The Photo Shoot from Hell

A few weeks ago, a talented friend and neighbor of mine took our family pictures. I was looking forward to this because, I determined, this was the year we were going to get GOOD pictures taken. For years I have looked like crap in our family photos. Why? 1) I am not photogenic to begin with and 2) I'm always responsible for making sure the whole production goes off so all my time is spent on making everyone else look great, but me? not so much. Last time, we had our pictures done at a mall a distance from our house and so I took all of our clothes to put on in the studio so they wouldn't get dirty. And I thought, I'll take my makeup bag and put some on right before we have them done so I'll look nice and fresh. Clever, right? Guess what? Forgot my makeup bag. I looked frazzled and sweaty (because I was).

Also in my last family picture the neckline of my shirt dipped weirdly, revealing quite a bit of my bra strap. Thankfully, it was taupe and the lady who helped us actually photoshopped it a little but, if you look closely, you can see part of my chest looks strangely blurred, rather like a scar from open-heart surgery. 

This time I wanted to have one of those family pictures like you see on Pinterest, where everyone is coordinated (but not matchy-matchy) and posed (but looking candid). So I shopped (and shopped, and shopped) spending more time and money on this than I have yet to admit to my husband.

The day arrived, the weather was great. The location, my mother-in-law's B&B in scenic Amish Country. Kids are always a wildcard and I was counting on my 2-year-old to run all over the place, and my middle child HATES to have his picture taken, but at least my eldest (age 7) could be counted on to cooperate. Right? Wrong!!! Brady, the 7-year-old, was truculent and basically a dark cloud of defiance the whole time. And there I was getting madder and madder. Mad that Brady wouldn't just cooperate, mad that Audrey was running all over the place, mad that there were choke cherries ALL OVER the ground staining our clothes, mad that Audrey's tutu was getting mangled from having to wrestle with her, mad that I had spent all this time and money and we were getting basically NOTHING out of this ordeal.

The good news? We got a few decent ones, and I look good (if a little chubby) in most of the pictures. At least there's no bra strap showing. The bad news? I'm not sure I'll ever fully recover (or the photographer, for that matter). I'm afraid what I will remember most about these pictures is my barely contained rage at my children, myself...the world. Not exactly what I want to memorialize on film and remember every time I walk into our living room. Family pictures are supposed to capture us at our best, am I right? 

Later that night, I overheard a slightly remorseful Brady telling my husband as he was tucking him in, "Sorry I made it so hard today." Well, I'm sorry too, Brady. Sorry for having such high, unrealistic expectations for this stupid event. Sorry for wanting to project an image of our family that's perfect and polished and put-together. Because that ain't the truth, and if my image is what's more important to me than how I treat my family, then I got bigger problems than you not wanting to unbutton the top button of your shirt. Sorry, kid. I'll do better next time.

Can't you just feel the love?

This is Brady's Kayla  Maroney "We are not impressed" face.

We've got a runner.