Since our kid was born, grandparents and others have been after us about pictures.
Apparently the law states that parents are required to have professional pictures of your family or else be forced to hear about it at every family gathering.
One would have thought from the cluster of photos that my wife and I have posted online would have been sufficient, but nope. Pictures. Fancy real ones, too.
So we did it. On a Friday evening at that. After school and work, we got all dressed up, even as the temps were in the seventies. It was sweaters and flannels for us.
It was a crap shoot to say the least. A two-year-old’s patience is neither predictable nor negotiable. So after full day at school, he was carted home, wiped clean, dressed up, then hauled out to the farm for pictures. This required extra Goldfish crackers to pull off, especially when Daddy made a few wrong turns.
We started out great, with Simon cheesing for the camera, all smiles and laughter. Then he wanted to "mow the grass" out in the field. A few snaps later and he was really looking for a tractor. Then he was a mess.
Sometimes, on those ultra-rare occasions when my son puts his meltdowns on public display, I try to assure the people watching that he never does this. Nuh-uh, not our little guy. Oh, he never does that either. He never hits or screams at the top of his lungs. But after a few snaps of the camera, as it was going on six o’clock, his usual dinnertime, he was not having it with the pictures.
Sherri, mother of two kids, is a seasoned pro. Still, I wasn’t sure if this was going to work out.
"You just want one you can frame," she said. I smiled at my wife. Oh we could frame it all right. Him hoisted over my shoulder, kicking and screaming and demanding a tractor. A stream of drool cascading down my neck. We could hang it right over the fireplace.
But she worked her magic, and I have to say, the pictures turned out great.