Every year there is glitch (that's putting it mildly) with said photo shoot. In fact, there is really nothing remotely Norman Rockwell about it. You see, my son, who is normally a pretty easy going kid, turns into a crazed lunatic who refuses to cooperate, much less smile. And my husband, who is normally a pretty good photographer, forgets his flash or uses the wrong lens.
One year, my son bit his sister during the photo shoot and the photographer managed to capture it beautifully on film. It was a gorgeous photo of my son looking all smug and my daughter holding up her bloody finger and crying her eyes out. Of course, as luck would have it, it was one of only two shots that he managed to capture beautifully that year. And I was tempted to use it as the winning photo with the caption, "Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Man..." but instead I managed to salvage a halfway decent shot of them where the teeth marks in my daughter's finger weren't visible to the naked eye.
This year, in keeping with our holiday tradition, the photo shoot was a disaster. After twenty minutes of shooting and me doing cheerleading jumps behind the photographer to get my son to laugh, we didn't have a single, decent shot. Nada. Not one. The empty set.
And that night after reviewing the photos, I had a melt down and called off the annual Christmas card. Nobody would be getting a card from the Reids this year. That's right, nobody. The hell with The Year Without a Santa Claus, this was going to be The Year Without a Christmas Card. That would show 'em. I'm sick of doing flips and stand up comedy behind the camera man only to come up empty handed.
And then came the layoff and it put everything in perspective. Maybe I could find it in my heart to try again (especially now that the photographer has a lot of time on his hands). Why not spread a little holiday joy and let the world know that the Reids are going to be fine (especially with all the drinking they do over the holidays).
I've always wanted to include one of those clever Christmas letters in my card. You know the letter of which I speak. Love it when people take the annual mass mailing of the Christmas card as their opportunity to broadcast their family's many talents and fascinating escapades. Love. That. Stuff. I eat it up.
And so this year, I'm doing it. But instead of waxing poetic about my wonderful kids and our family's extraordinary trips, I'm going to include my husband's resume. How's that for clever?