My mother-in-law once commented that Mike brings his camera everywhere. It's true. We do take a lot of pictures of our kids and scenery. But not so many of ourselves. I don't know a lot of adults who love to have pictures taken of themselves. Well, maybe one or two. Who shall remain nameless.
Not only do we not really take pictures of ourselves, but we never go to a proper studio to have a family portrait taken. Benjamin was 3 months old when we took a family picture for Christmas. The result was awful, and we haven't been back since.
Fast forward 7 years.
For my mother's 60th birthday this spring, the kids and kids-in-law decided to give her a picture of the entire family. One new grandson and one move across the Atlantic later, and PICTURE DAY has finally arrived. So after school, a play date for B boy, and showers for all, we are meeting up with the rest of the clan at the photographer's studio.
It should be interesting.
Adorable baby Emil will have to smile for one hour, straight through his usual feeding and nap time, due to his mother and auntie's brilliant sense of timing when they made the appointment for 5 pm.
This would be good:
And I'll try to make my own not-so-little baby boy, Benjamin, smile without pulling his shoulders up to his ears, pushing his chest out, opening his mouth as wide as possible and raising his eyebrows to the sky in an attempt to not close his eyes.
This is what we don't really want:
Oh, and did I mention that my brother will be turning up with a bleeding finger? He cut it at work yesterday, and despite two visits to the emergency, it is still bleeding.
Yep, it should be interesting. Wish us luck...