Juliette's Canadian aunt and cousin are visiting, so we all went to Disneyland over the weekend, where I took a whole bunch of truly terrible street shots. I don't think I'm ever going to be much as a street photographer, but occasionally I get one I like.

The other night I forgot to make Eva clean up her toys before she went to bed, so I asked Jason to put them away for me. Then when I went to check on the job he'd done, I found this. Fortunately, he does appear to understand the difference between real babies and toy ones.

Jason prefers to play with Eva's hand-me-downs. Eva prefers to play with boxes. Somehow it all seems to work out. For now.

Eva was very excited to show me this when I got home the other day. I don't know, I think she might like Elmo, or something.

"Are you cute?"

"No! I'm handsome!"

"OK, well, in any case, I love you."

"Why do you love me?"

"Why do I love you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, because you're my boy."

"Know why I love myself?"

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm stinky!"

"Because you're stinky?"

"Yeah!"

"OK. Well, can't argue with that."

"I'm so stinky!"

"Hey buddy, can I have a hug?"

"Yeah."

He wrapped his arms around my neck, and his shoulder dug into my throat a little. He does that a lot--it's uncomfortable, but I like that he hugs me tightly.

I looked down at him, and for the millionth time I'm struck by what a beautiful child my son is. "You're a handsome boy, you know that?"

"Yeah," he said, "I know that."

I remember being a child and having my parents or their friends tell me that I was good-looking. I think I must have had the same casual confidence about my appearance when I was his age, but, for the life of me, I can't remember it.

When I was eleven a bully told me that I was ugly, and that's how I've seen myself ever since.

It's odd: I can't even find it in me to be angry about it anymore. I mean, what eleven-year-old has the perspective to see how devastating he can be to someone else's self-image, or how long-lasting the effects can be? I can't believe that any of them knew what they were doing.

And I have a good life. I have a wonderful family who I love and who love me. I'm successful at my job. I have a nice home filled with nice things, and I have the wherewithal to fill my spare time obsessing about things like single-malt Scotch, or visual art, or finding out which kinds of oolong teas suit my preferences the best. That I never feel sexy is a fairly minor inconvenience, all things considered.

But still, it's not something that anybody should have to go through. And when I chuckle at the conceit in my four-year-old son's voice when he says he knows he's handsome, I also can't help but think: he really is a beautiful boy, and it would break my heart if some day he couldn't believe it when someone told him so.

It's silly, I suppose, to worry about something that probably won't happen, but that's parenthood for you.

I check on the kids every night on my way to bed, and I'm often surprised at their sleeping positions. Which is kind of odd, come to think of it, since I can remember doing things like this when I was young. Even when I was not that young.

I suppose it's going to be Clean the Front Windows Day fairly soon, too.

I can't decide whether this new idea I have is interesting or pretentious. I'm interested in looking at the "digital-ness" of digital photo processes. This particular approach, though, may be a little obvious or trite. Though I suppose that even if it is, there's no real reason not to give it a shot.