing a jogger stroller on our jaunt. Which wasn't empty ... well, I guess it was a date with just the three of us -- Julie, Seth and me. An intimate walk through town with Julie was a nice thought at least.

Anyway, there are times that we are alone together in a formal "date" setting that includes the obligatory dinner. When you have the volume of children we have, you have to pick your spots but thankfully we have older kids who can watch the little kids. But sometimes you just need to get away, albeit cheaply, to have adult conversations without interruption, to share your dreams about the future (Mine entails 100 grandchildren. No pressure kids if you're reading this, but my biological clock is ticking and I don't have any yet.) and sometimes just to HAVE SOME PEACE AND QUIET! Er, excuse me. Our house is actually typically peaceful and somewhat serene even because people who come over to visit often remark how quiet it is in here. But there are those moments when it feels like someone just targeted my house with some sort of smart bomb -- or is it a dumb bomb? -- that causes endless arguing, whining and general chaos. You know what I mean?

All this to say that earlier this week Julie and I managed to take leave of our children, drive down to a large crafts store and actually "browse" through the aisles without even thinking of how long we were taking. It was paradise! Then on the way home on a complete whim, spur of the moment, even spontaneous act, we ducked into Yorktown, parked the car and walked around through the historical Colonial buildings dating back to the 1700s. It was a perfectly delightful August night. The sky was ablaze following a thunderstorm, the smell of the rain was wafting in the air and it was just the two of us, alone in our conversation as darkness crept over us. It was absolutely wonderful. Who can put a price tag on that?