The Boy was at it again today — 177 photos spread through the day, from morning to evening.

Today, he got some really good shots. Part of that came from experimentation: I let him use a telephoto zoom, which helped him fill the frame more that he’s done the last two days. He liked it, but in the end, he preferred the little prime lens he’d been using. “It’s so much less bulky!” he exclaimed.

He also learned a little lesson: not everyone whats to be photographed all the time. The Girl, for example, appears less frequently in here because she’s increasingly resistant to photographs. (What 13-year-old wants dad writing blog posts about her?) During dinner, then, he asked everyone who’s willing to let him photograph them. Only L opted out.

But he still snuck a few shots, much to her frustration.

“If you’re a spy, it’s okay to take pictures without permission. Otherwise, it’s not a good idea,” I said.

Excitedly, he heard what he wanted: “If I were a spy I could…”

“But you’re not.” I could envision him redefining that word to suit his own purposes.

I’m afraid, though, that I might have encouraged it the other day.

“What do you like taking pictures of, Daddy? What’s your favorite thing?”

“I like taking pictures that show people just being, just doing what they do every day without thinking about it.” If I had more guts, I might be able to parley that into a gig as a street photographer, which in its own way is a certain kind of spy.

There was a little photo session after dinner, with the Boy getting a few poses out of K. He walked over to her and manipulated her arms into the position he wanted — something like a dab — and then took his position. “Perfect.”