Don't die, baby!

Hey Waverly,

Your brother has problems with his "cr" sounds. So when he tells you to stop crying, it comes out as a morbid, "Don't die, baby!"

It's been a busy couple weeks. Sorry I haven't been documenting ya'll's days like I should be. But I have a few minutes now, as you are both asleep and I'm actually in front of the computer for something other than work.

I drove thru the mega-corporate coffee institution this morning and got a Venti Java Chip Frappaccino. Happy frickin' Easter to me!

The man-child who works the window on weekends has re-invented himself in the past few months. Last year, he was a frumpy, pudgy boy with a head of lanky curls. He knows the sound of my voice at the order thingie, always calls me and my son by name, shoots the shit with me even though there are cars behind me, and occasionally slips me free drink coupons, just because. Over the months, though, he has lost a few pounds, got contacts, and shaved his head into a fashionable buzzy sort of cut. I find myself fluffing my hair (what's left of it) and checking my lip gloss in the rear-view nowadays before I drive up to the window. Gah. I hate that about myself.



We are waiting to give Jake his Easter basket when his grandma and Aunt Lee-Lee get here. They'll be spending the night, then taking Jake away for a whole week. Grandma originally wanted him for the entire spring break, two weeks, but I said she could have him for one. He's been a handful lately, so I'm glad to share the wealth a bit, although I will probably be singing a different tune in a day or two.

Your first professional portraits. Took you to Target and got completely hosed. I've never been to a studio before, and figured that they would give me the hard sell, but did not know how utterly stunned I would be in the face of their attack. Like a deer in headlights, me.

I called a couple weeks ago to set up an appointment, after having spotted the special of the month -- a baby sitting in an egg, like this:



Even on the phone, they're hustling, hustling. "Make sure she wears spring-time colors when you bring her in," they tell me on the phone. I wonder why, as it appears that she will be nearly nekkid in the selected poses.

When I arrive, I tell the photog that I am there for the egg pictures. She says, "Sure! I have the studio all set up! Awwwww, what a cute outfit! We'll just fire off a few shots with her in that sweet dress, mmmm-kay?"

She spent at least half an hour with you, taking hundreds of shots, in your darling little outfit, and with the egg. As she begins to download all the photos onto the computer, I start thumbing through the brochures. 'Packages start at $69.99' catches my eye. Okay, just a bit more than I thought I'd be paying, but not too bad. 'Does not include sitting fee' in ital down at the bottom. I sigh. Oh, all right. Whatever.

The photog calls me over and we start reviewing your photos onscreen. Every single one is adorable, of course. "Do you like this one?" she asks. "This one?" She clicks and drags each photo into a folder on the desktop. I tell her that it's impossible for a mother to say *any* photo of her child is unacceptable. She nods and smiles with a knowing look in her eyes. "Do you want this in an 8x10 or two 5x7's?"



She rings me up. The total is roughly four times the amount I had walked in thinking I was going to spend.

I thought they were done with me, had drained me for what they thought I was worth. But they saved the best for last. A week later when I return to pick up the finished portraits, the photog lays the shots out on the counter in front of me. Everything that I had ordered, plus three extra. "We can offer you these three at a specially discounted price of $XX.00." She turns to help another customer. I stare dolefully at the shots. Freakin' adorable, all of them. But it's the principle of the matter. No, I say to myself. This is highway robbery. She turns back to me and asks if I will be taking the extra shots home with me today.

I nod meekly.

To assuage my guilt and self-loathing, the lady pulls a slip of paper out of the glassine envelope with your photos. "Oh, looks like somebody *else* thinks your baby's cute, too!" It's a model release, from Target Portraits, Inc. or whatever they are called. They want my permission to use your image in promotional materials. On one hand, I am thinking that this is a tactic they use with every mother who is sketched out at having just spent a shitload of money on a slim envelope of photos. On the other, I am thinking that our ship has arrived, and your picture-perfect visage is our ticket to wealth and worry-free living.

I have yet to see your toothless grin on the cover of our weekly Target circular, but fingers crossed! Momma's got a car payment coming up!

Here's a short pictorial of what else we've been up to for the past couple of weeks:


You guys are getting along famously. Except when you are not. Last night he clocked you in the head with a musical snow globe.





Del McCoury at the Nugget. The banjo player kept looking at me all night and smiling and/or leering. That's all right. Regardless, greatest show in a long time, and I've got a bluegrass jones right now that won't quit. I even got to write a short review for the outfit where I work that shall remain nameless.





Sunday afternoon trip to Washoe Lake. I had to coerce your daddy into getting off the couch, but all in all we had a good outing. Of course your brother didn't want to leave, which led to an hour-long meltdown.





I spent several afternoons shooting photos in and around Reno and downtown, for a work-related project. This is my favorite shot. A seedy 4th Street dive called "Kids Camp." I shudder to think what poor, sad little children while away their summers here.




Off to bed now. Jakey leaves tomorrow, so your injuries can heal up for a week, before you're back in the fray. Love you!