Photo Picking Time.

Becks was a little over one the last time I took the boys anywhere for photos.  I dreaded those trips.   The only bearable part was the end because it was next to a bar.  I could sit & drink away the pain while the photos printed.  I start the trip off with clean clothes: new clothes that were purchased just for the session.  Of course, I'd never try the stuff on prior to jumping in the car.  The night before I'd panic about the size & fit of the clothes.  After it was buttoned up & looked respectable, I panicked about it staying clean.  When everything stayed clean, I panicked about the wait.  A place that centers on children should never have a wait.  Ever.  It isn't acceptable to make a toddler or a "big kid" wait thirty minutes.  And then after I begged the photographer to not put up any silly backgrounds (I don't care that it's close to Easter.  I don't want a field of daffodils by my boys.) & begged them not to sit the kids on anything fluffy & white (I don't care that it's close to Easter.  I don't want my boys to sit on a Bunny's ass.), I start begging my kid to smile.
Please look happy.  
Please smile.  Cheese! 
One more, please!  
Smile & I'll get you a toy. 
Towards the end, we always got something usable.

 
But it was a pox on my house every time I saw that date on my calendar.  While I was picking out Becks' last photos, he had to be nursed.  Had to be!  And because the Photo-Guy made me wait thirty minutes, I took delight in making him uncomfortable.  A sweet nursing newborn is one thing.  A large 13-month-old that doesn't like to be covered up nursing is another thing.  So I whipped one out & nursed him while we flipped through bad photo after bad photo.  Becks then gave me a sign that we would never be back.  This sign pretty much sealed the deal on the photo place's fate.  Becks bite me so hard that I got dizzy.  Ever been chomped on while nursing & for a spilt second you think about slapping someone?  He gave me that kind of bite & we haven't been back.  I do have some guilt about not going somewhere or to someone for photos.  There is something iconic about a photo of your kid in front of a fake daffodils field or sprawled out on something white & fluffy.  This bite happened prior to my obsession with photography.  It happened right at the beginning of the tumble.  I can honestly say that even my shittiest photos turn out better than what this place did with my boys.  My boys don't like to sit & smile.  I created those monsters & that's fine with me.  I shouldn't hold this place responsible for my creation.  They do a good job just not with my kids or my sanity.  And I figure that I take enough photos for us to remember our lives.  I figure this until the moment a good photo is necessary.  And then the guilt rears again.

The last time we were home, I noticed that most of the boys' photos were from a couple years ago during "The Studio Phase."  I knew it was time to update.   I asked my MIL "Do you remember any of the boys' photos that you'd like printed?"  And she replied, "You pick."  Ok, that can't be hard.  I was dead wrong.  I got to our computer & hit a wall.  And that wall was made by my own two hands & two eyeballs.  I like my style of photography, but not everyone appreciates it.  Or is it good for framing photos for family members.

Coop wanted him to follow & he was going to follow like a robot.

 You want a photo of the back of a head?  I got a thousand.  You want a photo of their feet right before they jump off the couch.  Got one too.  You want a photo of someone pitching a tantrum?  Oh yeah, let me pull it.  But one of them straight on?  Sorry.  One of them together & straight on?  You're insane.  I beg you to find one.  I think this is the main reason I'd struggle if I wanted to move into the photography business.  The client would look through the photos & ask, "Great.  But do you have any of their smile?  How about a face shot?"  And I'd have to convince them that their chubby little fingers are so much sweeter.  I'm not that great of a sales men.  With the holidays breathing down our necks, I need to focus on some traditional shots.  We need something for the Christmas card.  Just one.  That's all it takes.

-Erika

This is Why I Never Carry Cash

I'm a mean Mom.   For months, I've been denying the boys a visit to the McDonald's with a playground.  Yes, they'd like to watch "Phines & Ferb" all day, but we limit.  It actually could be done.  I'm starting to think that "P & F" is the adult version of "Law & Order".  Some channel is currently playing a marathon for no good reason.  Yesterday, Coop actually told me I was mean because I said he could not have a cookie before dinner.  Becks will learn very soon that the train is always broken at the zoo.  And both the boys are pretty angry with us cause we don't allow them to take toys to bed any longer.

On Sunday, I tried to fix my image.  We went to dinner to our favorite Mexican restaurant.  We were greeted by a smiling photo of the Balloon Man.  Shit.  I forgot that Sundays are his day to entertain & blow happiness all over the place (get your mind out of the gutter).  Usually we don't have cash & since our boys are rather shy, we can politely wave him off.  But Mark had cash & I thought, "I can be a nice mom."  He came around & tried really hard to engage the boys.  They weren't having it.  Becks look downright pissed that his quesadilla might get cold.  I thanked him & felt relived that I dodge a bullet.  Until Cooper really wanted a dinosaur.  Since Mark had cash for tipping & Cooper got pretty excited to see a dinosaur in latex form (Be honest.  Who wouldn't?), they tracked Balloon Man down.  Becks got a bird.  And Cooper got a Dino.  Balloon Man got three dollars.

I'm sure you're wondering, why was I have anxiety about Balloon Man.  He's only spreading joy.  He's telling jokes albeit horrible ones.  He's twisting & knotting balloons into works of art.  What could Balloon Man do to irritate me?  Allow me to explain.  I have a problem where I anticipate the worst.  Mark's been yelling at me for years over this trait.  I've gotten better, but sometimes I can't shake it.  Especially with little things.  I no longer worry about the big things I can't control.  But the little things, hell yes, I think the worst.  For example, Person ABC is going to say some snarky when I talk about our weekend.  They never do.  Customer XYZ is going to be late & cancel on me.  It's never the ones I fear will.  I spend too much time in my head discussing outcomes that never happen.  But I was hoping I'd be wrong about our Balloon Man experience.  I wasn't.

I knew that once the Dino & Bird were twisted & presented that they would no longer be their original forms.  They'd morph into fighting machines.  And they did.  Dino became a sword & the Bird became a cannonball.  Four seconds later, Dino was jabbing Becks in the chest & Bird was dive bombing the leftover rice.  Kids aren't great with their control, so that Dino / Bird were now slashing all over a 3 booth radius.  Our kids are usually really good at restaurants.   By that I mean they sit & don't scream at every visit.  I don't care how wonderful your children are.  Throw long wobbly balloons into their chubby little hands & you created chaos.  Thank you, Balloon Man for a fabulous ending to our dinner.

Want to know where those balloons are now?  Slowly dying in our front room.  They have that balloon crust that withering balloons get.  The saggy skin of a once plump & promising play toy.  I would say that a really true Mean Mom would have popped those "weapons" the second the kids fell asleep.  See?  I'm getting better.

E