Model in the Making

I think I may have unleashed a monster today.

I don’t know how many times people have left me messages that they want to see photos of Sweetpea, and I know that its been an awful long time since I've put anything up – but believe me, its not for lack of trying. I cant count the number of times I've snuck the camera out of my bag, turned it on behind my back, lined up the shot – only to have Sweetpea scream hysterically at the last minute when she spies the camera out of the corner of her eye and realise that I'm about to – Oh.My.Gawd. – take her picture.I swear that Sweetpea is channelling the Indigenous peoples of this homeland, as she seems to think that having a photo taken is akin to stealing her spirit and she loses the plot each and every time I attempt to take her photo.

And I swear she has supersonic hearing ability. It’s the only explanation I can feasibly come up with to her ability to suss out when a camera is being trained on her. I can turn it on in the kitchen, with the Kenwood mix master going at maximum speed, with the T.V. blaring in the family room, and be attempting a conversation with Driving Miss Daisy, who, having not taken the time to get new batteries for her hearing aides, is pretty well deaf as a door post resulting in me repeating the same sentence five times in a row in steadily rising volume to an effort to get the sentence “weathers good today isn’t it?” or some other piece of importance and still, Sweetpea will know that the camera is whizzing through the air and being aimed in her general direction.

I have a 2 GIG card filled with photos of Sweetpea in various states of avoidance. Hands up in front of her face. Turning her head. Running out of the frame of the photo. Spinning her body around so that I have only her back. And let’s not forget the ever precious “Mummah is torturing me to death” wobble of the bottom lip and welling of tears in the eyes photos. Oh Lord, I could fill a photo album with such photographic misfits. And yet I find myself unable to hit the DELETE button, and for the record, its a very good reason. I want to prove to Sweetpea one day down the track when she is a sullen wretched teenager, who quite rightly believes that the world really is against her, challenges me as to why there is a gap in her photographic history from the age of 2 years 9 months to 3 years 2 months (so far). I will, with great flourish pull out the photos from this time frame and show her that it was HER behaviour and not my sudden lack of parental interest in recording her life that resulted in a complete and utter lack in pictures.

Today the kinder rang to remind me that it was photo day and did I want to bring Sweetpea down? With a pitiful laugh I shared the misery that is my photographic life at the moment, and that I didn’t think that it was worth the effort to dress her up for her to produce professional grade photos of her hands in front of her face, her head swinging away, her body swirling away from the lens or the ever popular crying in front of the camera. I got off the phone to Sweetpea sidling up to me and asking what the conversation was about.

“That was the kinder asking if I wanted your photo taken, but I said no.”
“Yes Mummah, photos. Yeah.”
“Really.....?,” I asked hesitantly, “You wont cry or be silly, you will let someone take your photos?”
“Yeah!” came the innocently pleasurable voice that only a three year old who is about to push her mother over the edge can produce.

The next 20 minutes were spent dressing, combing out hair (and ‘discussing’ which hair clips she should wear – her choice of the big, bold stars with three pink diamantes won over my choice of ribbon spirals) and racing down to the kinder.

“Now, are you sure, you really will let someone take your photo Sweetpea?” I asked for what must have been the umpteenth time.
“Yes Mummah!”

So the photographer comes in – and it was a man, which is not a good start, as Sweetpea isn’t all that fond of men, being that there is a rather large shortage of them in our household and life in general. He perseveres and takes a few shots, but Sweetpea refuses to smile, no matter what tricks the photographer and his assistant pull. They get really worried because there isn’t one usable photo in their minds so far. The very fact that Sweetpea is sitting still and they are capturing a photo image of her at all impresses the bejebbies out of me, so I'm not worried. She has the whole “Princess Di” deal of looking at the photographer through her eyelashes down pat; scarily. But in the end, sensing the growing despondency of the photographer, I take pity on him and resort to complete mothering trickery and as the guy snaps shots of Sweetpea sitting at a table, I lie down and tickle her legs and tummy, resulting in bright happy smiles on both the three year old and the photographer. I dare not contemplate what it must have looked like to the five teachers and the twenty other three year olds in the room to see my body rolling around on the floor. Some things are better left alone, I think you will agree.

By this stage the guy has proven he is nothing to be scared off and Sweetpea has warmed up to this game of photo taking. Then we go outside and take photos of Sweetpea riding a trike, complete with her throwing her head back with glee, laughing and, I swear to you, posing like a model with arms out in the air, fingers outstretched, legs off the ground that inspires people to think of movement, golden hair glistening in the sun. She plays in the sandpit, directing him to take photos of her from this side and that. He says ‘smile’ and she beams out a 240 watt smile that light up the whole playground.

And suddenly, it’s all over. Photographer man has at least three shots out of the 40 he must have taken that I'm going to want to buy and its time for him to move onto the other classroom. I take Sweetpea out to the car and as she gets into her car seat, she comes out with;

“More photos Mummah.”

Stunned I pull out my fabulous camera from my handbag and turn it on. She spies it and the little face turns from radiance to overcast in a fleeting moment.

“No Mummah, not you - him” she says, voice bleating, pointing in the general direction of the playground.

Even as I write this down, Sweetpea brings up the memory of the photos and I hopefully ask if I can take her photo.

“No!”
“Go away!” is my very mature, I'm the adult and I don’t take things of this nature too personally reply.

Say it with me peoples - I'm ready for my close up Mr. Deville.