the smell of my desperation has become a stench

With my little girls

Last fall I got the girls dressed up and headed to a studio to have our family portraits taken by a local professional photographer. It ended up being an awful, somewhat traumatic experience with someone who considered his “art” to be more valuable than that of Leonardo da Vinci. Listen, when art is how you make your living I understand that you take it seriously, especially if you have been educated and trained in the finer details of your specific skill. But that does not give you the right to act like a totally insensitive butt nugget.

Afterward I put out a call for recommendations for local photographers, and then my old friend and former assistant Katey hooked me up with her sister Kristi who runs Kendalls Media with their father. She came by in April and took a ton of shots of me and the girls at the house, and yesterday while organizing the hard drive on my computer I found the folder she had sent over with the final shots. Why it has taken me this long to choose my favorite ones must have something to do with time and the fact that it is the primary deficit in my life. How do we manufacture more time? Seriously, by the time I walk away from work and help Leta finish her homework and piano practice and dinner and baths and showers and bedtimes stories, I would sometimes like to pick my nose. But usually our butler has gone home by that point, and I’m certainly not going to pick it myself.

Kristi was the exact opposite of my former experience, and no, she is not paying me to say that. Nor did she take these photos for free. She’s got young kids of her own and knew exactly how to handle, ahem, the younger of my two daughters. I’m recommending her because she healed a serious wound. I was scared to have our photos taken by a professional again. It is not an insignificant investment, especially of your time. My time spent with her was so warmly rewarded.

Thank you, Kristi, for these wonderful memories. These are the ones I’m having framed for the walls. Looking at these I get a little teary at my daughters’ beauty, their personalities, the talent and magnetism they have in spades, their unbridled adoration for each other, the way they both fit into my arms like puzzle pieces. They are the most magnificent gifts.

(OH MY GOD DOOCE IS SMILING WTF THE WORLD IS ENDING I HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR 72-HR KIT NEXT TO YOUR BED)

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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