I had plans. Big plans. Regarding what you ask? Regarding a certain rite of passage.
Which one? Shaving. Yes, really. I'm not sure how these things happen either.
My oldest has been planning to experience this for a few months now. It was getting to the point that he NEEDED to shave. At fourteen. Gah!
Not that he had a actual mustache but it was blond and getting longer and filling in quite a bit. (Note the blond comment. It will come in handy in a few moments.) So I had plans. I had visions of photographing the big event. Plans of witnessing this time honored tradition between father and son. Yes, you can see where this is going.
My son asked me why his razor was in the shower. The one I'd been shaving my legs with. (It was an emergency!) I knew it wasn't my husband's razor. I guessed that he had left it out in preparation of the big event. What I didn't guess was that the big event had already happened while I was washing the dishes one night.
And the best part? His comment.
"Can't you tell?"
"Ah, now that you mention it, yes."
That earned me a thoroughly disgusted look.
"But it's blond! You can only see it in the right light. Or if you're looking closely. I'm not observant. You know that! It's not my fault!"
And then I turned the tables. How could you do that without me? I wanted to take pictures. I missed this big event in your life! Whaaaaaaa.
The look horror and then relief when he realized the bullet he dodged. All was forgiven. I believe there may have been high fives behind my back between the boy and his father.
Later when I confronted my husband he insisted that maybe this wasn't the sort of thing moms should be photographing. That maybe it was best that I missed it. It's a guy thing and most guy things shouldn't be photographed.
And that's when I realized, my little boy is really growing up.