We went to get family portraits.
Cue foreboding music.
This is something I insist on, once or twice a year. Despite the fact that I have more pictures on my laptop than there are bacteria on the floor of the place we ate tonight.
It's just this urge i get; it's uncontrollable! After awhile I glance at our last family pic- hanging out all posterity-like on the wall- and blam! It hits me!
The kid in that frame is nothing
like the one I just tucked into bed. This one is so much bigger and smarter and just
different that it might as well be a whole new person and-oh no! I have
no family portraits with this new person. And in another month or so this new person will be gone. Forever, replaced by another model, without a trace. Unless I take it to a cheap studio and freeze that sucker in time, mount it like a deer head, and nail it to the wall.
There! She used to be TWO! See??? And look! We were there also! We even all liked each other!
Of course the last part there, while essentially true, is a little tricky to pin down in the pseudo-reality of a black tarp and strangers with big flash bulbs.
Between Little One refusing to smile for strangers and J sulking like a five-year-old being fed cod-liver oil over having to dress up and endure it all, no one knows why I keep hauling the whole brooding bunch back in, unless it is some very odd manifestation of masochism. I need help.
This time I wanted just three things-
-One decent picture of us as a family (We are like never all in the same picture).
-One cute picture of the girls together
-One of Miss in Her baptism dress
This was Little Miss's first of these little family adventures. With Her extreme love of grinning at strangers and enjoying everything-I-mean
-everything, I was hoping She might inspire the rest of the lot to smile without me having to cajole myself into a coma.
Not to be, friends. Not.
J, well. Let's just be glad he didn't kick or scream while I dragged him in by his dress shoes. Little One, oh. Oh man. The girl was a bundle of I-am-two-I-did-not-nap-I-can't-hear-you-what-can-I-climb-on-and-break-ness. She did not want to smile. She wanted to make monkey faces.
Cover Her head with Her arms. Or hold up a stuffed pig in front of Her face. Or lay on the floor. Anything but cooperate. She did not want to take a picture with Her sister. She only wanted to be photographed by Her "own self". The photographer, who does not follow the theory of shooting lots of pictures and hoping one is cute by chance, kept waiting for the perfect moment.
Which, naturally, never. Never came.

After awhile, even Little Miss Smiley was over it. Now everyone was fussing.
Finally the photog snaps a few random times and exclaims, "I got it!" "Love it"! We move on.
I wanted to get Little Miss's baptism picture taken next, but She had HAD it. She began to scream
"what part of AAHHHHHH don't you people understand?!" And try to actually consume a rosary.
We gave up. We looked at the pictures the photographer "got" and "loved".
In one, Little One looks like She is crying. Perhaps someone has died. Maybe the pig She's hunched over. In another, Her lips are pursed out and Her eyes bugging- think Cosby doing the pudding face. Perhaps because the camera has caught Her red-handed trying to off the baby, who is clearly disturbed at being hoisted up by the collar. In one J and I both swear to you I have a crossed eye. It's from the insanity, people. Has to be.
In the end, we ordered one copy of one family shot, and one of each girl solo. Only because we had a coupon and because I know that I would have to use roofies to get J to try that mess again anytime soon, if ever. The rest seriously were That Bad.
So by the time we left even I was fussing.
J decided to make me happy by taking me out to dinner, because by then we were starving.
We went to the five-dollar buffet.
Now. Back up.
This morning at church, while people were all quiet praying, there was a sudden "BANG". And then,
"OOW!" My voice. Little One had dropped the kneeler on my foot, and then
jumped on it.
Later. Because of the way I was holding Miss, I could not quite reach my mouth with my hand for communion. So I took the wafer and kept trying as I walked, so as not to hold up the line. The priest actually grabbed my shoulder and yanked me back, admonishing me to CONSUME IT NOW please.
After church, we went to a craft store to get something for a project. They did not have what I needed, but I did get to visit their restroom FOUR times because Little One was having some stomach issues.
Peanuts.
Do you know what the perfect ending is, to a day in which you have injured yourself, hollered like a lunatic in church, been scolded by a priest, spent a half-hour in a public bathroom, and herded screaming cats around a photography studio for no reason? DO you?!
It's the $5 buffet.

A place where a statistically significant percentage of patrons have no teeth, are definitely high, or both. A place where there is a big sign over the cash register when you walk in, that says "No fighting. No insulting. Be nice". Always good.
It's especially fun to go there in picture-day hair and make-up, a black cocktail dress, heels, and pearls. I'll tell you what I did guys.
I had seconds. I had deep-fried-something, candied yams, and mac-n-cheese. I had four kinds of dessert. In our next family portrait, I will be able to just
sit on the whole family so they
have to hold still for the camera.
On the way home, we stopped at the playground. Little One, who had been wearing two mis-matched right-foot shoes all this time, kicked 'em off and got good and dirty. Miss giggled on the swing. Little One called out from the top of the slide,
"Daddy! You are AMAZE!"
They got washed and jammied and tucked in.
You know.
Today in church, J leaned over and squeezed me and whispered
"I love you C".
At the craft store, even though She was sick, Little One laughed and made up a happy song about the fun, foamy soap in the dispenser. And She hugged me on the way out, saying "
Thank you for carry me mommy. You are very good for my tummy to feel better".
The coconut pie at the buffet was
good.
Little Miss cuddled up to me at bedtime, cooing Herself to sleep, giggling in Her dreams. And then Little One begged me to snuggle Her. She grinned when I said yes-as if I could say no- and pulled me close. She said,
"G'night my mommy. You may go now. We can all be together in the morning".
And we can.
I have to write it. I have to write it all down. Because sometimes the pictures don't work out, guys. And when they do, they never get it. Not really. They never get the light in Little Miss's eyes at dinner, when Little One sang to Her, making Her laugh. They never get the sweetness in the way Little One kissed Miss's forehead in church and called Her
"a angel". They don't capture the look on J's face as He swoops his baby up in the air or pushes Little One on the swing. They can't show how cozy my babies are, all cuddled up and smelling like strawberry shampoo.
And tonight we'll sleep and all that will vanish. Another day evaporated like spilled water on a Florida sidewalk.

I'd re-live this sore-foot, frazzled, $5 buffet day any time guys. I would, but I can't. So I'll herd us in for portraits, I'll write it all down when I should be sleeping. Anything to keep a shadow of it.
Little One is in a trying phase. Little Miss demands so much attention. Things don't go according to plan. But
we can all be together in the morning.
I wish a picture could capture
that.
I'd frame it and save it always.