Glare for the Camera
We got Johnny's school pictures back today. He's glaring into the camera in one. Just glaring. It was like he was posing for an ad on the back of the phone book. "Have you been wrongfully accused? Suffered at the hands of a medical practitioner? Or been caught going more than 70 miles per hour over the speed limit? Call Johnny Heos, trial attorney."
In the other photo, he looks the same, only with his eyebrows raised.
I'm sure the photographer said, "This time, smile," but Johnny heard, "Now I want you to look mildly suprised but, on the whole, indifferent."
"Why didn't you smile?" I asked.
"Because I didn't want to," he said.
"Do you want me to order some of these to trade with your friends?" I asked, thinking, "or to pass out at fender benders?"
I just don't understand kids. They should relish these days of paying $15 to have your photo taken.
Yesterday, an editor needed a photo of me. I went through 300 family photos. I was in three, always holding a baby and looking really wierd. I think in every single one of them I was still on vicadin from the childbirth recovery. So I cut J.J. out of one of his own baptism photos (which seemed wrong somehow) and sent it to the editor. He basically asked if I was kidding him. He said it was totally pixilated, whatever that means. I think it means drunk, which I wasn't...yet. I hadn't even been to communion.
Justin ended up taking a photo of me on our back porch, which looked like my seventh grade "awkward stage" photo with computerized age progression. And the computer assumes that you've spent the last 17 years going through the washing machine ringer.
So, if I had a professional photo taken, I wouldn't squander the opportunity by trying to kill the camera with my laser glare.
No, I don't understand kids. I used to remember my childhood. I felt like I could relate to kids. Now, I feel like I'm dealing with aliens. Surely I never did the illogical things they do.
I don't understand why they would sooner blow their noses on their own shirts than walk 10 feet to the kleenex box. Why J.J. will turn around and go backwards down a one-inch crack in the sidewalk--as if to say, "Better safe than sorry is my motto." Then later he'll dive head first off the couch just for the heck of it.
Or why Richie, when he had a friend over the other day, watched our dog knock down the train track. The friend said, "The doggy broke the train." And Richie said, "The doggie didn't do it. You did it."
Why would you accuse someone of that for the sheer orneriness of it?
No, I don't understand kids. But what would I do without the laughter they provide? I think I will frame Johnny's photo just because his glare makes me laugh.
In the other photo, he looks the same, only with his eyebrows raised.
I'm sure the photographer said, "This time, smile," but Johnny heard, "Now I want you to look mildly suprised but, on the whole, indifferent."
"Why didn't you smile?" I asked.
"Because I didn't want to," he said.
"Do you want me to order some of these to trade with your friends?" I asked, thinking, "or to pass out at fender benders?"
I just don't understand kids. They should relish these days of paying $15 to have your photo taken.
Yesterday, an editor needed a photo of me. I went through 300 family photos. I was in three, always holding a baby and looking really wierd. I think in every single one of them I was still on vicadin from the childbirth recovery. So I cut J.J. out of one of his own baptism photos (which seemed wrong somehow) and sent it to the editor. He basically asked if I was kidding him. He said it was totally pixilated, whatever that means. I think it means drunk, which I wasn't...yet. I hadn't even been to communion.
Justin ended up taking a photo of me on our back porch, which looked like my seventh grade "awkward stage" photo with computerized age progression. And the computer assumes that you've spent the last 17 years going through the washing machine ringer.
So, if I had a professional photo taken, I wouldn't squander the opportunity by trying to kill the camera with my laser glare.
No, I don't understand kids. I used to remember my childhood. I felt like I could relate to kids. Now, I feel like I'm dealing with aliens. Surely I never did the illogical things they do.
I don't understand why they would sooner blow their noses on their own shirts than walk 10 feet to the kleenex box. Why J.J. will turn around and go backwards down a one-inch crack in the sidewalk--as if to say, "Better safe than sorry is my motto." Then later he'll dive head first off the couch just for the heck of it.
Or why Richie, when he had a friend over the other day, watched our dog knock down the train track. The friend said, "The doggy broke the train." And Richie said, "The doggie didn't do it. You did it."
Why would you accuse someone of that for the sheer orneriness of it?
No, I don't understand kids. But what would I do without the laughter they provide? I think I will frame Johnny's photo just because his glare makes me laugh.
posted by Midwest Mama at 2:28 PM
3 Comments:
Funny one - I LOL a few times at this one. Why don't you go to glamour shots for Justin for Christmas, then you can use those for your articles and maybe write for the Independent!
you crack me up.
please send us a pic!!!
xoxo
erin
Post a Comment
<< Home