It actually starts way before we even start to assemble and pose. Just the notion that it’s on the calendar makes me sort of edgy. Kind of how our kids must feel when they know their 7th grade shots are eminent (which is why I don’t usually tell them till we’re on our way to the appointment).
Because now I’m forced to look at my clothes. I know you think I’m a dork for saying that; but honestly I don’t give too much thought to what I wear. I’ll be mopping a floor, shelving books, doing visits, working outside, shopping; no one cares what I wear, I just need machine-washable and comfortable. Jeans and a t-shirt almost always fit the bill. But when it comes to producing something lasting, an art piece that will be prominently displayed in our living area for everyone who comes to visit to view and comment on, my palms start to sweat. Because I don’t spend a lot of time or money on my clothes. They’re almost all hand-me-downs in one form or another because I haven’t taken the time to assess what I’d really like, and I’m definitely too cheap to buy what I really want. So I’m left to decide on something suitable from my limited options that I don’t even really love to begin with. What do I feel good in? Who knows? I don’t pay that much attention to things like that. I like church clothes but dressy pictures are weird. I like my t-shirts I wear with my Chacos when we go camping but that doesn’t seem right. Jeans? Hmmm… I haven’t bought a new pair for years, so I have no idea if I like them or not.
It’s also annoying because we’re supposed to match. But not like that. Coordination is the buzzword when it comes to family pictures. So no patterns. Or stripes. Not all the same color (although sort of close). Or style. A mix. But not too jumbled. Agh. I have enough trouble with my own closet. But then to have to worry if it goes with what everyone else has come up with, I feel like closing the doors (well, if we had doors on our closet I would) and rescheduling. I know she only comes once a year. I can wait.
But all of a sudden people start to gather! Except I remember I have a face and hair. Oh yeah, make up. That will help. So I dig out old eye shadow I’ve had for like 7 years that I only use maybe when I have to give a talk in church. Lipstick I can do, my favorite of my two make up products. (Except I realized yesterday I chose poorly.) Ready! Then I remember again that I have hair to think about. Another part of my life I try to overlook because I can’t seem to ever make it look right. So I always just postpone it to the next day. Every day. Up? Straight? Ummm… I hate my hair. I mean I like that it’s thick, I love the texture and how it feels in my fingers. But I always feel like it looks orange. When the gray isn’t showing. Actually, now that I think about it, I do like my hair; I just never know what I’m supposed to be doing with it. I’m not sure what’s in style. Or what would look best on me. (Why aren’t there people for this kind of thing????) I’m already in knots and we haven’t even gotten to the smiling part.
Before you send me intervention texts and coddling comments, know this. I’m good. I’m totally (mostly) at peace with my looks. I’m super used to it all, it’s me, it’s fine. I’m not that different from all of you and wouldn't make a few amendments if given the choice, but I’m content. Mostly because I’m a middle-aged mom and generally get to fly under the radar where no one notices me, an easy and comfortable way to travel. It’s just when I have to face it all that I get a little squirmy. I think because I know for sure my outside looks are not me. And I never really care about or focus on that kind of thing on anyone. So to have pay attention to it all is sort of distressing, like a toddler in a scratchy Easter suit coat.
Lining up is the easy part. We just stand where she puts us. We move our limbs and heads like little dolls, trusting that she doesn’t have trees growing out of our heads and or animals running across the field behind us. But when she tells us to smile, I’m lost all over again. My eyes disappear if I smile for real. And the wrinkles that were taking a nap all of a sudden wake up and stretch. It’s hard to look authentic when you’re holding a smile for a few minutes. It starts to feel fake. But if I only smile part-way, in a way I can sustain, she keeps telling me to smile. I feel like frowning. And a little bit like crying. For being called out on my smile. As I’m trying to look natural. And it’s drizzling. So obviously I’m freezing. Which by the way makes me tense and rigid. Which makes it even harder to smile for real.
Then the worst part is still to come. She sends me the only one of 604 shots where everyone looks their best, like they’re glad to be there, like she just caught us in a random moment at a backyard picnic; everyone’s grinning, facing the camera, and minding their hands. I love it, it’s perfect. Of everyone. Except for when I get to me; there’s some sort of hiccup in my mind. Why is that? Does that happen to any other mom? It’s not that anything’s exactly wrong. Except that it’s not exactly right. I know I annoy her by not liking it. I know she thinks I’m hyper-sensitive. That I’m critical of her work. Not at all. She’s amazing, patient and professional, easy and talented. It’s just weird seeing yourself from outside yourself. Is that really what I look like to everyone else? Really? I think what’s so disconcerting is the disconnect between what I look like on a screen and what I feel like in my heart. Do other people have this out of body experience?
I just don’t feel like this posed portrait portrays the real us. Mostly me, they all look completely like themselves. But I’m not a photogenic type, I always feel so awkward that it never feels natural. I hate being observed, maybe that’s part of it. And yet I’m ok in real life. With my people. Or even speaking in front of large groups. I love good conversation and interacting with friends and folk of all kinds. But then it’s relaxed. Real. Body language and facial expressions help out. I can explain myself. We can focus on her instead. This snapshot image doesn’t show any emotion or feeling or thought. We’re so much more than a posed smile, I guess I just wish photos could showcase the whole of who we are.
Because we’re like you. Teasing each other, laughing, joking, silly, full of inside one-liners. Concerned about the future and how our kids are doing. We talk about the stresses of grades and classes and dating. We get dirty and grimy when we’re working with the animals and out in the yard. Our house is super lived in. Especially the kitchen part of our house. We eat junk. After we eat a good dinner. We stay up late and go to bed early. Depending on the day. We love our music. And our walks. I don’t want a video of it all, I just wish our pictures had captions that sort of told a little more of the story. That people wouldn’t have to rely on a worn-out-tired-from-holding-it-too-long smile to determine if we’re really happy or not. I want people to know us well enough to know that of course that’s not really us, it’s just a snapshot from one angle. And I think that’s the crux of my uneasiness with picture-taking. It’s not that I don’t love my sister. Or my family. Or squeezing close together. Or even having a memory of this stage of life. I actually love all of it so much. It’s just that I don’t like having to think about things that I don’t normally care about, the things that pictures are necessarily made of: the outside of us. But I guess I just need to remember that the people who know us well know that already. And that none of that matters to them either. ps looking back on the day, I’m always glad we did it. I love staring at my family above the kitchen table every morning, having a tiny wallet size to show new friends, and remembering back to when they were so young and seeing how big they’ve grown. I’m grateful she encourages us to move closer and to smile because truly these photos are my most treasured possessions. Even as I balk.
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