I am so lucky to have quite a few friends who are talented photographers. I love, love, love that they are photographers and whether they do it for a living or do it as a hobby — I have no problem asking each and every one of them to take pictures of Tom. I pay them. I promise. (With hugs…)
Because I have so many friends who are awesome photographers, I’ve been kind of spreading them out. This go round, I asked my friend Sabrina to take a few pics. She actually took a few photos of Tom when he was teeney, but she agreed to come back for a repeat performance.
Now, I love Tom to have his picture taken.
I do not mind having my picture taken.
(Although the chances of me liking a picture of me are pretty slim. I’m so vain. I think this song is about me.)
And Kevin hates having his picture taken.
If I ever want to torture Kevin, I just need to send him to the Picture People. In a mall. (He screams!)
So this time I just asked Sabrina to take pics of Tom and maybe a couple of me and Tom.
And now…shock of shocks: Kev agreed to have a couple of pictures taken with us.
He was wearing his best shirt.
By “best” I mean “I’m totally kidding and I promise he owns a nice shirt.”
“But I was being a sweet wife and not making him take pictures with us.”
“So I didn’t harass him about what he was wearing.”
“So he’s wearing a ratty T-shirt.”
And here’s the end result…
I promise Sabrina did not yell, “Okay boys, look right!”
But boys on picture day make up their own rules.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
And smile for the camera.