If you ever want something that will perk up your ego and make you forget you’re a puked-on, spaghetti-sauce stained mom, try a photo shoot. Last month, I went down to Indianapolis for a photo shoot with Indianapolis Monthly, a pretty sizeable metro magazine that had done a story on me for its March issue. This was, I figured, going to be a breeze. I’d done photo shoots before for magazines. I’d sit in a chair, they’d snap a pic and I’d be on my way.

But this one was a BIG DEAL. They had me bring a few changes of clothes (which we didn’t end up using; it turned out those were there in case I couldn’t dress myself and they needed to have me change into something that had Garanimal matchability) and some “props,” i.e., my books.

First, we went into the photo studio. I have been in photo studios before but they were nothing like this one. This studio totally rocked. It had the mirror to beat all mirrors, for one. Circled with the big round lights, as bright as an airport runway (for a minute, I contemplated taking it home, but figured they might notice me carrying it out on my back). I thought they were going to take my picture there, but no, this was just the setting for...

My books.

I was glad to see the paperbacks get the star treatment. They were set up in a variety of poses, with a bunch of different props, sometimes standing on end, sometimes vertical, sometimes horizontal, always showing their best side. The whole thing took maybe ten minutes, but the photographer took several pictures, and my books were none the worse for wear.

Then it was my turn. The photographer and the two art director assistants took me over to a nearby Border’s which had been set up for a photo shoot. We had to wait a bit for a manager to come down and oversee the whole thing (permission had been secured ahead of time) but overall, it went pretty fast.

The cool part was that the art assistants knew what they wanted, had the space all planned out and clearly had a vision for my page. They sat me in a chair, tipped it this way, that, took some Nora books off the shelf to set mine up (sorry, Nora, but we put them right back after, I swear) behind me.

All throughout, the art assistants were fussing with my hair and clothes. At first, I felt like a third grader getting a class picture. Then I kinda felt like Angelina Jolie. It was...cool. Very cool.

We did a half dozen different poses. The whole thing seemed to take an hour, but in reality only took about 20 minutes. They were fast and efficient, knew what they wanted, and were really nice.

I have to admit, though, that I was spoiled by this star treatment. People catering to me. Asking me if I wanted coffee. Fixing my hair. My jacket. My chair. My husband even carried my garment bag back to the car. For a half an hour on a blustery January morning, I was a STAR.

That lasted until we drove back home, the kids got back from school, dinner had to be made, one dog jumped on me and shed all over my pants, the other dog ate something it shouldn’t have and puked on the carpet (anyone who reads my regular blog knows I have a dog that takes my most star-a-licious moments and tops them off by making me get out the carpet cleaner. I think she gets nervous for me, either that or she’s insanely jealous or getting back at me for that spaying thing).

Life was back to normal. Nora’s books were safely back on the Border’s shelf. My hair was a mess, my clothes were a mess, and my moment in the sun had lasted for only a few minutes. But it helped me get through the next few weeks of spaghetti sauce and dog hair. And when things get especially hairy around here (literally, LOL!), I’ll pull out that magazine and prove to myself that I can, indeed, feel like a movie star.

If only for twenty minutes out of my life.
What about you? When’s the last time you felt like a star? Or if you haven’t, what’s your dream star treatment?