My camera is heaving its last breaths. I would estimate that it's 1 in 15 times that the shutter will click.
This makes me sad. I shoulda given it a name. Is it too late to name him?
Well, "Biff" is on his way out of this world. I knew this day would come; he's an old guy. . .used, in fact. . . I promised myself I wouldn't cry . . . .
So in honor of Biff, I thought 'twould be fitting to share the contents of what might well be the last memory card to leave him.
I'm telling a story, if you will.
A story of my last moments with him.
The story of my two little chefs, who specifically request that the word "chef" be used in reference to them.
The story of my attempt to catch the early morning light that still streams through the leaves, while we still have them.
And how I just stare towards my front windows with my bowl of Rice Chex. Or Honey Bunches of Oats. Or Frosted Cheerios. I'm so sick of cereal.
Or the story of searching for my lil girl,
and how I keep finding her rocking away in the corner of her little room.
Or how she's my little drunken-sailor-stumbling walker, now.
And then there's yesterday's "just because" pictures.
And how no one else smiles with one eye wide open and the other half closed, except for, well, me.
And then there's how the boys are fighting con.stant.ly.
I feel like yelling out more punishments just looking at this picture.
And "You're grounded from each other; don't talk to each other, you can't play together, don't look at each other, don't touch each other" just does not work.
I thought I had all my bases covered.
But I have to have these things documented.
Dirty face, crazy brows, broken teeth, snotty nose, slobbery chin, and all.
Dang you camera don't leave me.