Mamarazzi. (Mamarazzo?)

Mamarazzo (TM). noun. : Mother who is obsessed with photographically capturing every moment of her children's lives, especially for scrapbooking. Which she never actually does, and therefore when her laptop finally gives up the ghost it consequently obliterates every photo she has ever taken of her children because she was too distracted, busy, and/or lazy to ever back up all the files.

Not that this has actually happened. But the sudden realization that it actually could go down like that? Has me scavenging the interwebs for a good backup drive. Does anyone still use zip drives any more? I think I still have some extra zip discs from college....

Jack! Want to be in a photo with Mama? No? Okay. I'll take a picture of myself then. All... alone. Oh! You DO want to be in the picture? Quick! Jump in!

Okay, Toby! Your turn! No? Can Mama just take your picture, then?

"No, you most certainly may NOT!"

Okay. That's how you want to play it? Photo by surprise attack it is.


Shoot. I really gotta start scrapbooking this stuff.
Right after I figure out what's causing that funny smell in the playroom. And fold the laundry. And unload the dishwasher. And reheat my coffee. And figure out what to make the boys for lunch... which reminds me, we really need to hit the grocery store before the weekend......


I'm sorry, what were we talking about, again?

UPDATE: I had no idea how appropriate the above photo would be for today.
As we arrived at Jack's preschool for today's drop-off, I fluffed his out-of-control hair and said "you know, buddy.. we're really going to have to cut your hair a little this weekend."

In front of the half-dozen or so other parents , Jack turned to chastise me with a twinkle in his eye. "If you do that again, I am going to BEAT YOUR BUTT!"

A heartbeat or two passed while I got over my shock, then I looked around at the other parents (standing horror-stricken around me). I managed a shrug and a very weak "Jack, I don't know where you get this stuff..." But I wasn't fooling anybody. And instead of the conspiratory "oh, I've so been there" smiles of sympathy I hoped to see, there were pointedly averted gazes.

Note to self:
1) Must find new way to reproach my child. (For the record, I don't actually beat his butt. I only threaten. Which is about as effective as karate chopping a waterfall.)
2) I really hope the averted gazes were in attempt to avoid bursting into laughter, rather than an uncomfortable judgment on my parenting skills. I'm gonna go with that. Yeah.