We had a busy weekend this last weekend: two spend the night guests for my daughters, and at least one other friend over for a play date. It's hard to keep track of actual numbers with children dividing and multiplying the way they do. So we had a lot of little girls over, and of course their parents coming in and out to drop them off. Wait. Let's start over. Go back to the night before this all started. A Thursday evening...
So I'm outside Thursday night taking pictures of the moon, because that's what I like to do. Take pictures. The camera has to be pretty still to get a picture at night, so I have it mounted to my tripod. Everything is going well when my youngest daughter begins screaming at me in near panic from the front door because, of course, her friend is on the phone and she has to solidy spend the night plans *right. this. second.* or the earth will stop spinning and we'll all go flying off into space. She's thoughtful like that. Now I don't want to leave my camera sitting outside, so I bring it in, and drop it off in the nearest child safe room: my bedroom. Still mounted to the tripod. Facing the bed. Fast forward to the weekend.
I think the post has already explained itself at this point, but I'll sum up. I don't know how many of the parents actually glanced through the open door into our bedroom, but is was Sunday night before I realized that upon looking into our room, the first three things you saw were: 1) A small bookshelf, 2) the bed and 3) the camera, mounted to a tripod, facing the bed. These would be parents who were leaving their young daughters under our care. I'm not expecting to see many of them again, unless it's flanked by a pair of police officers. Honestly, at this point I can't decide if I should move the camera, or just go all out and replace the novels and political commentaries on the bookshelf with various transaltions of the Kama Sutra.
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