Dedicated to Her Art

Worry Wart

Some events infiltrate your every conversation, even when the events don't directly effect you. A newborn being kidnapped from a local hospital is one of those events. So, of course, every conversation I had today somehow wound its way to "How does that happen?" and "I hope they find that baby soon."

The story was still unfolding as I met up with a friend so that we could go to How to Train Your Dragon Live (a Review will show up at some point in the next 24 hours--the short version is OMGSOFREAKINAMAZING). Alexis was with us, of course, so we were consciously choosing appropriate words and talking around things, including updates as they became available via various news outlets.

Alexis doesn't miss a beat, though. Even with our vague references and a purposeful lack of nouns in our sentences, she was able to pick up on what was going on. "Why would someone steal a baby?" she asked.

The grown-ups tap-danced around the question and then delivered an age appropriate response, but she continued with her questioning, repeatedly pushing the boundaries of what a 6-year old needs to know.

"Is there a picture of the baby?" "How did the woman who took the baby get into the hospital?" "Will they find the baby?" She went on and on, earnestly asking the same questions everyone in Pittsburgh was asking all afternoon.

The questioning went on and on and on. And on. And on. No matter what I did and no matter how many shiny things I threw out, Alexis kept steering the conversation back to the missing baby. To say she was worried about him would be an understatement. She was very near tears as she relayed that he was probably scared and that his parents were probably really sad.

And she went on. And on. And on. Questions. Questions. Questions.

It was a joyful moment when it was time for the show to begin because it meant I didn't have to acknowledge her curiosity any longer. I assumed she would forget about it all by the time the show ended.

I assumed wrong. We very barely managed to walk five steps out of CONSOL before Alexis began asking AGAIN to see a photo of the woman who had taken the baby. At that point all of the grown-ups had relayed to her that the baby was safe and back with his parents and that the police had found the woman who took him.

"But what does she look like?" Alexis asked over and over and over. We walked blocks and blocks and blocks with her asking the question over and over, this way and that way, again and again.

To say I was annoyed would be an understatement. I began to snap at Alexis because OMG. CHILD. DROP IT.

Alexis reported that if she saw the woman, she was going to punch her in the face. As I was considering the fact that I am ABSOLUTELY to blame for her having that choice of words in her vocabulary, one of the friends we were with realized something I had not.

Alexis wanted to see a photo of the woman because she was worried that she might be the next baby to be kidnapped. She wanted to know who she was running from.

I wish her concern had been unfounded. I wish I could have told her that would never, ever happen. I wish we lived in a world where kidnapping was a concept found only in the movies.

It's Not THE Daisy Photo, But It Will Do

I have a summer tradition that absolutely cannot be missed. For the past several years, it has gone a little like this:

2006

20072008200920102011

The best thing about all of those photos is that the drama involved in getting the photos taken has always melted away shortly after it happened. If I think about it, I can recall which years were particularly painful, but it requires thought.

I don't believe in thought.

But if I do give thought a chance, I remember that pretty much every year something has made the process complicated. Some years I couldn't find the white sundress, some years there were problems with acquiring the daisies (they grow in my garden--I've had them since college and have transplanted/divided them all along the way), and often the photography studio is a BIG GIANT PAIN IN THE ASS.

Last year stands out as a perfect example of that.

Last year was so bad that when it came time to take this year's photo, I started convulsing and muttering things about how you can't make me walk into that photo studio in the mall because it is a hellmouth and the devil with the camera will eat my soul and NOOOOOOOO!

So I took the photos myself.

EXCEPT. I forgot a few key things.

1. Alexis' willingness to have *me* take her photo is somewhere between HELL NO and ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Sometimes she poses for me. Most of the time she does not. If I spend half an hour ironing a background and setting up lighting? OF COURSE SHE WON'T STAND THERE.

I had to go to war with a 6-year old in order to get two shots out of her. TWO. That's all she let me get.

2. I don't print photos. Like, ever. I have thousands and thousands of photos of the kid, but I can't seem to get my act together and get them printed. Framing them? That's a whole other level of HAHAHAHAHAHA! AS IF!

That's to say I took this photo over a month ago and haven't done a damn thing with it. If we had gone to the mall, a framed print would be hanging on the wall by now.

WHOOPS.

Oh well, at least I've managed to keep up with the tradition, even if the results aren't quite what I had in mind.