Croc Stars

A friend here is a photographer trying to make inroads with the Boulder-based Crocs company. She planned to shoot some spring images for their internet department on spec and needed models. She was oh so flattering about M+O's cuteness, they'd be darling, would I let her shoot them? Though there was a very good chance the photos would amount to nothing, they could keep the shoes. I would have agreed even if she hadn't buttered me up and been so nice, but add her kindness to the mix and the whole thing was a no-brainer. We were off to promote Boulder's success story shoes, of which I might add we owned exactly zero pairs for the four of us.

She wanted them dressed twin-y. Alike or similar. Sounds good except as I examined their nearly-end-of-the-season wardrobe I found nothing unstained and coordinating, certainly nothing matching for them to wear. I could only conclude that I let my children wear rags and that I must be the laughingstock of their preschool for letting them wear, gasp, whatever they want. I fretted. I wondered if I should go shopping. And in the back of my mind I wondered if once I figured out a good combination of clothes, would I be able to get them to wear the selected outfit at the selected time. That last worry proved to be well-founded.

As we prepared to leave for the shoot M refused to put on the chosen shirt. She also refused, though eventually aquessed to, the second-choice shirt. She had no interest in the new, matching pink cable hoodie sweaters I'd gotten them (despite earlier squeals of glee) and I'll forever wonder if moving on to my third choice would have made the difference. There was a lot of "no pink no pink no pink," which is insane because the girl breathes pink. I thought I'd bribed her (lollipop) into not crying anymore, and on the way there she meekly uttered their phrase, "I'm a little bit happy now" which they say when they're cheering up after a fit of some sort. But when we got to the park where we were meeting the photographer it was all no no no and a new batch of tears. Of course, this whole time O was the model, pardon the pun, of cooperation. She sat down when asked, ran forward when asked, turned upside down and looked through her legs, and jumped in a (small) puddle on command.

Lynsey had been going for a "it takes two" tag line, so I really hoped M would get on the bandwagon. More bribes got her to cooperate just at tiny bit, but in truth if Lynsey gets anything good with both of them in it I'll be shocked. I'm certain there's something cute of O. The shoes, by the way, are adorable. Pearly pink Mary Janes. I pitched them as sparkle pink, but as it turns out, wearing the shoes wasn't one of M's issues that day. I guess I should be grateful for that.

The thing is, we get so wrapped up in our kids -- okay, I get so wrapped up in mine -- that I was a mess this whole time. Upset that it wasn't working, trying to cajole M into playing along. Which only makes things worse. If I thought they would have allowed it without producing more tears, I would have walked away and waited by the car just to remove my anxious presence from the scene. But, there I was, trying to help and possibly making it worse. I might add that Lynsey was great about the whole thing, making the most of her time with O and telling me not to worry, she deals with lots of uncooperative subjects. The kid's had a mind of her own since her lungs first gasped air, and yet there I was trying to get her to go along with what I'd planned for her. On the way home I was shaking, let down, near tears. Where does this come from, this, this what? Insecurity? Desperation to help out a friend? Need to be perfect? It sure doesn't reflect well on me, and is probably just a tidge unhealthy, but there it is.

Just as I was facing the enormity of these emotions, as if to offer some comic relief, we drove past the biggest pigs I've ever seen. Easily in the running with the ones from the Minnesota State Fair. They were so huge, and oddly out of place in this suburb of Boulder, that I turned the car around so the girls could get a good look. See for yourself, compare her to the door nearby. I see teats, so perhaps she's a new mama pig, keeping the local sausage industry alive and well, so to speak.

Back home, of course, M was all giggles and smiles and (!) wouldn't let me take the pink cable hoodie sweater off to protect it from dinner. I said, "you sure were a sourpuss today." She said, "yeah, I was a sourpuss, but I didn't want to hug sissy or go upside down or jump in the puddle." And that's the thing I couldn't accept. She didn't want to do it, and I couldn't change her mind. It's a crocs shoot today, but in a few years it's going to be piano lessons, or Girl Scouts, or something bigger. The parents I know -- parents my age and parents my parents' age -- whom I respect the most, let their kids do their own thing and support them no matter what, even if it's the opposite of what the parent envisioned. I think this is going to be more difficult for me than I anticipated. If I want to follow that model, it looks as if I have some growth ahead of me. Good thing time is on my side.