This is the point where I tell her there is nothing in the box. She actually handled it pretty well, though -- I told her that she was allowed to play with the box, the paper, whatever she wanted, as long as she didn't touch the Christmas tree or any ornaments, and as long as she helped us clean up before bathtime. For as clean as she is, she does enjoy making a mess from time to time. As we all do. (And she wore the box on her head for a while, and called it a "robot hat." Love this kid!)
I have been worrying though, lately, that I am turning into (or already am) one of those "paparazzi parents," the ones who go nowhere without their digital camera, ready to document anything and everything that might happen. Just in case, you know? It does concern me that maybe my own kid wouldn't be able to pick me out of a lineup, but she can identify my camera from 100 paces. I mean, for crap's sake: I planned a photo shoot for my own kid, in my own house! And the only thing she wants for Christmas is her own "cramera!"
Like any decent and reasonable person, I want to take whatever means are necessary to keep my kid from turning into one of those awful, awful people on shows like "The Hills" or "Keeping Up With The Kardashians." I mean, I think we're going to be fine, because nobody really cares about our life, since we're so average and ordinary and normal in every way (except for the monkeyshit craziness, of course, but even that is your typical kind of monkeyshit craziness).
Still and all, I wonder if maybe we are teaching her bad habits, because I spend so much time being Madame Director instead of being Mommy. I have spent approximately eleventy bajillion hours working on these calendars, and at least half that trying to direct my kid so that I could get the pictures that I want, so as to convey the image that I want, so I could make the pages turn into what I imagined them to be.
And I don't want to be one of those parents, one of those stage or pageant moms.