The Budding Photographer

In less than two weeks, Molli Malou will have been a citizen of the world for three years. (We’re going to play the birthday waaay down this year, for a lot of different reasons, but mainly because it’s the very last year we’ll be able to get away with it.)

I’m running out of steam after a day working at home because I still wasn’t ready to spend a day at the office after the lovely stomach virus Molli Malou passed on to both of her parents this weekend, so this is going to be one of those terse Molliblogs.

We begin with the continuously evolving self-awareness of Molli Malou. She now considers the camera her own, and will frequently ask for it. Frankly it’s such a piece of crap that I let her have it. (This morning even she starting whacking it against her palm and muttering, “Stupid camera!”—and no, that’s neither a lie nor an exaggeration. I’m just glad I’ve reserved the more appropriate adjectives for the camera when in Molli Malou’s presence.)

So here are two of the thrity-four self-portraits that form the first set of pictures on the memory card (it’s always a treat to view the card now, because we never know what gems Molli Malou has captured for us).

Then an interesting shot of our blinds.

At about my own knee level, there’s a shelf with a bunch of puzzles and crap piled up on it. That’s the cynical adult talking. Look at the world of opportunity seen by a girl of 2 years, 11 months, and 2 weeks:

The kitchen looks a lot more spacious if you’re three feet tall (and hold the camera at your own knee level):

And when’s the last time you really looked at your lower door hinges?

Every once in a while she’ll actually ask me to take a picture of her. Actually, it’s usually Dolly that asks me, in the freaky horror-movie voice (“redrum! redrum!”):

I think we could call the next two, respectively, “Study in Pacification” and “Study in Miniature Creamer” and sell them for thousands of dollars at a trendy Manhattan gallery.

Autofocus? We don’t need no stinkin’ autofocus. (Except you can’t actually turn it off, so I’m not sure how she does this.)

“Hey! First outside meal of the season! Give me the camera for one minute and let me take on picture, Molli Malou! Please?!”

The bedroom lamp… “White Sphere on White #22.” $2750, signed.

Impatient to feed the ducks of Frederiksberg Haven, she begins tossing bread crumbs to the sparrows in the shrubbery.

Just as well, because the ducks and geese freaked her out.

But not too badly.

All the same, we didn’t point out to her the dead duck drifting by head down in the midst of all the raucous ducks, geese, and herons in the canal.

No good duck feeding pics, though, because Trine did all the bird feeding while Daddy taught Molli Malou not to be afraid of the fowl because they were more afraid of her, which led to her spending fifteen minutes running amok among the birds to make them fly away.

Then this. Whatever. (I really am toast.)

She loves her bike more and more each day. She likes to ride around in the courtyard with some of the other kids.

Two more of her final 47 self-portraits.

And now shots from this evening’s after-dinner bike ride. She made it probably close to a mile before pooping out, and was rewarded with some ice cream.

These pictures really underscored for me how urban a kid she’s growing up as. One of these days I’m sure she’s going to ask me what stores we have to go to for grass and trees.

Good night!