As I have learned on our many Fridays together, ALJ is never without that damn camera. Mostly it’s so she can get super cute shots of her super cute kids for their blog. (Yes, BLJ had a blog before I did. I’m not surprised either.) Anyway, the blog is pretty cute and is an easy way to check in on them… and their wacky mom.
But, you see, ALJ and that damn camera are relentless. Every time I turn around, she’s whipping out that camera to take a shot of the stroller (which usually has JLJ in it) next to some fresh fish display in the supermarket. As I mentioned, she’s wacky.
Anyway, I knew it was just a matter of time before ALJ caught me in a pic or two and that pic or two ended up on the blog. For most people, this wouldn’t be a problem. It would probably be a huge compliment. But I have never claimed to be like most people.
See, here’s the thing. I don’t photograph well. And it’s not just me being difficult. I’ve had many people tell me that I look less than great in photos. (And that’s them being nice!) I draw your attention to the ID story in a recent post as Exhibit 1. So when I opened ALJ’s blog recently, I was came face-to-face with several pictures of, well, me and my face. Luckily, most of the pictures were with at least one of the kids and they are so cute that there’s some hope that no one took the time to look at me. But wow, I’m way out there. And I look like a hot mess.
Anyway, I called HC over to see the pictures of the kids at the park on our last full Friday together. I was cursing a lot and said something like, “Damn it, [ALJ] has like 75 unsanctioned photos of me in here. At least the kids are in them.” After scrolling through all the photos and coming to the last one, which was of just me hanging on to handlebars and sliding from one end of the monkey bar thing to the other, HC said, “Well, there are no kids in that one. … And it looks like you’re having more fun at the park than the kids did.”
Fine. I liked the park. And I was grateful that ALJ didn’t get any shots of me on the tire swing, which I tried to convince BLJ to join me on so I wouldn’t look so insane. Clearly, and wisely, he turned me down.
What?! A tire swing?! That takes me back. In elementary school, when they decided to add some actual kid stuff into our schoolyard, they built a playground consisting of your standard 1980’s kids playground stuff – a blacktop, which was the hottest and most ill-conceived thing you could ask kids to play on, and a playground. Now, the playground part was really ill-conceived. Unless you were looking for the most sure-fire way to injure children, that is.
So the playground seemed to be constructed out of recycled goods. Or maybe that’s just what they wanted you to think. In any event, most everything was made with tires – mostly worn, ripped tires … like the ones you’d expect to find on the side of Route 3 in NJ – wood that looked like it was saved from a fire at the local termite-feeding center, chain-links that gave the playground that prison feel, and gigantic metal nuts and bolts that were just perfect for slitting your head open on.
The designers then took the industrial “toys” – think tire swings, jungle gyms, monkey bars, and the like – and set it on top of a pebble floor to ensure that, should you survive the fall from the shoddy constructed jungle gym, you would definitely tear up your knees and hands and face and head on the gravel cloud below. Everything attracted the sun and was hotter than all get out. But you’re kids so they hope you just deal with it. And we did.
Let’s just say that the nurse at P.S. #2 got plenty of work and saw her fair share of ER-necessary injuries. And not just from me and my brother. Kids were always tearing knees, knocking heads, falling off monkey bars, etc., etc., etc.
But I digress. I really hate photos of myself. Still, this doesn’t stop people from snapping away. On their camera phone. Even after I told her that I didn’t like photos of myself. Which she then sent to multiple people, INCLUDING MY MOTHER. Who put the photos on her refrigerator at home. Even though neither the culprit nor my mother ever disclosed that such a transaction had taken place. I won’t name names, SC, but just know that payback can be a bitch. At least she didn’t put the pics on Facebook. No, that’s a trick that AM saves just for me.
G-d, with friends like these…
Not-So-Quiet Desperation 