Click One

A friend of mine gave me a “magic” face cream that’s supposed to change my life in 5 days. I’m up for anything that will slow the inevitable wrinkles and sags that I see creeping up, so I eagerly took the sample home to give it a try. She told me to make sure I take a “before” picture in good lighting of my freshly washed face. I was a little sheepish about involving my husband J.R. n this. After almost 20 years it’s wise to maintain a  little mystery in the marriage. So the other night when he was out with Mia, I took my opportunity. Surely one of the boys could take a quick picture of my face with the large screen of the iPad. I called Z into the brightly lit bathroom first. This seemed like the right choice, as he’s about a millimeter less squirrelly than A at night. I told him exactly what to do. Get my whole face in the middle of the screen, as close up as he can.  Click one. I take a look. It’s just the side of my face, mostly my chin and neck. Click two. This time the angle is too low. Click three. Out of focus. C’mon! Okay, try again. Click four, five….eight. All ridiculously no good. I frustratingly call in Angel. He’s older, why didn’t I just pick him first? Of course he can take a simple picture. SEVEN TRIES LATER, with me even taking a shot of HIM so he could see exactly how I wanted it, turned out nothing but out of focus, crazy sideways angles. Fail. Never mind. I’ll figure it out another time. Which was exactly the next day when J.R. took the picture.



it was an ordinary afternoon. So ordinary that when the boys came rushing up to me with the battered old golf balls they had found in the bushes I was actually excited too. “Can I get the stick things from the garage?” asked Z. Translation: Golf Clubs. We bought youth clubs a couple years back at a garage sale, but except for a short stint of lessons for Mia, they have mostly sat unused. “Sure!” I say, thinking that while I am busy making lunch and have a clear eye on what they are doing, they can’t get into too much trouble. Enter J.R. who sees what’s going on in the yard and exclaims, “Why are the boys playing with the golf clubs? This is not a good idea.”

“Why not? I’m watching them,” I retort.

“Have you LIVED here? What are you thinking?”

“Well, they’ve been having fun and it’s time to eat anyway, so see, it’s all fine.” I say with a smile.

It WAS fine. They had taken some swings, hit some balls, and only in the direction I had instructed them. Later that afternoon I left to go to the grocery store.  J.R. was holding down the fort, sitting on the couch, watching a little TV, while the boys were in the back yard. When I returned, the night continued on, uneventful. Then,  J.R. turns to me and says, “While you were gone, guess what came flying through the sliding glass door and smacked me on my leg?” I try not to laugh. I laugh anyway.  We keep our sliding doors wide open so the dog (and the kids) can go in and out easily. Sure enough, Z drove a clean ball straight into the house and it landed right. under. J.R.’s jewels. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.