Another day of ECFE, another day of barely seeing my kids. Today's pictures are therefore recycled retreads of previous days' photos. I've been quite good about having the current day's pictures up on here, so I darn well deserve a respite. And as long as I'm fessing up about photographic ethics, let me proclaim quite proudly that I do not photoshop any of my photos, with the rare exception of an overall brightness adjustment. This is something I feel important to clarify, because I'm currently grappling with my own opinions on whether I think large-scale photo adjustments are forthright, honest actions to take. My internal jury is still out (12 angry men in my pancreas) on how I feel about photoshop. There is a chance that I'm a purist, but certainly not by choice; I'm lazy by nature, and any tool that starts with the word "auto" is flagrantly lying temptation at my feet. Then again, my purism is pragmatic, too, as I have scant time to devote to letting Adobe get its paws on my pictures. I can barely upload the day, pick four, then write an entry before the sun is almost up again.
Anyway, yeah. My conscience is clean. And to answer my Dad: I did not pose Lily in that kleenex shot earlier. She found the box and went to town on it. My journalistic integrity is intact.
Now allow me to settle into a more macabre, dastardly subject: my kids are preparing to kill me. I was unsure at first of their motives, but it's becoming more clear to me now. I will likely not last the month, as my impending demise at the hands of Lily the ninja is quite certain.
My reasons for these suspicions are many. First, they are practicing a sneak attack on me. Here is how this goes down: on the weekends, Abby will usually be the one to wake first from the afternoon nap. She cries for a bit, it gets worse - she's obviously ready to be rousted - so I go up to get her. I push the door open, and from where I stand I can see Lily's crib. Invariably, she will be lying face down with her upper torso and head obscured by a crib bumper. Abby will be bouncing on her tummy like a jumping bean.
I creep into the room, carefully trying to not wake Lily, who is like a rock. When I hit a certain spot on the floor, it happens: Lily springs up like a maniac, babbling threats. This happens almost without fail every time I get them up. I'm not certain, but I think they're just practicing for the day they make their play, when the bloody coup occurs.
In addition to this, Lily almost broke my eyeball recently. I was lying on the floor, she was playing with a wooden car near me. I swear I was looking right at her - I could see the mental faculties churning - when she realized that she could pound this car on my face. So she raised it high and brought it down with an impressive force. I barely got my hand there in time, averting what would have been at least a black eye, if not outright skull fracture and - had she had her way - certain death.
They seem to have found a taste for injury. There has been no shortage of pinchings, slaps, hits, and nostril invasions from these kids; I'm now convinced they are out to cause pain. I live in constant fear. I cannot wait until they enter junior high and it will all become easier.
Day twenty nine.
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