“I’d love a picture of the boys’ feet.”

This was my mother’s opening comment, several phone calls ago, not-so-subtly hinting at her Mother’s Day gift. It made me a little nervous, frankly. I’ve stood on narrow, wobbly boat decks, laid in the gnat-infested grass near the hooves of a very protective momma horse, and climbed atop my husband’s shoulders to capture my images. Taking a photograph of my own children’s feet should be no problem, right?


Me: “Danny, Lucas, come stand here by mommy.”
Lucas: “I waaaaaant my SHOES on!!!!!”
Me: “No, sweetie, grandmom wants a picture of your toes. Without shoes.”
Danny: “Gee Lucas, a bee might sting your foot if you step on it without your shoes…”
Me: “Daniel! Don’t scare your brother!”
Lucas: *clinging to my leg* “are der bees out here, mommy?”
Me: “No sweetie, no bees. Daniel, get back over here!”

I finally decided against photographing bare toes in grass, and when I spotted the old white Adirondack chair with the peeling paint that sits in a shady corner of our yard, I had a moment of inspiration: I could trap the children in it!

Danny: “Mommy, I can’t get out of here! I keep sliding back!”
Lucas: “Stop touching meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Me: “I’ll let you out when you both stop complaining.”

It worked. For fifteen whole seconds I had two silent children glaring at me from the depths of their slope-seated prison, chubby bare feet perfectly placed for my photography efforts. This was the last shot I took, the one where Lucas decided to tickle his big brother’s foot and they both laughed and held hands. For a nanosecond.

Danny and Lucas in unison: “Are we done YET? OW, he hit me! STOP IT!!!!!!!”

Ah, the joys of motherhood…