The other day, while I was trying (in vain) to get dressed in some privacy, Danny came barrelling into my room and smeared some of my clear chapstick on his face. He prompty turned to me and said, "Look at me, Mommy!" There was nothing to see - at least nothing except his eager, charming face. I've started to wonder if this blogging thing is making my camera a too-constant companion. Every move my kids make doesn't necessarily require documentation, and might not even warrant my attention. I'm fairly certain that my camera is not the culprit for what I have diagnosed as "look at me" syndrome - a common affliction (experience? you be the judge) for most children, particularly those with siblings. But I also don't want the only times I do take a moment to look at them to be behind the lens of my camera. At two, I suppose it's not overly reasonable for me to expect Danny to make the distinction between a worthwhile and not-so-worthwhile "look at me" plea. He's just making his way in the world as an increasingly independent individual. But he also imitates Clare, making her way in what is a more competitive environment than it used to be ("cute and funny baby brother" fatigue definitely set in with her in the final days of our California vacation). Which is what prompts me to consider these requests in a slighter brighter light. I don't want either of my kids to assume that their role is the center of my - or any - universe, which is why I don't drop everything and wax poetic each time they ask for my attention. Yet I can't help but wonder if I really am seeing them when I look...
