Picture-Perfect

The days are turning quickly to years. What will you remember?

“Look at me, kids. Say cheese!” The four of them wiggled and squirmed, said “cheese” through gritted teeth, and squinted into the blinding sun.

“Come on, Leah, please smile nice. You’re scowling.”

“Seth, stop looking at your sister.”

I looked to my husband with a plea for help. “Now Jared’s slouching and Chloe’s bonnet is messed up!” Tom adjusted the bonnet on our youngest and Jared straightened to a soldier-like position. I re-aimed and focused my camera, snapped several more pictures, and said “I’m done!”

One of the 53 shots would have to do for our “picture-perfect” Easter memory.

I admit, I’ve taken the challenge of perfect family portraits a little too far. I blame it on my upbringing. Dressing up in matching outfits and looking our best for photos began when I was a child. My mother served as the great orchestrator back then.

She and my aunt loved dressing up their kids, often in matching outfits. I have pictures to prove it. Though the print has faded over the years, my favorite one depicts my cousins with my brother and me, sitting on “the Davenport” (my Midwest grandma’s classic name for a couch). It must have been around Easter as we’re all in striped pastel seersucker; the cousins in yellow, my brother and I in blue; the girls in jumpers, and the boys in rompers. We’re the picture of innocence, which implies either we were more well-behaved than my kids have been over the years, or the photo doesn’t tell the whole story. (My guess is the latter.)

Then there are the church directory family portraits. One from the early 1970s shows the efforts Mom dedicated to the process. We’re all dressed to the nines, and from my little sister’s banana curls to Mom’s perfectly coiffed up-do, not a hair is out of place.

Fast forward some 30 years to the early 2000s. 

I dreaded preparing for our family portraits. The ordeal happened at least three times a year: Easter, school picture time, and Christmas. Sometimes there were extras thrown in like weddings, vacations, and graduations. Usually, I took the photos with my 35mm, but at times, I’d let the professionals have a shot. The more we were paying for those photos, the higher the stakes. Everything had to be perfect.

I spent hours (and too many dollars) shopping for coordinating outfits. I stressed over haircuts and curls, bonnets and belts. 

“Do your dress shoes still fit? No, you can’t wear your tennis shoes!”

“You have a run in your tights?” Ugghhh. I was off to the store for a new pair.

By the time we got to picture day, my anxiety had rubbed off on everyone. We were all uptight, cranky, and not in the mood to smile. My kids were unruly and mischievous. In response, I was impatient and irritable. The only thing that rose higher than the pitch of my voice was my blood pressure. 

Again, I have the pictures to prove it. The photos in my scrapbooks and digital storage devices are a mixed bag. 

Occasionally, I find “picture-perfect” poses with everyone looking at the camera and smiling, and no wardrobe malfunctions or bad hair days. They make me smile.

But the photos I really love? They’re the ones that make me laugh. Like the one with the screaming baby or a toddler being strong-armed back into the picture. The 5-year-old with the lopsided grin, or the 8-year-old looking sideways at his brother. An untucked shirt. Hair stiffened with hairspray standing straight up in the wind. And how about those “natural” tree-hugging photos?

Those less-than-perfect pictures are priceless! In fact, the less perfect the picture, the more laughter it brings. And I wonder: If these are hilarious to me now, why wasn’t I laughing then?

Was I just tired? Too uptight? Perfectionistic? 

Yep. All of the above. 

But there’s been a slow shift over the years. As my family has grown and changed, so have I.

The kids are all adults now, and adorable grandkids are entering the scene. I’m amazed at how quickly the little ones grow and I wish there was a slow-motion setting for life. I savor the hugs and slobbery kisses and know these moments are too precious to waste on perfection. 

The days are turning quickly to years. Only the memories–crooked bonnets, bad hair days, “cheesy” smiles, and all–will remain.  

So, I’m redefining “picture-perfect.”

My picture is perfect through the simple joy of being together and making memories–through skiing the slopes, feasting on Easter dinner, watching “our show,” fishing on the lake, building a snowman, playing at the playground, sharing a pizza, or planting a garden. 

And yes, even in saying “cheese!” for the 54th time.

(This story was originally published on 4/11/23, at lindahanstra.substack.com.)