Somedays I don’t know why he puts up with me. He knows now that when I say it’s time for our annual torture fest- pictures in the bluebonnets- that he has to put his game face on.
He gets the kids dressed while I prep camera gear. He lays out the rules for the kids, remembers to pack my tripod, and keeps me from stepping in fire ant hills while I wander aimlessly in the field.
He’s also my child wrangler, naturally.
Take this one there, put their hand here, don’t let them run, wait for it… hold… GET OUT OF MY SHOT.
And so it came to pass on this year’s trip to the bluebonnets that I captured the essence of this man who will move mountains, children, and his ass so fast for me.
The plan was to get a playful picture of the 3 children running down the hill toward me. His job was to drop Lowell when I was ready, then…
GET OUT OF MY SHOT.
And he did.
Like a ninja… or a ballet dancer. (A friend pointed out he would look perfectly natural with castanets here. So you’re welcome for that image.)
The shot of the kids didn’t turn out like I hoped, but when life hands you lemons and a nimble husband, you add a dinosaur and make this.