Say Cheese!

It has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words.  If you're Cael, however, a picture could be worth 7 to 10 in a federal penitentiary. 

It all started back on Cael's birthday when he received, among other things, a kid's indestructible digital camera for him to take pictures of things that interest him, like trains or trains, or even trains.

There were a few snapshots taken that night, mostly by Daddy and shot with the intent of learning the camera's limited features.  After that night, other toys took center stage and got played with more frequently while the camera slipped off of my radar.

Click!

I woke up yesterday to a bright flash.  Was it lightning?  Please don't let the dog pee on the floor.

Click!

The camera's imitation shutter sound coupled with the bright-as-the-surface-of-the-sun flash woke me from a dead sleep.

"Mommy!  Wake up and smile!"

"Mmm."

"You're not smiling.  SMILE."

Not the gentlest wake-up I've ever had.  But with no vomit, urine, feces or flooding to clean up, I couldn't complain too much about being awakened by an early morning photo session.

Later, I unknowingly plugged the camera into the computer to clear out Lord knows how many sleeping photos of me.  I looked forward to the pleasure and release of hearing each messy-haired pic being dragged to the trash can on my-- 

--OhdearGod.

And that's when I saw how my son has been spending his time lately and my mind immediately flashed forward to how he'd be spending his time in a concrete cell.

It started innocently enough.  Cael had wandered around the house, documenting every piece of incriminating evidence he could find.

Ugly shower?  Check.

Cobwebs in the corner?  Check.

Dirty toilet?  Check.

Then he proceeded to snap photographs of us covertly, likely with the plan of studying them later to figure out our weaknesses.  He caught me with my back turned on the computer....

Graham at point-blank range...

Even Daddy while preparing to do a workout.

And here's where it starts to get weird.

Using the cartoon inserts, Cael illustrated his true feelings about our feline friend while positioning him in the epicenter of a full-on army assault with M16s and hand grenades.

My mind flashed to outdated episodes of Dr. Phil that featured kids demonstrating an usually cruel disposition toward animals and their almost unavoidable descent into criminal behavior.  But then it got worse.

I couldn't quite make out the image I was seeing at first.  Is that... could that be...?

And then I realized that I was intently studying a photo of my now violated dog's "manly bits" as seen by my seemingly perverted and voyeuristic four year-old.

But that wasn't the last.  There was another.



 And another.

And another.

My eyes!  My eyes!

And then, just when I was ready to call Dr. Phil himself-- when I thought it couldn't get any worse-- I saw what my son does behind closed doors.

 That's right, friends.  That's my son's poop.

My first born, my pride and joy, and his biggest accomplishment.

When he gets back from inpatient therapy, I'm sure he'll have an explanation for all of us.  But until then, two can play at his game...