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My daughter eventually handed me back the phone. She had moved on to the next photo: a crisp, perfect shot of our dog sleeping. She smiled, said “Puppy,” and ran off to destroy the living room.
This is the main event.
I think about that photo my daughter found. The “sad” one. In it, I am not performing. I am not trying to be a “good mom” for the ‘gram. I am just being a mom. My hand is dirty. The light is fluorescent. The moment is ugly. And yet, that is the photo she was drawn to. Not the Easter portrait. Not the beach sunset. The Tuesday morning apocalypse.
Allison Carr Mutha Magazine [cracked]
My daughter eventually handed me back the phone. She had moved on to the next photo: a crisp, perfect shot of our dog sleeping. She smiled, said “Puppy,” and ran off to destroy the living room.
This is the main event.
I think about that photo my daughter found. The “sad” one. In it, I am not performing. I am not trying to be a “good mom” for the ‘gram. I am just being a mom. My hand is dirty. The light is fluorescent. The moment is ugly. And yet, that is the photo she was drawn to. Not the Easter portrait. Not the beach sunset. The Tuesday morning apocalypse.