My Gig Is Up

I am addicted to taking pictures of my kids.

I know it.
They know it.
The neighbors know it.
The dog knows it.

And, we don't even have a dog.

I have fallen asleep with my camera slung across my chest. For heaven's sake, I cook with a camera slung across my chest. It's a sickness, I tell you.

But, these children of mine, they are an endless source of material. If they would stop behaving in strange and mysterious ways, I'd pack it up and finally nap without a camera lens digging into my thigh.

But, my gig is up. My five year-old is on to me. He has had it with the pictures. He's taking a stand.

I have evidence. Proof. It's right here in this series of photos.

This is my Jack. My sweet, blonde-haired, blue-eyed five year-old. He ran outside to play in the sprinkler the moment my husband finished mowing the lawn. He was covered in grass clippings within 20 seconds. From head to toe.

And apparently, when you're five and you're a boy and you're covered in grass clippings, you don't feel itchy and scratchy and bothered by the whole thing. You hop on your scooter and go for a ride.

I find that strange. Mysterious. Forehead-crinkling. Which is why I ran inside and grabbed my camera.

But, Jack. He was on to me from the get go. And, he wasn't gonna have it. No way.

So what did he do?

In a span of ten seconds, my boy contrived, staged, and executed an absolutely brilliant protest.

And, I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

Man, I love this kid.