candid camera

My husband and I have hardly any pictures of us together. There are several reasons for this.

1. We rarely think to take them.
2. My husband isn’t fond of having his picture taken.
3. I’m usually the one taking pictures.
4. We rarely wear nice clothes.
5. My husband has no patience for smiling at a black box.
6. It takes time.
7. My husband hates posing.

The other night when we were on our way out the door to go to a wedding, I grabbed the camera, husband, and a willing daughter, and stomped them into the front yard. You stand here, I ordered my daughter. We’ll stand over here. Get pictures from the waist up. Click fast. Go! Go! GO!

I knew we only had about 14 seconds before my husband stalked off. If she held the clicky-thing down for the full 14 seconds, there was a slight chance we’d get something halfway decent.

Except that we were squinting into the sun, so, without knowing it, we shot any chances of a good picture all to smithereens before we even started, dagnabbit.

Which didn’t really matter much because I was too busy looking like a crazy lady.

And my husband was too busy looking like a Class-A Dork.

But, looking like a dork rather than an Uptight Angry Man is an improvement, I say. Baby steps, people! Baby steps!

And then I about ripped his head off his neck trying to get him to kiss me.

Not-So-Little Secret: my husband hates it when people get in his personal space. When I (or the kids) get too close, he hunches his shoulders and whaps the air with his arms, exactly like a panicked duck. And then I say, “You’re flapping again, honey.”

Even Sam, the guy he works with, knows all about this personal space thing. In fact, sometimes when they’re talking, Sam will intentionally move closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Sam gets a big kick watching my husband try to edge away discreetly.

About 13 seconds in, my husband announced he was done.

“Oh no we are NOT!” I informed him.

See? That’s me informing him.

But then my daughter, in an effort to get a better shot, took a step backwards and fell smack into the forsythia. I had to help her extricate herself.

We tried a few more shots, but attention spans were waning. My daughter, however, was just catching on to the idea of continuous clicking, and I had to tear the camera out of her hands.

But not before she blurred me up real good.

The end.

PS. The wedding was lovely. These glasses were the favors, and now the kids fight over them at every meal.

This same time, years previous: the potluck solution, cornmeal whole wheat waffles, hard knocks