Why I am - and will always be - the family photographer

It never fails. I get home from vacation, download my photos and there are none of me. At least, none that I can tell are of me. Since my phone has a camera and my husband's does not, I am the shutterbug by default. "Pose by that church," I'll instruct him. "Smile!"

"Turn around! I want to get a picture of you and the statue," I'll say. "Smile!" He usually obliges (at least, more readily than he used to) and I'll usually snap a well-composed shot with my subject in focus, usually.

Sometimes, I'll even snap a candid when he's not looking.  Then, after he's posed for three or four shots, he'll say, "Here. Let me get one of you." So, I'll fix my hair, arrange my clothing and body at the most flattering angle, suck in my stomach and flash him my best smile. I'll say to myself, "Maybe, just maybe, this will be the picture that redeems him." Then, something like this happens....

At least, my stomach isn't sticking out.

Wait!  Is that... yes, I think that is me! I recognize the hat. "What were you thinking?" I laughed hysterically when I saw the shot. "I wanted to get all those rocks in the background." "Well, that you did, Ansel Adams," I said. "That, you did."