I Want To Be A Supermodel

My daughter, on occasion, does a little modeling. By modeling, I mean that she puts on a cute outfit sent to her by my friends that own a preemie and kids boutique online, she gets her hair brushed, and we go do something fun while I shove a camera in her face.

Truth is, this isn't unlike most days, except the "fun" is normally the "grocery store". Well, that and the hair brushing. I try to pick my battles.

I have ridiculously cute children, and I won't for a second play all modest like I don't think they are the most amazingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful things to ever grace this planet. I've often toyed with the idea of getting them into actual, real modeling, and I've gone so far as to ask a friend who knows about this stuff for advice on how to do it. But the thing is, I'm lazy. And I think my kids should get to be, too. And I worry about making them self-conscious about their looks, especially on the cusp of the ugly years.

No child goes through puberty gracefully. Fact. Why do you think the bible stops at Jesus' adolescence and picks back up in his 30's? Zits and oddly dispersed facial hair; no one is immune. Not even someone who thinks they're god.

So for now, I stick with the modeling that helps my friends out, that gets my daughter some stupidly cute outfits, and that lets me dabble in the one and only field of subjects that I am capable of taking decent pictures of. I'm no Secret Agent Mama, but I can take a mean picture of my kids when I have to.

Except when I screw my camera's setting up.

A new dress arrived last week for 3of3 to trounce around in, and this time we actually prepped for some cuteness. I harnessed my inner pageant-mom and subjected my daughter to unspeakable tortures in the name of fashion.

Making the best of it Peek a boo


I see you You have GOT to be kidding me, woman


But it's not like I'm asking her to do anything I wouldn't do myself, so there's that.


And once she was all poofy, we went out. Normally, I have ridiculously good luck with her pictures. They just fall into place, even when I'm using a point and click camera.

Lily Pads Toes Subway


Not this time. This time I took 250 pictures and she fed every duck south west of the Mississippi, even the dead one, which didn't bother her at all but bothered me a great big fat deal, and not one picture is usable. Because I never read the manual for my camera. I assumed the DSLR just ran on pride or something.

So now I get to learn how to fix whatever settings I've wacked out on my camera, and then we get to go feed more aminals today. Live ones, preferably. And though there aren't any pictures good enough for my buddy's spring campaign, with enough time and Picnik, there are a hell of a lot of pictures for her baby book.

Golden Outtake
Roses Outtake
Roses Outtake 2
Water Outtake


This blog is her so totally her baby book. Shut up; you do it, too.