Picture perfect

Sunday we had our increasingly irregular adventure that is family pictures. (Increasingly irregular for two reasons: 1. The big kids all have their pictures taken twice a year at school (sorry, queenie. But you ARE the fourth—what do you expect?) and, 2. The last time we tried to do family pictures everyone was so horrible that I decided the battle just was not worth it. I never asked to be the hair-combing-fancy-shoes-get-your-butt-in-the-van-NOW-picture-nazi. I just thought some sort of documentation that proved we could all have clean faces, unwrinkled clothes, and smiles facing in the same general direction would be a positive thing in the long run. Silly me). But we really had no choice this time. Grace makes her first communion in 2 weeks and our beloved hairdresser was going to be out of town on the only next available picture weekend before the blessed event. Sunday it was. (Oh, and also Lucy turned 1 in February and the last professional photo I have of her is from 6 weeks old. There, I admitted it). As always, the drama began the moment I made the appointment.

Can I just say that I HATE deciding what everyone will wear. Luckily, I have 4 beautiful kids--it is a little like dressing up little dolls--but they are, after all, kids. Grace is tremendously picky so we usually have to coordinate our outfits around what she is willing to wear. In addition, I have to time pictures with deliberate precision to avoid any facial trauma on my little tasmanian devil Claire (and, increasingly, Lucy as well—more on that in a minute). In addition, Chad is very opinionated on this topic which is helpful in some ways (I know most men barely grunt when their wives try to engage them in discussion of the merits of hair bows vs. flowers and casual vs. dressy). But it also adds the additional wrinkle of trying to satisfy yet another person in the mix. Oy, I get a headache just thinking about it.

Anyway, Saturday night I headed to the basement to track down matching dresses that Grace and Claire had worn for pictures a few years ago. “Wouldn’t that be cute?”, I thought. Sort of like documenting our little girl history in adorable yellow sundresses. Chad didn’t think so. (Is it an oldest vs. youngest child thing that makes me think it is cute to have the littler ones follow in the bigger ones footsteps, and Chad think it is “not fair” that the little ones don’t get their own stuff?)

“Shouldn’t you get new clothes for pictures?” he asked.

“I guess,” I shrugged uncertainly. I KNOW I’ve been reprimanded in the past for spending too much on fancy clothes for little people. But I also know an opportunity when I see one. “I’ll just run to the mall after we get Gracie’s hair done tomorrow,” I offered.

So, long story short, in typical Mama Duck fashion, I attempted to accomplish 6 hours worth of tasks in just 3 with 2 little ducks in tow. Luckily, my aunt Marilyn accomplished miracles with Grace’s hair (my picky little princess’s comment to her, “Marilyn, how do you DO it?”) and even convinced the Taz to spend a few minutes in her magical, beautifying chair. The girls and I then raced to the Gap, haphazardly swept items off the shelves and onto the checkout counter (I didn’t even look at the prices—shameful, but true). Then we raced home, 5 minutes before we were supposed to be at the portrait studio.

Now, I ask you—does any family walk calmly into pictures, all pretty and poised, with a small bag of necessities (comb, baby wipes etc.) in hand and time to spare? Or do we all dash in frantically, dribbling ribbons and extra shoes in the parking lot as we run, clutching changes of clothes with only the front parts clean and ironed? Does any mom go in with kids that aren’t crying and not simultaneously barking orders at her husband? I’m beginning to think there is just no other way. I have to give Chad credit this time, though. He stayed pretty calm and kind the whole time. That is more than I can say for me (we won’t discuss the thrown nail polish incident).

So, in spite of all the stress and drama, by some miracle, we got some beautiful shots. The clothes were perfect (we were ripping tags off as they were posed—although I have to say I am definitely a convert to the “new clothes for pictures” school of thought), their hair was incredible (thanks, Marilyn!), and we got them all looking (if not smiling) in the same direction at least a couple of times. Here is one of the best group shots (yes, we had to include Lambie—but if that isn’t part of our family history, I don’t know what is. And no, by the time we got to the group shots, nap-free Lucy was completely out of smiles, especially when we refused to let her keep her binkie):



This is one of my absolute favorites. It captures Sam’s coolness and Claire’s sassy pants so perfectly. And can’t you just see the relationship between the two of them? And a note on Sammy: When I pealed into our neighborhood to pick up him, Lucy, and Chad, he was covered in chocolate pop tart, dressed in sweats and a ratty t-shirt, and pedaling his bigwheel as fast as he could AWAY from our house. With 5 minutes before pictures. After my hysterical shrieking summons, he was prepared for pictures in less than 30 seconds. It helps that he has the most amazing hair (curly, thick, coarse), but more, it helps that he doesn’t give a rip about how he looks and he is a boy so the options and requirements are so much less. No tights! No bows! No curling irons! Moms of boys—you don’t know how lucky you are, at least on picture day. Not that it isn’t fun to dress up my little dollies. But let’s just say it took a LOT MORE than 30 seconds to make my little flowers bloom.

And then there is Gracie. Oh, Gracie. I’m sure all moms think their little princess is perfect, but really, objectively, isn’t she breathtaking? This is just a sampling. It is almost impossible to choose photos of Grace—one is more beautiful than the next. I’ve been reading about preparing your child for first Communion, and it is very important NOT to let the dress and veil and fancy hair be the focus of this very holy event. But how can your head not be turned by such a pretty little thing? And she really is as sweet as she looks.

And finally, my queen. So you may be noticing the unusual redness on her nose and cheek. Yes, those are scrapes. Yes, they are fresh.
The other thing I learned when returning from my mad dash around town the morning before pictures was that Lucy had suffered a minor accident. When pressed, Chad admitted that she had fallen out of the swing. Not a baby swing—the big swingset swing. How does that happen, you ask? When your 6 year old brother decides to give you an underdog. Now does that create an image of my tiny queen tumbling ass over apple carts through the air and onto the wood chips below? Me too. She’s a tough little tiger, but really? On picture day? I don’t really blame Chad or Sam. I’ve often celebrated the fact that my big kids are old enough to push the little ones on the swings. It saves me so much trouble. But still, the irony is not lost on me. Isn’t that smile irresistible, though?
Note that in this one, I tried and tried and tried to get her to leave her hair bow in. Lucy is decidedly anti-hair accoutrement. She likes this armpit look.

See?

Ah, at last! See the mischief in those twinkly eyes? It’s not just for show. Also note that the first birthday pictures for my February baby are in a sundress (i.e. 2 months late). We talked about putting her in winter clothes just to maintain the illusion that we photograph her as diligently as her big siblings. But, really, who do we think we’d be kidding? Certainly not her, at least not for long.

And so ends the story of our latest picture saga. It will likely be many many months before I forget the drama enough to give it another go, though I’m certain I will, in time. After pictures, I went home and took a nap. Actually, recounting it makes me feel like I might just need another one. Whew.