With the holidays upon us, it seems that every other day the kids are out of school for one reason or another. I've decided to create my own holiday for which my daughter will not attend school. What day am I celebrating hiding from?
School Picture Day.
Zoey is very beautiful despite the fact that she looks like a mini-me with long hair. I realize I'm going to have my hands very full when she is older, discouraging potential suitors with passive-aggressive stares (or sticks, knives, guns, and anything else handy). I have taken some amazing photographs of her. In some she looks – dare I say – angelic?
But the school photos? That's a different story.
I don't know what the problem is. I don't know if she has some kind of performance anxiety issue that causes her to spaz out when the photographer tells her to smile. Or maybe the photographer is simply apathetic after seeing one freshly scrubbed face after another. I would imagine it would be quite stressful trying to get fifty or sixty toddlers to sit still, let alone put them in anything resembling a half-decent pose. Whatever the case, something ain't working.
Last year, her school picture was truly a sight to see. She had her head tilted at a 45° angle, her tongue sticking out slightly, and her hand on her stomach. No smile. The hell? All that was missing was some drool coming out of the corner of her mouth! She looked like a dog that just heard a high-pitched noise.
We still bought plenty of pictures.
Towards the end of the school year, she was to have a class photo taken. Desperate not to have a repeat performance of her earlier photograph, we practiced smiling for the camera the week preceding the event. I would say, "Cheese!" and she would flash the most beautiful smile you'll ever lay your eyes on. We were so ready.
Or so I thought.
When she got home that day from preschool, I asked her how she smiled for the camera. She responded by sticking her tongue out at me. I asked her, "Did you smile?" "No," she replied. "What did you do?" Once again, she stuck her tongue out at me. I wanted to believe she was just messing with me, but deep down I knew the truth. See why I call her my Punk Rock Princess?
We got the pictures back. There were two rows of kids, one row sitting on the floor and one row sitting in chairs behind them. There was my daughter, smack dab in the middle of the seated row, sticking out her tongue. And as an added bonus, she was wearing a dress that day, which was hiked almost up to her chin. So she was sitting there spread-eagle, flashing the world. Luckily, we put her in hose that day.
I apologized to all the moms in her class for my daughter single-handedly ruining the class photo. That is, after I got up the nerve to look them in the eye again.
We still bought plenty of pictures.
On Monday, she came home with this year's pictures. I was afraid to open them. Would she be sticking out her tongue? Were her eyes closed? Was fingerpaint covering her face? I slowly opened up the package.
There in front of me was my Zoey's award-winning smile. She was beaming so brightly her dimples were showing. Her hair was in place.
Then I scanned down.
She was slouched over with her arms held tightly to her sides. So tightly, in fact, that it made her appear like she had breasts. And a pot belly. It looked like she was wearing a push-up bra and some sort of belly-enhancing device. But at least she was smiling. And her tongue was in her mouth! Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.
We'll still buy plenty of pictures.
GHS: 3
Every Picture Tells A Story (But Some Tales Are Better Left Untold)
