"Momma! Momma!" Willow yells, barreling up to me as I transplant ditch lilies from one garden to another (both in the quadrant of front yard that Matt resents me for planting in, as we both know it's the best part of our property, and HE dreams of a baseball field-like expanse of green lawn). "I found a CATERPILLAR!"
Obviously, I run for the camera (as if Willow is not finding caterpillars and roly-poly bugs and earthworms and grasshoppers all day long, each one the subject of its own photo shoot), and spend several minutes taking photos of the caterpillar, as Willow, an old hand at Momma's photography, does her best to show it off in the best light and at the best angle.
When I'm finally finished and about to stand up and pick my shovel back up, Willow says, "Here, Momma, you hold the caterpillar now, and I'll take YOUR picture with it."
As if the caterpillar is some sort of celebrity, and we're the fangirls with our cellphones out begging for pics.
I hadn't thought of having my photo taken today, or of holding a caterpillar in my dirty hands, but I do what my daughter tells me, and she takes my photo:
I feel good about myself, seeing me through her eyes.