The photographer's wife is getting a camera...

...for Christmas, which means I'll soon be able to post all sorts of fun photos here -- the kind I can't seem to persuade Hubs to shoot.

We see things differently, Hubs and me. He sees angles and lighting and such... I see only adorable children who look just perfect in any light and from any angle.

So now you see the point of contention.

I remember Hubs' horror when he realized how I was spending my days as a new mother, armed with one of his discarded cameras.

8 a.m. Tootie sleeping. Take a photo.

9 a.m. Still sleeping, but the corner of her mouth is sweetly curved a bit more now. Take a photo.

9:30 a.m. Still sleeping, but has moved left arm a quarter-inch to the left. Simply adorable! More photos...

10 a.m. Still sleeping, but now have spread new lavendar blanket around her in such a pretty way. Must take another photo.

Hubs looked at these early efforts -- 36, yes, count 'em, THIRTY-SIX pictures of a sleeping baby, all taken within a few hours' time -- and sighed.

Problem is, when he's the one shooting, I think he misses too many moments of supreme cuteness, simply because he's got all that professional-photographer-lighting-angle crap loitering about in his head.

Now, however, after years of using Hubs' old gear, I'm getting a new camera for Christmas. So is my stepdaughter. We will be an unstoppable force, united against those who insist that each picture be a work of art. HA!

Which means I'll also be able to delight the masses with zillions of sleeping-baby pictures. Or pooping-baby pictures. Or baby-at-the-trough pictures. Oh, the fun we'll have...

I simply can't wait to inflict them on you!

Actually, my babies aren't really babies any longer, so you'll be subjected instead to toddler and preschooler madness. Or mine, if Rick's away hunting. Two glasses of wine followed by a series of self-portraits ... hmmm... or maybe just some artsy shots of the ravioli now plastered to the dining room wall.

Warm & Fuzzy Thought of the Day: My recipe for the perfect Thanksgiving proved successful, albeit tiring.

Kids were fed. I was fed. All were full. No kitchen to clean.

Bitch of the Day: By 3 p.m., I desperately needed a nap, just as the little darlings got their second wind.