Smile for sale

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As I have mentioned before, the little people in this house are greedy, capitalist mongrels. They have figured out the system and know just how to make a buck.

Take for instance, this afternoon, when my new reflectors arrived in the mail (thanks for the recommendation, Nicole!) and I wanted to try them out.

Are these little people willing to help me, simply out of the goodness of their hearts, given that I carried them for nine long months and birthed them into this world?

Oh, hell no. Their cheeky mugs do not come for free.

And even when they're on a paying gig, I sometimes get faces like this:

Determined NOT to have a good time, this stubborn, yet adorable, clone of his father refuses to flash me his winning smile.

Instead, he makes faces like this, hoping I will give up and go away:

I do not go away. I am determined to get my money's worth, so I hold out and wait. Lucky for me, I know his weak spots, and start working on them right away.

I tell a few jokes. I make fun of myself. I laugh out loud at him. And still he tries his darndest to hold out.

He is getting weaker. You can see that his strategy is failing him.

He wants so desperately to win this battle of wills.

But, eventually, he gives up, and I get what I came for.

There. Was that so painful, you little stinker?

It's a good thing he's so darn cute. Otherwise, we might have given him away long, long ago.

I made it through another winter without killing anyone

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What do you do when you look out your window mid-March and THIS is the sight you see?


You celebrate, that's what. For it is not snow covering the branches, but lovely, puffy, popcorn-like blossoms.

These lovely blossoms can only mean one thing: Time to put away the winter coat and pull out the flip-flops.


To say that the winter and I don't really get along would be a major understatement. We are mortal enemies, the winter and I. She hates me as much as I hate her.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that she exists merely to spite me. She takes such devilish pleasure in her ice storms and her wind chill. And she flaunts that ugly brown slush for months, like a bad outfit worn over and over until you're so sick of it you could scream.

I have never liked her. My dislike grew to loathing after experiencing the bitter wind and negative temperatures that make up a Minnesota winter.

My loathing turned to manic rage when, every year, Nor'easter after Nor'easter pummeled the city of Boston, and I was left to shovel 1,945,493 tons of snow, on my own, as the husband was always conveniently out of town.

And frequently out of town in better climates.


But finally, FINALLY, I am living in a place where winter doesn't linger until May. Here, the first day of spring actually means something.

Like, you know, that it's actually the first day of spring.

What a concept, eh?


I might need you to remind me of my great love for this state, say, mid-July, when my hair and I are cursing our other mortal enemy: HUMIDITY.

Until then, I will relish my love affair with the spring. I will sit on a blanket in my backyard, the sunshine gently warming my shoulders. I will look up and smile at my children's laughter, as they run and bike in the fresh air. I will take a luxurious sip of the diet coke by my side, and then return eagerly to the book in my lap.

Ah, spring. I wish our torrid love affair could last all year long. Don't you?

Baby love

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Look what I got to play with for a few hours last week:
Gorgeous, isn't she? Her name is Zoey and I have been unofficially adopted as her aunt, and grafted illegally into her extended family, without most of their knowledge or consent.

I hope they don't mind.

Zoey and her cute mama were here visiting their real aunt and popped by to say hello. I immediately pulled out the camera and we had a little impromptu photo shoot. She was charming and adorable throughout the entire process, even when I made her strip down to her skivvies.

Plus, she let me hold her and smell her yummy neck, which is something house guests under the age of one will always be subjected to around here.





Please feel free to come visit me any time. (Just don't forget to bring your babies with you. They will guarantee admission to the House of Stie).

And I promise you will not have to strip down to your skivvies. [Unless you are or remotely resemble Daniel Craig or Mr. Darcy. Then all bets (and shirts) are definitely off.]

Pretending to be what I want to be

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Recently, I have decided that if I want to ever get any better at this photography thing, I'd better start taking pictures of people other than my own children.

So, I begged and borrowed, pleaded and whined, and stole a baby or two from friends. Here are some of my favorites. I know I have a long way to go, and a lot to learn, but it's very fun to take pictures of children I don't acatually have to pay to pose for me. Mine have become so sick of it, that they will not comply unless given cold, hard cash.

I know, right? Who said they could be such selfish capitalists?

Lucky for me, most of these babies and kids are too young and nice to know any better:






Got any kids I can practice on?

Send them only if they work for free. This ain't no paying gig.

A little photo mishap that he will live to regret

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Let's say you are taking family photos in your backyard. You get a wild hair and decide to take a few shots of just you and your Husband. You know, because you don't have many of those.

You have the camera ready to go on the tripod, and the remote in your hand.

You both smile, and the shutter clicks.

Well, what happens when your middle child, unbeknownst to you, decides to sneak himself into the picture?

This, my friends, is what happens:

Looks like it's cropping for this photo. Unless we want to commemorate the dive Chase took?

No, I don't think so.
But I'm a fair minded person. And I've always thought that the punishment should fit the crime.

So here's a little shot of him that I'm sure he'd rather have buried in the archives for all eternity: I know. I'm such a mean mom.