Anyway, I was dusting the piano, which was relatively dust-free (good job, children! And take that, clean-freaks!), but also remarkably devoid of ornamentation. Sure enough, an inspection behind it revealed three photo frames and one lantern that looked like they belonged in that obstacle course housing the Holy Grail in the last Indiana Jones movie (well, the last Indiana Jones movie that counts):
So, okay, perhaps our children could use another lesson in Dusting 101: How Not To Destroy The Items You're Supposed To Be Cleaning. This is astonishing to exactly no one who has their young offspring "help" around the house.
After excavating these lost relics and re-establishing them to their rightful positions on the piano, I began to notice something.
We have no photos of Caedmon anywhere in our house.
There's a baby photo of Atticus on the piano, and another photo of him as a toddler on a bookshelf. There's not one but two photos of Adelaide on the piano. Anyone visiting our home would assume we have only two chilren. Whoops.
This is not exactly unfamiliar territory. I've made note in the past of the detail in which I filled out Adelaide's baby book, followed by the half-hearted attempt I made with Atticus's, and finally the empty shell of a baby book that belongs to Caedmon. I remember the same problem plaguing my mom with my youngest sister, Steph.
It's not that we don't have any photos of Caedmon. I have hundreds right here on this laptop, safe and sound where no one can ever see them. Just yesterday morning Cade approached me while I was eating my breakfast and asked, "Can you take a picture of me?" For one guilty moment I thought that he, too, had noticed the shameful void that existed in our house where photos of our sweet youngest boy should be. But then when I said, "Of course, Cade...so, uh, why do you want me to take a picture of you?" he responded "Because I like to look at my face." There I go, ascribing meaning and guilt where none belongs. And boy, he does like to look at himself. I frequently find him dancing in the downstairs bathroom, watching himself in the full-length mirror there. I do pull him away so he doesn't stare himself to death.
I should add that after I took a couple of photos of Caedmon, he asked for more specific photos that included me: "Can you take a picture of you and me now? Can you take a picture of me kissing you? Can you take a picture of you kissing me?" After I'd taken all those, he spent a long time staring at our images on the back of the camera and smiling.
Which only makes me feel guiltier. Because that's what I do. I swear, I'm finally going to take the whole five minutes and two dollars it takes to order some prints on walmart.com and slap them in some picture frames I already have. I really am.
|Caedmon always closes his eyes when he does anything remotely close to hugging. This is darling to watch, but not very conducive to getting decent photos.|
|This might be my favorite.|