My Subject: Doodads

Doodads fill my life: I trip over them; I search for them; I rescue them from the toilet; I clean them up several times a day; I wash them; once in a while I use them to entertain.

I call these toys doodads, because mostly they are not significant to me. But they matter to my daughters. And because they matter, these objects punctuate the events in my typical day. "Where is my wub?" "Open the umbrella." "Put on Polly's dress!"

For this project, instead of showing doodads interrupt my events as they typically do, I incorporated them into the actual event as participants. And in doing so, I discovered latent irony. For instance, it is funny to me that the Polly pocket, a toymaker's playful, sellable interpretation of womanhood, would be under my feet as I'm cleaning up dinner. Where is my fairy godmother when I need her the most? Another irony, Peeks the clown on the way to the bus stop: I am never laughing on the way to bus stop but hollering "Chop! Chop!" Would we get there faster if I laughed our way there? Most likely.

Lastly, I am struck by the beauty of these familiar objects. My favorite shot is the under "Event 2: Making pigtails in Claire's hair." This is the place where I do this. In the picture, I like the way the textures and patterns of the crocheted umbrella play with the eyelet curtain. That beauty mingles so unabashedly with the ordinary compels me to treasure more the seemingly mundane. I'm not sure there is anything mundane about raising three daughters. There certainly isn't when it comes to combing hair. Some of my most important conversations with Claire happen here. Her curious observations, insightful questions play with my questions and sometimes wisdom.