The horror of family photo shoots

“It’s going to be better than last time,” I promised nervously, clutching child-sized hangers and a bag of hair supplies. “We’re just going to go in, get it done, and get it out — no big deal. Quick and easy.”

I was talking out loud, but I wasn’t sure if I was promising my husband and the kids, or just reassuring myself.

We had mistakenly scheduled a dreaded family photo shoot for the morning after we’d been away for most of Thanksgiving weekend. Everyone was tired and cranky. We’d overslept. No one was feeling particularly friendly towards each other, let alone prepared to pose lovingly together on a faux sheepskin rug.

I hadn’t even started thinking about outfits until half an hour before the shoot, let alone figured out what was clean and relatively unwrinkled. There was a time, years ago, when I actually bought clothing in order to help us all coordinate.

This year? The “theme” was denim, black, and Oh My God, Just Find A Blue Shirt and Get In The Damn Car.

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