Picture day or root canal? Tough call.

Today was picture day. Yearly picture day. Adam is 2. I could probably end this story here because if you have children, you know this story is not a happy one. But I can feel that you really want me to share, so I will. Maybe it will be cathartic for me. Maybe it will purge the pain from my body. Or maybe I will be returned to that day in my mind and slam my head through a plate glass window. We'll see. Should be fun.

Now let me be clear, this day was made much worse by the fact that I am not the picture person in the family, meaning the one who gives a crap about the pictures. That would be hubby. It could be said that I am not the picture person because I am the one who has to haul these children to have their picture taken! If he had to take them, he might discover that he isn't the picture person that he thinks he is! Not that I don't enjoy pics of my kids, but as any mother can tell you, we see these captured moments of our children with their upturned cherub-like faces and all we can think is, "Boy, he was a shit that day!", or "Right after this was taken, I put her on eBay". It takes years to forget the trauma and nausea that often accompanies 'picture day'. It must take more than 4 years because my daughter is 5 and the experience of her 1 year photo shoot is still embedded in my mind. I tell myself that it fades with time. I have no proof of this. It's just what I tell myself to get through. I see it all so clearly. Where's Alzheimer's when ya need it?

Being the non-picture-person that I am, and the fact that I am absolutely DREADING this day, I haven't purchased special clothes for the kids. Probably out of denial that this day is coming or maybe because I refuse to pay any more money for outfits that they will wear for 10 minutes. (10 minutes because I am a 'Shock and Awe' type of mother. But more on that later.) So I find myself on picture morning digging through their closets and drawers to find 2 outfits that look decent together. I do. I rock. Cue the angels. Now on to hair and makeup. (No makeup but I enjoy the ring to it.) It isn't until this moment that I realize it is like Cowlickapalooza up in here! Good LORD! Not enough gel in the world to deal with all of this. I comb this way and that way, spike, and consider a razor, before just leaving it in God's hands. If he wants my boy to look like Dennis the Menace, so be it. Actually, that isn't too far off. So on to the studio. A 20 minute drive. Oh joy.

Now about the Shock and Awe, I have a speech that I give to all who photograph my kids. "I am going to put this child down. The minute this tush hits the chair, you start clicking. I mean you click like you have never clicked before. Click like you are on FIRE, MAN!! Because once the screaming begins, there's no turning back. There is no 'calm down and go back to pictures in a few minutes'. This is as good as it is going to get and if my children are going to get out of here without a beating, I need to remove them from the area when the screaming commences." By the look on the photog's face, I become Psychic Sue and can deduce whether or not they have children. Adam was better than Kaitlyn at 2 in the attitude dept. but worse in the 'can't sit still' dept. He was crawling out of my arms to get onto the picture platform, but after about 3 1/2 seconds there, couldn't wait to get down. And then the lady tried to POSE HIM!! HAVE YOU HEARD NOTHING THAT I HAVE SAID?!! DOES 'SHOCK AND AWE' RING A BELL? I believe I blurted, "NO POSING! CLICK, WOMAN!". Those of you that know me, know that I would say something like this. It's kind of like Outspoken Tourette's. It runs in the family. Not my fault. But it seems to get the job done. I follow it up with a funny little ditty, when time allows. :)

I think the pictures took all of 6 minutes, including pics of Adam alone and some with the two kids. I wish this thing had audio because you just can't translate the sheer VOLUME through the written word. So we had pushing, wriggling, screaming and photos, oh my. The only way we got through the choosing-of-the-pictures portion of the program was thanks to Skittles. Skittles and their artificial colors and flavors that ended up all over the picture clothes and me. But hey, at least I didn't end up with poop on my face. That seems to be the benchmark of bad days for me. What's that you say? You don't know this story? Well, that is due in part to the post traumatic stress disorder that the 'Poop Incident of 2009' inflicted on me. I have tried to write this story on several occasions but can only get through bits and pieces at a time. Some day I will finish it. Probably as the book is going to print. I mean, I shared the pee story, why not tell #2. Literally. ;)

So pics are done for another year. HALLELUJAH! Got some cute ones, or maybe they are just cute to me because they are done. Neither here nor there. All that matters is that next year Adam will be 3 and he HAS to be easier, right? Right? If you aren't agreeing, you must leave. Mommy can't look at you right now.