Push Here Dummy

I don’t think I’m asking too much.  Just push a button.  One or two times.  OK, maybe 9 or 10 times.  But it’s not difficult.

And I can’t always do it myself.   It’s very difficult to take a picture of your own arms, in case you’ve never tried.  Which is what I needed photographed last night.

 “Dave, can you come here and take a picture of me?”  He was laying on the couch watching the Brewer’s game.

 Big groan, followed by a snore.  I eyed him suspiciously.

 “You’re not sleeping.  Stop pretending.” 

He groused, “Stand in front of the couch and I'll take it."

“No!  I’m making my arm warmers on the table.  My blogs have to be historically accurate." 

Can you believe it?  I would not jeopardize the integrity of my blog because Dave won't walk 7 steps into the kitchen! 

“Get Linda to take it,” he protested.

“She’s at work.  She won’t be home for 2 hours.”

“Can’t you wait?”

I thought about asking Kevin, but he has no thumbs.  Plus he was hiding under the couch.

“Come on, Dave!!!” I howled.

Grunt.  Heavy sigh.  Scowl.  He thumped into the kitchen, grabbed the camera and snapped 2 pictures.  “There.”

“You must be totally exhausted from that photo shoot,” I quipped as he walked back to the couch.

The pictures were mediocre.  Then Linda came home early and the prognosis for my blog brightened.

 “Look, Mom I bought sweats…they were only $12," she announced as she walked into the kitchen.

“Great!  You're just in time.  Take some pictures of the arm warmers I made out of knee socks.”

"No!!!"  

(In Linda's defense, I may get a wee bit carried away when I'm in front of the camera, having seen way too many episodes of America's Top Model.)

Then she reconsidered.  “I will if you pay for my sweats.”

“Good try," I said, secretly admiring her keen business sense.

"Take the picture," I commanded, using my best "mother voice".

Linda gave her trademark teenage sigh, threw in an eye roll, and started snapping pictures.  

And I began modeling.  I posed, twirled, and added my best Body Jam moves while flaunting my fabulous arm socks.

Linda laughed, which made me giggle and dance with more passion and reckless abandon.  Until she said, “Mom, I’m not laughing with you.”

I guess she must have been laughing with Dave or Kevin.  Because she was certainly laughing.