On the other side of the lens

Everyone has a picture taker in their family, right? The one who is never in the pictures because they are always behind the lens? I'm that person. I'm bizarrely absent from my life in the albums I like to scrapbook. And, deciding to take pictures as a secondary profession didn't do me any favors.

This weekend, I took Chad to Missouri for his 40th. His best friend from high school, Scott, went with us along with his wife. Katherine and I had LOTS of free time on our hands as Chad and Scott fished both days we were there. Along with all the beautiful photos of the property we took, we decided to do a mini photo shoot of each other.

Katherine is photogenic. Pause. There's weight in that sentence. Katherine is photogenic. Me? Not so much. I'm too uncomfortable...too goofy for photgenicness (I know it's not a word). Behold the awkwardness...



Here's my attempt at the hair flip. Kind of doesn't work in a still shot.



Here's my attempt to 'just act natural'.




Here's my flirty attempt at the pouty lips thing.


Here's...well, I don't really know what this is.



This may be my attempt to do some GQ-type modeling. Might have worked better with an actual watch.


More awesome magazine modeling.


Here's the result of my 'being playful.' These two sticks were having an epic imaginary battle. What's more playful than that?


Here's my contemplative look. I'm contemplating the stickness of the stick.


Action shot. Too bad there's so much backside.

And finally, the only picture that turned out really well. Note the obvious lack of my face.

I'm so sorry, baby...

You might remember the post from a few years ago where I compared Stone to a shark on an eating frenzy. It was one of those shots that you take of your children and really should delete it from the electronic universe. It should be forgotten. For their sake and yours as a parent.

I, however, have something twisted in me. I keep these pictures and sometimes even blog about them. I shouldn't. I should do as my more responsible fellow mothers do and only blog about the awesome things.

But, you know me. So, here we go.

The other day, Chad was taking some pictures of me, Stone, and Cade in our cowboy boots. We got a few cute ones, even though I couldn't get both kids to do the same thing with their boots. One wanted to sit with them forward while the other one wanted to lay on his tummy. C'est la vie. Cade ended up crawling toward Daddy and Daddy kept the camera shooting (yay, Daddy!). We got a few really cute shots...and then this one:










What the...? Is THIS my child? The one I refer to in terms of cuteness to other people? Is this really the product of my genetics? Good gracious, it can't be. Look at that mouth? It really is...just...kind of wrong. It HAS to be the angle of the shot. Those teeth CAN NOT be that bad. I mean, they are kind of straight, but just not at all right.

I stare in morbid fascination and nod my head in this decision: it has to be Chad's genes. I'll take credit for all the cute pictures and we'll just chalk this one up to Dad.

Then, I'm packing for a trip and I find this in my sock drawer.




It's spectacular, isn't it? Truly horrific beyond words. This was my mouth in 1985. It was taken by the orthodontist who then tortured me for 6 years. It took 6 years to correct...well, all that.

Chad, babe, I'm sorry for so quickly throwing the blame onto your shoulders. I mean, yes, you are from Arkansas and therefore an easy target for teeth jokes, but it was wrong and I apologize.

Cade, baby, I'm sorry for forgetting my roots. The ones that were attached to these teeth. I'm sorry for the braces you are going to have to endure because of me. I'm sorry for staring at your picture with such macabre concentration and not seeing the true resemblance. The good news is that lots of money will go toward your smile if you truly do take after Mommy.

Here, just because he really is unbearably cute. I'll even let Daddy have the credit.