Our kids are constantly put under the lens. The camera lens, that is. If it’s not the camera lens, it’s the iphone lens. All three kids have done some extensive documentary photography themeselves using the phone – we’ve found megabytes and megabytes of images after the phone has disappeared for a while. (I’m sure we are not alone in this).

But this week Kato got his hands on the actual camera, our Canon SLR. He started out, not surprisingly, with a photo of his co-conspirator in all things:

She upped the mug factor in photo number two:

At that point, apparently, I discovered he was using the camera:

After a few stern words about holding it carefully and a short tutorial on how to use the camera (which he obviously did not need) I set him to work taking photos – curious about what he would choose to photograph.

Apparently, the first thing one wants to record, given the opportunity, is one’s bookshelf.

Then, one’s toy airplane, which has fallen out of favor in recent times. Ah, nostalgia photography:

Then, of course, one’s backpack.

Once you’re done with the detritus on the floor, it’s a good idea to capture the state of the light fixtures:

And then the outlets, of course:

And finally, the wall anchor for a screw for a picture that is no longer hanging on the wall because various children at various stages would remove it and toss it unceremoniously to the floor:

Obviously a paean to times gone by, to the glorious olden days of unheralded triumphs over cross-stitch.

I was starting to wonder about his framing skills and lack of subjective focus. I must, frankly, admit that I was unimpressed. I considered taking the camera away from him and telling him to stop wasting his time and get back to the things he’s good at, like eating cherry tomatoes and pushing his brother to the ground.

But then he took this picture:

Which might just be my favorite picture of his sister, who most often looks at the camera with a weird plastered on semi-smile.

I suppose Kato was just exercising that skill that kids are really the best at: surprising you just after you’ve finally given up.