It's a time-honored ritual, a societal rite of passage, or an instrument of torture if you are a 10-year old boy. It's The Family Photo Session. Each year my attempts to corral the herd and snap a decent pic are met with sighs, groans, and agony over shirt color and hairstyle.
Every year we park ourselves on the quaint "gentlemen caller's bench" by the front door and smile. This year we were able to snap a respectable family shot with just a few attempts. I was thrilled.
Not to be outdone, our presence was requested at the queen mother of family photo sessions by the Queen Mother herself, my mom. No self-timer-scramble picture on her watch! She hired a professional to capture our likenesses for posterity.
Surprisingly the kids were OK with Grandma calling the shots instead of mom (OK, not surprising). Dressed in semi-coordinating fabrics, hair neatly combed and smiles at the ready. Snap! Flash! Rearrange. Repeat. Thirty minutes later, no blood had been shed, no major drama ensued, and no spirits were crushed.
Can't wait to see the proofs! Bunny ears can be PhotoShopped out, can't they? :)
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