My hands trembled as I opened the envelope.
Anticipation had been building as I retrieved the claim slip from my coat pocket, as the salesperson totaled my bill and as I wrote the check. Now I was sitting in the car in the grocery store parking lot getting ready to look at the pictures. I took a deep breath.
What’s wrong with me? Don’t I have something more important to sweat over than pictures?
No, especially at this time of year
The pictures were of our family, taken in hopes of using one of them for our 1985 Christmas card. If you had been here Sunday afternoon for our photo session, you would understand my nervousness.
Each year we try to do a picture Christmas card. We used to take the picture on Thanksgiving, but as our family grew I realized that I couldn’t stuff a turkey and curl my daughters’ hair at the same time, so now we do the picture the Sunday before. It’s a major effort.
Each year we receive similar picture cards from friends and relatives. Often the pictures are casual snapshots taken outside on a patio or on a vacation trips when everyone looks relaxed and natural.
I wish we could get a picture like that, but it never works. Instead, I spend a month getting ready: figuring out what everyone is going to wear; choosing a time to take the picture; getting everyone cleaned up; dressed up and primped up. Then I expect them to pose relaxed and natural.
Amazingly, every year we manage to get a picture. Last year we received a note from an out-of-town friend complimenting us on our card and questioning the tranquility the picture suggests.
“Your picture cards are great,” she wrote, “but wouldn’t it be more honest if you would accompany the posed photo with some shots of your crew getting ready for the picture?”
“Good Point,” I thought. “But sometimes delusion is better.” It might diminish the effect to send out wishes for peace on earth and good will toward men with pictures of me wearing John’s bathrobe, curling iron in one hand, screeching orders to Patrick to put on a decent pair of pants and to Colleen to get her nail polish away from the baby before he gets it all over his good outfit.
John does take some “before” shots of the kids. This year we have several pictures of the girls flopped down on the couch getting their clothes wrinkled and their hair messed up, of Mike lying on the floor crying and of Pete trying to chew on Patrick’s nose.
There are none of Johnny and me because we were still upstairs. I was in the bathroom trying to make my hair grow; my new haircut made me look like Buster Brown. Johnny had spilled apple juice on his lap and wanted to change his pants. Since that would disturb the family color scheme, I rinsed the pants and put them in the dryer.
John may have considered capturing these tender moments on film, but his good manners – or maybe good sense – prevented him from becoming the victim of my lost composure.
Finally, when we were all ready and seated on the living room sofa, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now all I had to worry about was: Is the film in the camera the right speed? Is the light meter set correctly? Will the flash go off? Can John set the camera’s automatic timer and get seated before the timer goes off?
After all this, you are wondering, did the pictures turn out? Yes, they are fine.
What if the pictures hadn’t turned out? They still would be fine. We wouldn’t take them again because there’s something unnatural about trying to take a picture of your family looking natural
November 27, 1985
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