Yesterday. Or, Why We Will Never Be the Subject of a Reality Show

Scene 1. Yesterday afternoon a photographer from the local paper came over to take some shots of me, George, and Jacob, because we’re going to be featured in an insert magazine called Family Matters. The reporter comes next week to interview us.

All of that is awesome, and we’re honored to be featured, but I’ll be very interested to see how the photos turn out. If you’ve been around Jacob much, you know the mere sight of a camera (even if it’s in the hand of a stranger who’s taking someone else’s picture) makes him paste on a fake smile. Not only is it fake, if he tries to hold it too long, it fades into what I call the car grill effect. Not the best look. So, of course, as soon as the photographer pulled out his fancy Canon, Jacob pulled out the smile. But we weren’t even ready yet. George and I kept telling him to relax, but he doesn’t really know how to do that. It’s either full fake smile or Mr. Stoic Staring Man, unless you catch him off guard.

We went out in the back yard, the guy posed us where he wanted us, then he clicked away. I’m eager to see what makes the magazine, but I really wish I could be there just for the laugh when he loads all the shots into his computer. I know in a lot of them Jacob will have the fading car grill, and George will have one of those awkward, caught-mid-talking expressions, because he kept saying things to try to help Jacob look natural. (He also kept saying, “I think I closed my eyes.” Perfect.) My smile, on the other hand, will be identical in every single one, because I was raised by my mother who started shoving a camera in my siblings’ and my faces the day we were born and wouldn’t give us any peace until she got her shot. I’m so well trained, I could be clinging to a ledge by my fingernails, twenty-five stories above a pit of rabid badgers, and still pull out a convincing smile should a photographer request it.

Just thinking about those shots makes me laugh. Can’t wait.

Scene Two. Being a biologist, George often refers to plants and animals by their scientific names. He’s not showing off. It’s just that there are so many different species, he’s learned to be precise. I may go so far as to say “oak” instead of “tree,” but he thinks in much more specific terms. I say all that to say, last night George and I were throwing together a quick dinner, and he started giving me the business. (edit: It has been brought to my attention that the phrase “giving me the business” sounds a bit sketchy. Golly, Wally. Didn’t you people ever watch “Leave it to Beaver”?) I can’t even remember what George was giving me the business about, but that’s only because he loves to mess with me, and the messings tend to run together in my brain.

Yeah. So, after giving me the business he stepped out of the room to get Jacob, and I muttered my response.

Him: “Did you just say something mean about me?” (Clearly he knew he deserved as much.)

Me: “No, I merely called you by your scientific name.”

Him: “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

Me: “Dweebus Dorkus.”

So, there you have two scenes from yesterday’s episode of the reality show that will never be. We’re pretty much the Ward and June Cleaver of this millennium, wouldn’t you say? Sure you would. That’s why I’m going to bake some fresh, hot cookies for you. Just as soon as I find my pumps and pearls.