Seasons Greetings!

Note: This was posted later due to technical difficulties with scanning photos and E-Blogger seemingly "crashing" in the middle of my post and making me re-do all the photos. Arrrgggghhhh!

p.s. Santa did not do my dishes, although I have been a very good girl this year, so I am slightly disillusioned.

It’s 2:00 on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. The shopping’s done; the gifts are wrapped; the mistletoe is hung (oh, and, of course, the dog is walked). How should I spend these cherished moments before the chaos soon begins again?

It’s either clean up the kitchen or write the blog. I’ve neglected them both for too long, but, heck, it’s Christmas, so I’ve decided to give myself a present and do the one that I like best. (Maybe Santa will do the dishes!)

And one more thing…the cards are mailed. Which got me to thinking about all the work we put into our holiday greetings… I wrote this essay a few years ago and just updated it to include Dog. May you enjoy my foolish, yet well-intentioned machinations. After all, isn’t that what the holidays are all about?

************************************************************

“Tis the season. And I don’t mean eggnog and sugar plums.

I mean the dreaded Holiday Card Season. To me that means only one thing—the annual agony of trying to get a decent photo of the world’s most elusive and unpredictable subjects—my kids.

This is my most stressful trial of motherhood. Even more than sleepless nights, temper tantrums and potty training, the holiday photo ordeal makes me wonder, “What were we thinking when we decided to have kids?”

And maybe it’s just my overactive, paranoid imagination, but I also sometimes sense a little competitive spirit lurking under the surface of all those gold-foiled season’s greetings.

Holiday photos are a little like tea leaves or the palm of your hand—you can tell a lot about a person by looking closely and engaging in a little interpretive extrapolation.

I’ve seen everything—elaborately staged, professional portraits, artsy black and white photos, grainy home snapshots. The holiday card I remember best showed a friend’s toddler sitting in Santa’s lap, screaming as if Santa had told her that he was canceling Christmas. No pretensions there!

Our family’s experience with the Holiday Card Saga has been hit or miss—mostly miss. For our official “family card" debut, when my daughter, Savannah, was six months old, we went to one of those big department stores where you get a bazillion photos for the low, low price of $19.95. Technically, the photo was ok, but my husband and I looked so tired that he forbade me to send it to anyone he knew. (And, also, he refused to scan it for this blog.)

Our next memorable holiday photo appeared when I was eight months pregnant and not at my most cheerful and patient. By then Savannah was three and a half going on thirteen. I somehow cajoled her into putting on a fancy, green dress and letting me curl her auburn hair into the most picturesque ringlets. Accompanied by Grandma for moral support, we headed off to see the Mall Santa.

Everything was fine while we waited in the impossibly long line. That’s when I lapsed into having EXPECTATIONS, which we all know is a neon sign directing the Universe to play a very mean joke on you.

The moment it was our turn, suddenly, Savannah transformed from that patient, darling little girl who had waited in line for 45 minutes to a stubborn, rebellious adolescent, refusing to sit on Santa’s lap. I tried friendly, then ever-so-slightly menacing persuasion. If my mother-in-law (who conveniently for me has a Master’s Degree in psychology!) had not been a witness, I would have quickly resorted to bribery or threats.

As the mob of riotous parents and children were closing in behind us, we finally came up with the solution of ALL THREE of us sitting on Santa’s lap together! Grandma who had grown up on a remote ranch in Nevada had never sat on Santa’s lap, so she was beaming with joy! Savannah and I flashed phony smiles through clenched teeth, our fists in little balls of anger and resentment.



But, believe it or not, that was not my all-time low. I would descend further, much further, into the abyss of the Holiday Photo Drama.

The next year, knowing that we had added an extra element of—hmmm, surprise, drama, challenge?—in the form of new baby, Carson, I planned my strategy like a war-wizened general.

I made reservations with a special, Big-City baby photographer and maxed out my credit cards on matching outfits for the kids from Nordstrom’s. I scheduled the outing meticulously so that the hour-long drive would coincide with the baby’s naptime and he would awake, well-rested and delightful in time for his photographic debut. The EXPECTATIONS lesson had clearly not sunk in.

Carson foiled me by crying during the entire drive and then falling asleep exactly two minutes before we arrived. Then, for good measure, he threw up on the photographer’s antique, Oriental rug.

Out of 72 shots, not a single photo was decent of both kids. With the holidays on my heels, I was desperate. It was then, at the height of my panic and despair that I did it—I beheaded my own son! Well, sort of.

Actually, I went to a high-tech expert with two photos of the kids that were in the same pose—one good of him and one good of her. A little digital magic later and, Voila—a perfect image!



One would think that after all of this, I would have learned the perils of pursuing the perfect image. But what would be the fun in that!

So, for Dog’s first Christmas, I really, really wanted to get a photo of him and the kids that would express our playful, joyful, Happy Holiday... Only Dog wasn’t exactly playing along. Here’s the photographic evidence….



Get those antlers on, for Dog's Sake!!!



Cruel and unusual punishment?!!!



Wishing you the relinquishment of expectations and illusions and the happy reality of love and joy this holiday season!