The Cutting Room Floor

One of the most anticipated, and yet at the same time most dreaded, annual events associated with the holidays came last weekend: taking a picture for the Christmas card.

I look forward to it every year with optimism. I believe that we will capture a beautiful picture of our handsome boys that we'll be proud to send out to family and friends. After all, it should be an easy process.

1. Identify undeniably cute models - check.
2. Identify appropriately festive background - check.
3. Make certain background is void of scattered toys, strewn dirty laundry, discarded candy wrappers, wayward dust bunnies - check (after a little maintenance).
4. Wardrobe models in attire without visible spots, tears, dribbles of chocolate milk, etc.; preferably with tops matching bottoms and somewhat coordinated between models - this is where it all started going downhill.

We started out the day with jeans and sweaters. By the time I had my camera in hand mid-morning, Preston had on army green and orange track pants with his red sweater. Not part of the schema I had planned. After a lot of cajoling (because if you know Preston, you know that you cannot make such "demands" and expect a photo shoot to continue), he finally changed back into jeans, but refused to tuck in his undershirt. Point conceded...because I know how to pick my battles.

Four backgrounds, approximately 84 shots, and a few choice words later, we finally got one or two we could feel comfortable canvasing out to our loved ones. Here are a few that didn't make the card:

The irony that always comes along with this day is that I want it to be quick and painless. I want to capture the warmth that truly is in our home 90+% of the time. But inevitably, it always disintegrates into threats, bribes, and reprimands.

Despite the guilt that comes with those moments, I was able to find the silver lining in the storm clouds this time. As we started this process, I vaguely recall Brian making some comment under his breath along the lines of "here we go" as though predicting that a meltdown (by me or one of the boys) was surely in our near future. I responded by playfully telling him to "shut up."

Thirty minutes later, as the boys were jumping around the Christmas tree like rabid monkeys and I was hitting the height of my frustration, Brian said "Boys, be still and let your mom get a good picture for the Christmas cards. You're about to make her curse." Aidan quickly replied, "She already did...I heard her tell you to 'shut up' earlier."

My outlook was suddenly transformed. Seconds earlier I was internally scolding myself for being irritated with their lack of cooperation and threatening them over the Christmas Card of all things. How bad of a mom could I be?! But suddenly I realized that we are at least the tiniest bit "Norman Rockwell." I mean our kid thinks "shut up" is a curse word! So I couldn't have completely #&%*!@ things up yet.