Smile for the birdie!

Recently, Redheaded Snippet had the opportunity to have a photo shoot. Does one have a photo shoot? Is it more appropriate to simply say she did a photo shoot even though it sounds so dumb? Did she participate in a photo shoot? Oooh! I know, maybe she sat for a photo shoot (even though there was very little sitting involved)!

Howe'er it was, there was a photo shoot and Redheaded Snippet was in it. A friend of hers has an older brother who is a budding photographer and needed a subject for a project for a college course.  They had loads of fun doing it and we got lots of free photos of our little Snippet in the bargain!

And I'm going to share them here!  Comfy?

The assignment called for taking athletic shots so Snippet got out her hockey gear and met the photog at the high school stadium.

The second part of the assignment called for shots of the athlete in another familiar environment.  As our home  is just a hop, skip and a jump from the high school, it was chosen as the second location.

The photog asked Redheaded Snippet what she does most often at home.  She shrugged and said, "Sit on the porch, reading my Bible."  That's my girl!

No one can resist the tree swing.  If we charged a quarter a ride, we'd be rolling in the dough!

That goes double for the trampoline...

There'll be no living with her after this...

Pretty, Happy, Funny Real FLAMBE'!

I'm finding that this Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real business seems to rather efficiently represent the schizoid quality of my life as long as you split it into two parts: The Pretty and Happy vs the Funny and Real.

Point in case (as Redheaded Snippet used to say):

Ah, so Pretty:

From the climbing rose sloooooowly taking over the gazebo. I can see them from the kitchen window and Redheaded Snippet always surprises me with a vase or two of them and it always makes me so...

Happy! (nice segue, yeah?):

You'd never know, from looking at these shots, that we live in a crazy house.

Funny (but I'm not sure he thought so):

In case you don't know, I have a long and bloody history with the toaster oven. I can't seem to keep from setting it on fire. EVERYONE teases me that that's why The Viking had to become a firefighter: to save us all from certain fiery death.

Real:

Thank HEAVEN he was home! I responded as only a hair-brained knucklehead would and ran out onto the porch, flapping my hands and yipping things like, "FLAMES...TOASTER...EMPTY...SORRY!"

On the flip side, now I get to go toaster shopping.