Digital Delay

I guess I'm speaking mostly to my mother-in-law when I apologize for not having any new pictures of Quin.  Sarah's camera broke and now just captures your soul, and mine has this crazy flash that scares the hell out of Q.  I wonder what he's thinking?  One moment he's playing with his doting parents, and the next we're cackling and pointing the light cannon at him.  All of the photos on my camera seize the zenith of his terror and betrayal.  But I think a week without pictures is normal, or at least used to be.  I remember picking up developed film as a rare and exciting event.  The anticipation grew as you waited months to take in a roll, often completely forgetting what was on it.  Now digital demands we exploit every moment.  Although if archaeologists ever dig up our house, they're going to think we ceased in 2002.  We haven't framed a picture since.  Our entire life is on my laptop. 

If I were to get a snapshot of our son, it would either be a blur of him crawling across the floor, or a blur of him wildly waving his hands .  His mouth would be gaping, too, as we've noticed he can't wave his arms without opening it.  It is the ultimate, unbridled picture of joy.  And then snap, the flash goes off, and he looks like he saw me stab the Easter Bunny.

Another picture you might be missing is of him tossing Cheerios.  Some make it into his mouth, but most are test subjects in his discovery of gravity.  They're all over the floor.  For some reason I can't help but announce "Cheerio" whenever I step on one.  It's six in the morning and I sound like a friendly Englishman trotting about the house. 

Not much else is new.  If I were to take a picture of our home it would feature a banner saying something about Home Depot being the Devil's Tool.  I think the entire chain is the vengeful plot of some developmentally disabled person who wanted a place where poor service and asinine policies slowed everybody down.  We ordered all the wood for our deck in March.  We're still waiting on some of it.  Oh they've called three times to say they have it in, but when I drive there it's always the wrong stuff.  Sometimes it's so wrong I think I must be making the mistake. 

But, don't worry, I've been friendly to their "customer service".  Or at least I sound that way as I walk through the wake of Quin's breakfast.