Family Pictures

In the last three weeks, I have tried multiple times to get the perfect family picture. And multiple times, I have failed.

First, I asked my mom's friend Jade, who took those fantastic pictures of Lily two summers ago, to do a photo session with us in Corpus. The setting was beautiful, and Jade was as creative as ever, but Corin, who has a smile like sunshine, fell asleep after two pictures and refused to wake up.

Take two: the next week, we went to the park near our house with Matt's mom to try pictures in the bluebonnets. (Non-Texan friends, pictures in the bluebonnets, Texas's state flower, are essential. My mom still has pictures of my brother and I in the bluebonnets about 25 years ago. The Austin American-Statesman calls this "a rite of passage for Texas children.") But Lily, who in other respects loves the "blue flowers," melted down before we even left the house, not wanting to wear the t-shirt that matched baby brother's onesie. Even the promise of Angry Birds fruit snacks could not make her smile in the park, and it soon devolved into lots of crying and clinging onto Mommy like a young koala. And, again, Corin fell asleep.

Take three: the next weekend, we drove a little bit into the Hill Country with our good Virginia friends, Jen and Jason, to show them the wildflowers. We found a nice swath of bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush along the highway and stopped to explore. I needn't get into details. Lily suddenly found being in physical contact with me essential to her wellbeing, and Corin, who had been asleep in the car, did not feel the occasion worth much wakefulness.

Oh- and any attempt to take informal photos around the house is out. Two weeks ago, Lily chucked our little camera across the living room. It's iPhone only for a while.

What is it about family pictures? Asking why the kids don't want to cooperate with them is probably futile. The reason, if there is one, differs by the moment. But here's another question: why do I want them?

Well, there's a practical reason. I have a lot of empty walls.

And there's an upbringing reason. My grandparents' hallways are like family halls of fame. In Mema's house, there are even sections: bridal pictures, graduation pictures, family pictures... I remember the thrill of finding my pictures there as a child, so I think that there's probably a little voice in my head demanding that I add pictures to those halls and eventually make such a hall myself now that I have a house.

Maybe there is also a vanity reason. I want everyone to see how cute and happy my family is because that somehow validates the way I spend my life. A perfect picture of all four smiling faces says, "My kids are healthy, happy, and well-behaved. My husband and I are happy with them and with each other. Life is perfect. Don't criticize." Of course, sharing the joy and progress of a family can be sincere too. But it's hard to eliminate the self-consciousness altogether.

And, finally, there is a memory reason. Like all parents, I feel the meaning of the adage that the days take years, but the years take days. Every moment, imperceptible to my eyes but constantly perceptible in my heart, my children are growing. Every smile and new skill and funny comment is a treasure that I want to keep forever but know that I cannot. So I seek that perfect picture to remember this time, hoping that in the future, I can look at the image and relive the sweetness.

There is definitely something to the idea that a picture can take us back to an old experience. In labor with Corin, I looked at pictures of beautiful places I have been: Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the Caribbean, the Tidal Basin in peak Cherry Blossom bloom. And seeing those pictures helped me to imagine the smells, the sounds, and the feelings of being in those places: the warmth of the Sydney sun, the wall-like wind on Cape Reinga, the utter quiet of the snowfall on Lake Louise.

But by this reasoning, if I think that looking at The Perfect Family Portrait decades from now is going to take me back to perfect family moments, I'm kidding myself. There are perfect family moments, but they are almost never posed in front of a camera. Simply holding up a camera that everyone is aware of introduces a layer of artificiality that is incompatible with the spontaneity of many of our best times. Taking pictures of kids is like observing wildlife; the act of observing changes what you’re observing.

And anyhow, the real experience of taking a family portrait ("Everybody look at the camera and smile! Lily, look at the camera! Corin! Cooooooorin...look at the silly face, Corin!") is probably not what I want to relive. And if I do want to relive it, then the family pictures I have been taking for the last three weeks are certainly more accurate: Corin sleeping, Lily resisting, Matt and I either laughing or remonstrating.

I will no doubt continue my search for The Perfect Family Portrait because, for all of the reasons above, I just plain want it, though it might be a futile quest. If I had the energy, I could write a medieval parody, The Quest for the Family Portrait, in which Mommy battles monsters such as the Toddler Tantrum and Inclement Weather. But I do not have the energy. So here, friends, is my Imperfect Family Portrait Gallery. (Our family being an imperfect subject in these portraits despite the skills of the photographers and the happiness of the family when not pictured.) These probably won't make the family halls of fame, but they are a real slice of what our daily experience is like.

This is picture #2 of the session, and Corin is going down...

Mommy: look at the orchids! Corin: zzzzzzzzz

Such a lovely photo, but he smiles, I promise!

"Dude...did she really make us match?"

Yep. She did.

Quick! Everyone need Mommy at once!

It's obviously very sad to Lily that Corin is sleepy...or something

So the beauty slogan is "Easy, Breezy, Beautiful," right? Well, we got one out of three.

Lily, my love, by "look at the camera," I did not mean "the ground behind us."

Everyone need mom, part 2.

At first, I said "Let's not try a picture right now. She's not cooperating." But then, I figured, "Why not? It will match."