One Sixteenth

Week Seven

I should not be awake.

I made the mistake of forgetting to lock the car doors. And then remembering that I forgot. Once I got out of bed and did that ... well ... here I am.

And now we begin week seven. Every week has been a little harder. I really want my husband to be home. That's all. I'm just tired of having him gone. I want him here. I want to talk to him, and lean on him, and just be with him. I'm not meant to live alone; I'm meant to have a partner.

Six weeks down, six to go. If everything stays on schedule.

And it's worse: I want him to come home, I don't want to go to Virginia. I wish I could look at this with the sense of adventure that I used to have when moving. Why on Earth did I root?

---

We got Christmas pictures made this weekend.

We took four children, ages 7, 5, 3 and 21 months into a crowded mall, and got on the waiting list for pictures. They would be ready for us in about half an hour. Okay. Their website had indicated that they had a play area for kids, to ensure happy waiting. What they actually had was a small corner with a toy in it. Mmmm, good idea.

So we gathered up the kids and walked around the mall. The big boys walked, and Jeff and I each carried a little boy. These boys are heavy. And fidgety. Lachlan cried the whole time because we wouldn't let him get down to run.

We made it back to the photo place, where, of course, they weren't ready for us yet. This time we decided to opt for the toy corner. The boys played nicely, until Lachlan decided he needed to be on the other side, which meant climbing over Griffin. Griffin took this as an act of aggression, and pushed his little brother into the corner of the big wooden toy. Much crying and screaming then ensued, followed by the blossoming of a red and purple welt around Lachlan's eye.

Lachlan is our fourth son, which meant that we were determined to go ahead with the pictures anyway (no stitches were required).

They called us back and we walked with trepidation into that special hell that is family portraits. We sat on the platform in positions that guaranteed no blood would reach our extremities, while simultaneously holding squirmy babies and trying to convince them to smile in a certain direction. Or at all. Or just not hold their hands over their eyes. Or throw the props at the photographer.

Twenty minutes. Much cajoling, dealing, distracting and bribing. Three poses down, one to go.

The computer crashed.

Thirty minutes later the computer was back up and running. The photographer was wonderfully optimistic about our chances of successfully repeating the session. I've got to hand it to her, she was determined. She had faith where I, who had been watching my kids throw every prop and whine, whine, whine for half an hour, had none. Zero. I thought she was insane. Or a masochist. Likely both (why else would she be a children's photographer?).

Somehow it worked and we got four actual nice pictures. Frankly, I'm stunned. But pleased. You would never guess, looking at our happy faces, that the older two had to be threatened within an inch of their lives to cooperate. AND we had to promise to buy "Finding Nemo" on the way home.

I had intended to post the pictures tonight, but my computer decided to have a nervous breakdown instead. It seems I've got the actual computer back ... and (shhh) stable ... but I think the scanning process might be too much for it tonight. Think nice, stable thoughts at it, will you?

And now, it's 2 am and I'm hungry. Off to find food.

Posted by Steph at November 17, 2003 01:56 AM