I read an article several years ago about a man and his camera. I have forgotten the source, but the gist of what he wrote has stayed with me. He described how hard he had worked over the years to capture his kids' various events on film. (Back when people still used film.) He talked about how he would sometimes arrive early for a program to stake out the best spot for his tripod and how he once had a rather heated discussion with a school principal about proper lighting. His diligence paid off with an extensive collection of tapes and photos of every event and milestone in his children's lives. And yet the piece was tinged with regret because he had come to the realization that he had become so focused on capturing the moments that he had forgotten to enjoy them.

I seem to have the opposite problem.  I keep realizing after the fact that it might have been nice to have a camera handy.  Last weekend, for example, we took our kids to the Heroes and Villains exhibit at the Museum of Life and Science.  I recognized that I should have thought to bring the camera when I saw the scads of people waiting in line to take a picture with R2D2.  I deeply regretted not having the camera when my son wanted to stand in this line anyway.  Fortunately, he displayed the patience of a six-year-old and decided after a few minutes that a sort-of-close look would be better than waiting for a close look.

In case you missed the event (though based on the size of the crowd that seems unlikely) an already great museum was enhanced by fabulous extras.  A man demonstrating sound effects reminded me of that radio scene from Annie.  That scene that confused me so much as a kid.  I’d have been about four or five when I first watched it and I didn’t know why that guy was playing with the little door, why it was funny to have a ventriloquist on the radio and had no idea why the other guy kept saying “drop page.”

Another man at the museum had an impressive display of prop weapons, mostly different types of swords.  I wanted to linger at this exhibit, but oddly enough could not get my son, who lately has turned everything in our house into an imaginary “shooter” of some kind, interested in watching.  There were also make-up artists painting faces and a few other booths that we passed rather quickly as the big draw for our family was the Star Wars characters.  Y is especially interested now that he knows he can occasionally find his name in Star Wars books.  (No, it isn’t Yoda.)  He didn’t want to leave until we found Darth Vader.  It was an awesome costume.  But you’ll have to take my word for it since I have no picture.

This week I have been trying to make up for not bringing the camera to the event.  This is how I try to achieve a good balance.  I tend to take pictures in clusters after I realize I haven’t taken any for a while.  It doesn’t always work.

J got down on the floor to give her baby sister a big hug and I recognized a brilliant photo op.  But little M recognized an opportunity to grab two big fistfuls of hair so I had to rescue rather than record the moment.  One day Y and J were both wearing the shirts they painted a few weeks ago.  I didn’t take any pictures of the painting and I fetched the camera to document the results.  But the kids were a bit too cooperative and kept leap-froging each other to be in the foreground until I was backed up against the wall with neither shirt in the frame.  And just today I thought a video would be nice.  J was attempting to copy her big brother’s magic show and couldn’t figure out the tools.  She was sure she was actually going to get that cube through the wand one way or another and her show pretty much consisted of ten minutes of “Oops.  Let’s try this again.”  I couldn’t get up because I was nursing a baby.  Luckily, I can appreciate that failing to capture memories sometimes makes even more of them.

The only downside is that they are harder to share.  For instance, I could tell my kids that when I was little I liked to pretend I was a dog.  But they wouldn’t appreciate that nearly as much as the photo of me, at about age four, wearing pants on my head and socks on my hands.  That image is hilarious to them.  (My older sister is similarly clad in the shot and I’m willing to bet it was her idea.)  Sometimes the pictures themselves are the memory.  My mom can’t look at a certain photo album without mentioning the time dad took us to the park and came back with 24 pictures of kids in swings.  It’s a good thing he didn’t have a digital camera back then.

As a writer, I try to entertain with words.  I’m the first to admit that some weeks I do a better job than others and there are times when words just aren’t enough.  Now and then, I just wish I had a camera.  This post is now nearing 1000 words.  But is it worth one photo of my kid looking terrified of Princess Leia?

Mandy appears weekends on TriangleMom2Mom.