I walked Henry to school today and walked most of the way back home before realizing that I had a wooden hanger hanging from the belt on the back of my coat. A large, wooden hanger.
I'm telling you this to illustrate 1) how much of a dork I am and 2) how mentally and physically worn out I still am from yesterday's shoot. I have no idea why I should be this tired, because most of my day yesterday was spent sitting around. It was too much excitement for me, I guess. I am even more delicate than I believed. Or my humours are out of whack. A bloodletting is in order!
So! Yesterday was the photo shoot for Wondertime, as I mentioned previously. Present were Tim and Liz, the lovely and kind art directors from Wondertime, as well as Asger and Lloyd, the infinitely patient photographer and his charming assistant. Henry, Scott, and I were outfitted and posed and fed snacks. And we had so much fun. Draining, life-sapping fun. Here are the photos. If they don't make sense to you, well, you'll have to wait for the May issue of Wondertime to come out. Maybe you should subscribe! That's an idea I spontaneously had right now. (Please note: I am not receiving kickbacks from Wondertime.) (Unfortunately.)
Here's Henry, getting notes on what his motivation should be. "You're Darth Vader, coming out of the shower." How sweet does he look here? It's kind of killing me. Of course you can't hear him whining about the unbearable weight of the light saber, and the fact that the mask was choking him TO DEATH.
"What are you doing in the bathroom, son?"
"I'M TURNING TO THE DARK SIDE, MOTHER."
Henry was amazing, actually. The mask was heavy, the light saber was heavy, the shirt was chafing him, the fog from the fog machine smelled funny, and it was hard to hear everyone's direction over the sound effects coming from the light saber, but my baby posed for longer than I ever could have anticipated.
On the other hand, he got to play with incredibly cool light sabers. They're worlds away from the crappy telescoping plastic kind we own. It must be horrible, having us as his parents.
Scott worked until 2:30 a.m. that morning, so he could spend his day pretending to be Luke Skywalker. Did he do it for me? I like to think so.
We tried to include Charlie in a shot or two, but he was being a prima donna about it—only letting us shoot his right profile because that's his signature look, etc. He didn't make the cut. Sorry, dog.
Henry declined the use of the mask for his Ultimate Battle with Obi Wan, so Liz gave him the option of giant movie-star sunglasses and a headband. It doesn't sound like it would work, but it worked well enough. Bonus: Henry didn't throw himself to the ground in mortal agony.
"Can you be a dear and get me a glass of sparkling water? With a little lemon juice? Not a wedge of lemon, dear, I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANY LEMON, just sort of a lemon essence. Wait a minute, is this pulp? I see? That's it, you're fired."
Henry kept asking Scott, "When are you going to fall down and die?" Not for a few years, son, so meanwhile you and your Oedipal struggle best hush up.
I contemplated uploading this to Finslippy yesterday and asking, "Is this a bad sign?" Ha, ha! It's just a fog machine in my oven. DON'T PANIC.
The photographer kept saying that he wanted to make me look "elegant," which I thought was a lovely sentiment, considering that I was wearing cinnamon buns on my head and a pom-pommed bathrobe from Target.
When the shoot was over (seven hours, my friends! SEVEN) Tim and Liz gave Henry not one, but TWO of the light sabers. Was he excited? A LITTLE BIT. I'm still amazed that we got him to sleep, or eat, or stop trying to amputate our limbs for more than two minutes.
So that's our story! Aaaand now I'm going back to bed. Wake me when the issue comes out. Thank you.