Two weeks ago I rushed my family out of bed on a Saturday morning. We shoveled down some toast, threw on the clothes I had laid out, tamed hair and piled into the car, hurrying to make it to our favorite park before the sun was completely up in the sky. We pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later than we had hoped for, but six minutes late still felt like a victory. My alarm had failed to wake me at the proper hour that morning, and I woke in a panic, wondering if we really had time to put myself and family together that morning. My cushion time was gone. There was no time to do lots of touch ups and checking, or complete blow-drying of my hair.
Our photographer, recommended by a friend, was waiting for us in the parking lot when we arrived. It was early enough that the frost coating the grass had only melted when the streaky glowing rays of sunlight had broken through. It was cold and I didn’t really want to take our first family pictures in two years in jackets. I envision that we take these things in coordinating, but not matching, outfits that look like us in our natural state, but with a smidge more effort than usual. Not in overly puffy coats or slouchy, shapeless jackets.
The kids, while patient and good sports for the most part, were not as convinced. They looked at us like we were crazy as we coaxed them out of their warm outerwear to take a few photos by a stone wall or in between a cluster of trees where the early sunlight framed their figures with the soft glow of morning. It was beautiful, but they were freezing. We tried to get them to laugh, tried to entice them with a promise of a hot breakfast and fire when we got home. And when my husband feared that might not be enough he bribed them with the treats he had stashed in his pocket for this desperate moment—this photo session was expensive and we intended to get some good gift- and Christmas-card-worthy pictures out of that morning.
We got the proofs back and I was generally happy with them. The lighting was gorgeous; our favorite park was splendid in the early morning sun. But I looked at us and I was a bit disappointed. I have a curl of hair that is hanging down in my face in almost every photo and no one told me. Argh. And it is obvious that not all our smiles are genuine. We are just not a naturally photogenic family. As much as I wish that were not true, it is. Hardly awkward family photos, but we don’t have a “catalog perfect” look. There will always be something slightly awkward: a false smile, hair sticking up, a slouchy pose or some one looking the wrong direction.
Thankfully, there are a few photos where I put on a hat because I was freezing and my problem hair is not obvious, and others where we didn’t have the heart to make the kids take off their jackets so they look much happier, and even a few with smiles that appear genuine. Yes, we even found one or two worthy of printing out, gifting our parents and framing at home. But still, I look at the pictures and they don’t seem to tell a full story. It is hard to get a real snapshot of my family where we are right now, as much as I wish I could have that, and that we could be dressed nicely in that picture if it existed.
I think of the happy, funny moments we share at home, when I laugh so hard that I have to sit down or at the table eating together, or any of our happy little routines—I want to capture that. I wish I could have all those unposed moments, good and bad. It is a talented (and oft times lucky) photographer that can really capture that kind of beauty. I just wish I knew where to hire one, and hope I could justify the expense. Until that time, perhaps this time next year or the following when we get around to taking pictures again, I will just look at the pictures and see us, and not just all our less-than-perfection styling, poses, and smiles. Because I really like the people in that picture, photogenic or not.
Are you capable of stellar pictures? How do photo sessions go for you?
Related posts:
Continue reading at the original source →