Say cheese

The husband and I took the three kids to have professional pictures taken for Christmas. This was the first time I've attempted this feat with all three, and I'm thinking that after Saturday, it was probably the last, despite my mom's pleas.

Our appointment was at 10:40, and we arrived promptly and were told it would be 10 to 15 minutes. Fine. We browsed Target. I tried to keep Smella's curls under control. We went back to the portrait place and were told it would be another 10 to 15 minutes. FINE. By now the kids are bored and whiny. We browsed the $1 bins, trying to keep the kids from rolling on the floor and clean.

We were finally taken back almost an hour after our scheduled appointment.

The photographer was sweet and has three kids of her own, so she was understanding of my COMPLETELY NUTBAG CHILDREN. Big D refused to listen to instructions AT SEVEN YEARS OLD, Smella was easily distracted by bright, shiny objects, and Boobers forgot how to smile. The smiliest baby in the world was stone-faced sober.

I should've known better; I've tried taking pictures at home of all three of them at the same time. But I figured that in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, things would go a little more smoothly. Cha.

By the end of the appointment, Smella was whining for a drink, Boobers was crying because I wouldn't let him destroy the fake Christmas scene they had set up, and Big D was bouncing off walls...because, uh, that's what he does, I was sweating and gritting my teeth, and the husband was vowing to never do that again.

But we have lovely, lovely Christmas pictures to stuff into my Christmas cards. I certainly hope my mother's happy. Next year, I'm making her take them.