My favorite subjects were flowers (the closer the better...hello macro!), and of course my son.
When the ex and I split he put all of our pics of Ryan on DVDs for me. Ryan was 5. There were over 12,000 pictures.
No. There are no extra zeroes up there.
Not all of them were of Ryan. There were some from vacations and truck shows (although why he thought I would want them is any body's guess).
But if I'm being honest, I'd venture a guess that at least 10,000 were of Ryan.
**side note: What's extremely disturbing is that in all of those 10,000 or so pictures, guess how many included yours truly. 12. Twelve. Doce. XII.
Doesn't matter how you say it, I find it appalling.
What, you can't be bothered to pick up the fucking camera and take a picture of the mother of your child, with your child.
Asshole.
Moving on.
But something happened over the last few years. The desire I once had to snap away at every aspect of my life, has dwindled. I hardly ever take my camera anywhere anymore. Less pictures of beautiful landscapes, tickling branches, or flower pollen. Hardly any pictures of my friends, and in some case, none at all. And less pictures of my favorite mini human.
But somehow, over the last few months, I've managed to capture these.
My obligatory spring flower
Me and MiniMe waiting for the hypnosis show to start.
My favorite eyes.
The "taking a break from carving so I can pretend I'm a psycho" shot.
Thanksgiving Day. Not sure why he looks cross-eyed, but I still love it.
Hey look at that. Not only did I manage to get some great shots, but 20% of the pictures have me in them. Further proof that I'm better off.
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