I don't consider myself a stage parent, not really, although I do sometimes allow myself to entertain daydreams that Shae might someday get cast in a production of "Annie" or something -- a show that I myself auditioned for many years ago, when I was still young and cute and precocious enough to play one of the orphans and not old and bitter and miserable enough to play Miss Hannigan -- and sometimes I imagine that one of my Flickr photos will get "discovered" and Shae might be able to save up some extra money for college by becoming a local catalog model. I mean, she's a really pretty girl, and she wears her clothes well, even if (when left to her own devices) she does tend to accessorize everything with Crocs and silly bands.
The problem is, this kid is maybe the world's absolute worst fashion model. For me, anyway. Admittedly, I am no Mario Testino or Annie Liebovitz, but you would think that I could get her to smile once in a while.
Especially when she is wearing a very pretty dress that she loved trying on in the store. In front of those crappy-ass full-length discount store mirrors, under those god-awful fluorescent lights, when all I had was the cell phone camera that couldn't keep up with her, she twirled and spun and curtsied and grinned from ear to ear, her face lighting up like fireworks. At home, with natural lighting and a decent camera, it was like pulling teeth to get her to even stand up straight, let alone pose.
Well, okay, she "posed," but not in any of the ways I wanted her to. And there wasn't even anything good on TV at the time, just basketball.
I'll give her some credit -- at least she tried to smile. Sometimes. When she felt like humoring me. Which you can totally see in the gritted-teeth faces she makes.
But it's pretty clear to me that we have a LOT of work to do if I ever want to successfully campaign for her to be the Queen of the Rose Parade.