…gray hairs? That is what I found myself asking yesterday. Thursday is currently my favorite day of the week, simply because I have nothing concrete scheduled, nothing to get two kids ready for, nothing to rush out the door for in the morning. We can go to library story time or have grandparents over or run errands or make homemade granola. The possibilities are endless. So, when I woke up yesterday to a Thursday, I was excited, hopeful, optimistic, ready to be super mom (or more accurately at least not a super overscheduled, super stressed, super hurried mom.)
Then, I got (in retrospect) a not-so-bright idea. I would get the girls and myself ready and go get pictures taken to surprise Conant and the grandparents for Christmas. The plan seemed simple enough…choose outfits, do three heads of hair in photo worthy styles (I wanted one picture of all three of us for Conant’s office), secure an appointment, ask for a female photographer since my girls are leery of men they don’t know, make sure bellies are very full and children are rested. We spent over an hour preparing for our appointment. I ironed, kept clothes on top of their clothes until the last second, wiped their faces until they shined, took along extra clothes just in case, and loaded us into the minivan. We arrived at the photo studio all smiles. Then, the nice photographer took us back to the room, and Lily began to sob as if someone was trying to rip her from my arms or had just told her that she could not have seconds of her favorite snack. (And yes, these two traumatic events currently elicit the same amount and intensity of crying from her.)
Several minutes and two very puffy, tear-filled eyes later, I removed Lily from the room, worked to soothe her, wiped her eyes and face, and took her back in to try again. She continued to be extremely challenging and refused to have her picture taken without me holding her. My hope was to get sister pictures for the grandparents. I had a great coupon, a great attitude, and a great amount of false hope. After a while of listening to my 18-month-old scream, the nice lady politely suggested she download the pictures to see what we had. We both knew that what we had was a big waste of digital memory space. I love my children and am supposed to say that they couldn’t take a bad picture, but they took a lot of them yesterday.
After we reviewed the pictures and agreed that there was not a single one that was usable, I tentatively asked the photographer if we could try a few with the girls sitting on a little bench. I knew Lily would love the bench. Sure enough, she smiled and felt like a big girl. The problem at this point was that Emma was done. She had cooperated (though half-heartedly) during Lily’s hysteria, and she did not have anything left to give. After looking at the second set of pictures, I told the lady, with great embarrassment, that I could buy some pictures to make it worth her time, but they would not be going out to relatives or going on our wall. She mercifully told me that I didn’t have to, and we could reschedule. I replied that I would not bring my children back until we were to a point where they would actually have their picture taken (willingly and without disturbing the entire mall.) I think she was secretly doing back flips, but she respectfully concealed her relief. As we were talking, though, she actually told Emma to be quiet. I could tell she was at the end of her patience. I had left my patience behind about twenty minutes into the session.
As I buckled Emma into her car seat, she looked at me and said, “Mommy, you look very sad.” I answered, “I am very sad. I really wanted to surprise Daddy and Grandpa and Grandma with some nice pictures.”
Emma carefully thought this over, then said, “You are sad, so I am sad, too. I am sad because you are my friend, Mommy. You are my friend, and I love you. If you are sad, I am sad.”
Conant got home shortly after we did, and he saw my crushed face. I went downstairs to collect myself, and I could hear him questioning the girls. Emma said, “Mommy is so sad because we didn’t get any pictures. Peanut was crying. “Conant wisely asked, “And were you being a good listener to Mommy?” Emma honestly answered, “A little bit. I’ll try harder next time. I am sad because Mommy’s sad. She’s my best friend.” Conant answered, “She’s my best friend, too.”
All of this sweetness helped make me feel a bit better about the day, but I still felt as though I had left my zest for Thursdays and mothering behind halfway through our photo session. Most days, I would tell you that being a mom is tough but wonderful. Yesterday, all I felt was tough. I am so grateful for my two beautiful girls. I am beyond thankful that they are healthy, sweet, and a much wanted part of our family. I guess I just wanted to capture that beauty and sweetness for our loved ones and for our family’s posterity. As ridiculous as it sounds, it hurt my feelings when the girls wouldn’t cooperate for something so important to me. My husband gently reminded me that Lily is one-and-a-half. Perhaps I should have talked to him before I had the bright idea to go in the first place.
So, Emma and Lily, when you ask me some day why we don’t have professional pictures of the two of you, it is because I decided that, for now, a picture is not worth getting a thousand gray hairs, crying a hundred tears, or making a couple of photographers cringe when they see our family. Daddy takes many wonderful pictures of the two of you, and for now, that will have to be enough…at least until next week, when I might decide to have our annual family Christmas photo taken. For, in motherhood, hope always springs anew. We see the possibilities in our kids, and somehow, we forget the exhaustion when we look into their faces. All we see is love. When I woke up today, I didn’t see two little girls who wouldn’t smile for the camera. I saw two gifts from God who make me smile every day. And that is worth more than a thousand pictures.
