The Queen's Rambles

Sometimes I don’t even know why I bother trying to get professional pictures done. There are usually a few really great ones, but is it really worth the two hours of pure hell?

Ok, yes. It is. But good god, let me tell you about the hell of tonight.

Since Erik is in school full time, we had to pick an evening hour to get the best deal (weekends are more expensive and crowded). I did everything I could to prepare the kids for a good evening–fed them, made sure Elsa had a good nap, had water for them. Still, portraits bring out the absolute worst in my children.

Usually Erik is surly and refuses to smile. Elsa screams bloody murder. A fun time is not had by anyone.

This time Elsa was super happy and running all around laughing. Erik was also happy, but he was in super-hyper-extreme mode and kept trying to show off for the photographer by jumping around and trying to plan the photo poses and push Elsa out of the pictures.

It was going pretty ok until some other customers came in and the photographer had to go take are of them. Why they can’t hire a receptionist and a photographer I don’t know, but in the 20 minutes (or possibly three hundred years) that the photog was gone, my son went completely bat shit crazy. He was running in circles, getting into everything, jumping, hopping, and refusing to sit still. We talked to him, threatened him, held him. Did everything short of beating him. He still didn’t get it and would NOT behave. If we didn’t need him for the photo I would have had my mom take him out to the car. He’s lucky he has his six year well child check tomorrow. I could have easily beat him within an inch of his life when we got out of there*. As it was, he lost all fun privileges for the evening and won’t be getting a gold stripe or a sword at karate tomorrow.

Elsa had a very specific idea of where she wanted to sit and it didn’t mesh well with the reality of the situation. She was running around like a crazy person, and refused to sit still when we posed her. That’s behavior I would expect from an 18 month old, but was frustrating. And then we’d get her in a good situation and the photog would start her little “make baby happy tricks’, but Erik would jump in or make a weird face or yell or try to defend his sister against the tickle lady. It was frustrating beyond belief.

The only good thing was that Mike was there. Usually I deal with this alone or with my mom. I need Mike. He’s calm and can help control the kids, though tonight I thought he was going to lose it on Erik. Then we’d really be up a creek without a paddle. When Mike looks ready to blow, you know it’s bad.

To top it off, I spent way too long blowing out my hair this morning. I am proud that I am finally able to blow it out and get good results. Only took me 37 years to learn how to do my hair. But apparently I haven’t learned to check the weather. It rained and my poor hair went totally flat. I couldn’t find the right make-up since I don’t normally wear any. I couldn’t find any decent pants that fit. The last time I bought dress pants was a year before Erik was born. As you can imagine, it was depressing to try those on. Yikes. Why haven’t I given them away on freecycle? Just when I think I am accepting my body, I go and do a dumb move like trying on clothes that fit seven years ago.

But seriously, what would change if I was a few sizes smaller? I’d have a better wardrobe. That’s the only thing that would change. Why do we have such an aversion to fat on people above the age of 2? Everyone loves a fat baby. When does the fat go from cute to disgusting? Why do I look at myself in the mirror and loath myself just because I have more volume than other people?

Anyway, I need to go to bed early tonight. I’m completely done for. But first, I have to go stalk the pintrest board that Heather made for me. Of course I was immediately drawn to the most expensive wall system on there. It doesn’t seem to be in production anymore. Booo! I think I’m going for clear ones with fancy scrapbook paper taped into them to make them to my taste. Thank you, Heather! I had no idea I wasn’t the first brilliant person to think of hanging all my crap on the wall. Kind of like the time I thought I invented a totally cool warm, sock pull on thing that couldn’t be pulled off by Elsa. Someone pointed out they’re called “tights” and have been in production for hundreds of years. I is so smart.

*For new readers, I have never beat the child. Don’t worry about his safety.