And somewhere, the revolution begins ...
posted by peppermint at 11:07 PM
Tonight, the UPS man dropped off a new lens that I purchased for my camera, then I had to wrestle it out of its packaging and leave it on the kitchen counter to thaw out for two hours. I'm not making that up. Nicholas is a ham when it comes to photos. He's your typical only child - he's never had to fight for attention, he just believes he's entitled to it. Just like he's entitled to mac and cheese, cartoons, and my entire paycheck. When he's here I usually don't have to go looking for a subject to photograph, it's as though the high pitched hum of my flash powering up sends an electrical impulse straight to his brain. Then he comes sliding out across the floor, Risky Business style, ready for me to take pictures of him doing the most ridiculous things.
The only catch is, he refuses to let me photograph him looking SANE. I could fill disc after disc with all the outtakes of his photo shoots. I don't know what parents did before digital cameras. Taking a picture of my child usually requires the rapid-firing of about 200 frames and then several agonizing minutes at the computer looking for a couple that actually featured HIS FACE. If I had to rely on film, what I'd end up with is several shoeboxes filled with photos of my son's blurry head while he jumped up and down, and then another couple of boxes of pictures where he produced something out of thin air to hold in front of his face right as I released the shutter. And don't even get me started on his ever-popular trademark "butt shots". I can't wait until the day someone flips through my photos and asks something like "Why do you have this picture of him doubled over looking up at you through his legs while spanking himself on the butt?" Then I can be all "Oh like your kid doesn't do that ..."
Anyway, after dinner I was taking pictures of various things around the house in order to try out the new lens, and that means HE was dashing around the house like I had laced his applesauce with uppers. So I played the oldest trick in the book and told him he had to take a bath.
Then I saw the light inside him dim a little, and heard the faint sound of his spirit crushing, and I knew I had won. Because you know what happens when a 7 year old boy has to take a bath, don't you? The soapy water burns his skin like battery acid, and little bits of his soul are sucked down the drain with the dirty bathwater. Because the essence of who he IS is wrapped up in those little bits of unknown substances all over him. His entire life's emotion is wrapped up in all those blue marker lines down his arms. His very being, his core belief system, and everything he stands for - it's symbolized by the sticky popsicle residue on his face. And his mom seeks to destroy that. Destroy it with soap.
And for that? She must be destroyed.
The only catch is, he refuses to let me photograph him looking SANE. I could fill disc after disc with all the outtakes of his photo shoots. I don't know what parents did before digital cameras. Taking a picture of my child usually requires the rapid-firing of about 200 frames and then several agonizing minutes at the computer looking for a couple that actually featured HIS FACE. If I had to rely on film, what I'd end up with is several shoeboxes filled with photos of my son's blurry head while he jumped up and down, and then another couple of boxes of pictures where he produced something out of thin air to hold in front of his face right as I released the shutter. And don't even get me started on his ever-popular trademark "butt shots". I can't wait until the day someone flips through my photos and asks something like "Why do you have this picture of him doubled over looking up at you through his legs while spanking himself on the butt?" Then I can be all "Oh like your kid doesn't do that ..."
Anyway, after dinner I was taking pictures of various things around the house in order to try out the new lens, and that means HE was dashing around the house like I had laced his applesauce with uppers. So I played the oldest trick in the book and told him he had to take a bath.
Then I saw the light inside him dim a little, and heard the faint sound of his spirit crushing, and I knew I had won. Because you know what happens when a 7 year old boy has to take a bath, don't you? The soapy water burns his skin like battery acid, and little bits of his soul are sucked down the drain with the dirty bathwater. Because the essence of who he IS is wrapped up in those little bits of unknown substances all over him. His entire life's emotion is wrapped up in all those blue marker lines down his arms. His very being, his core belief system, and everything he stands for - it's symbolized by the sticky popsicle residue on his face. And his mom seeks to destroy that. Destroy it with soap.
And for that? She must be destroyed.
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