“Chase after him, and I’ll grab the snacks!” I shouted to my partner, Tom. Dressed in our carefully chosen family portrait outfits, he sprinted after our eighteen-month-old son, Ethan, in the yard. It was Christmas Card Photo Day, and the onset of the “terrible twos” had arrived early. Ethan was like a tiny superhero, zooming around just like Dash from The Incredibles, completely oblivious to our plans for a calm photo session. We had hired a professional photographer for the occasion, but ‘sitting’ was not part of the agenda. Instead, it felt more like a wild day of action photography, reminiscent of a journalist covering a chaotic event.
“Perhaps we should have reconsidered attempting a formal photo with a one- and three-year-old,” Tom suggested, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Maybe we should just apologize to the photographer, pay her, and let her go.”
“Not a chance,” I silently declared. I was determined to get at least one decent family photo for our holiday card, which would be sent to 175 of our nearest and dearest. It was a season of giving, not surrendering. To me, this photo session was a challenge I could handle; I had faced worse days alone. A spontaneous game of tag with three adults supervising wasn’t going to derail my efforts. Tom was understandably flustered, but what he didn’t realize was that this might be the last time our kids would look so well-groomed—clean faces, hair brushed, and holiday outfits complete with crisp white turtlenecks under red cable-knit vests from a popular store. The vests even had charming old-fashioned buttons, making our boys look like little scholars. I had even traded my usual hoodie for a respectable sweater set. Blurry or not, this photo was happening.
Laura, our photographer, was new to the challenges of photographing toddlers. However, her energy and patience were evident as she suggested we place the boys on our laps for an outdoor shot. I quickly retrieved a blanket, but while our older son, Ryan, squirmed, the baby remained resistant to being still. The resulting images featured Tom gripping Ethan tightly as if performing a Heimlich maneuver. Despite the plaid blanket, it certainly wasn’t a walk in the park.
“Maybe we should try some indoor photos,” Laura gently proposed, likely hoping to contain the boys. Unfortunately, the indoor attempts were just as chaotic, filled with distractions and messy snacking. Strike two.
“How about our back porch?” I suggested, still in pursuit of the ideal family portrait. After nearly an hour, we settled there. With one child lifted by each parent, we positioned ourselves against the white railing.
“Say Cheese. Say Spiderman. Say Family,” Laura encouraged us. “Family” was the magic word—the third time’s the charm!
Our porch photo not only pleased us but also received an unexpected amount of admiration from friends and family. I was inundated with compliments that felt like winning an award; it was surreal. One cousin declared we had won her annual card contest, while a college friend—who was single—framed our card and displayed it in his living room. My mom even teared up!
“Why all the praise?” I wondered. Perhaps it was the way we presented ourselves, embodying a promise of togetherness, huddled closely in our festive attire. Against a backdrop of fall foliage, it appeared like a serene day in the countryside, captured in classic black and white film—the American Dream framed by our white fence. That year’s Christmas card seemed to offer a glimmer of hope to many, whether it reached an elderly aunt feeling lonely or a long-lost friend I had tracked down before social media made it easy. Our card resonated with others, though they had no idea of the effort involved.
Maybe it was our tenacity that shone through, a trait that young parents often embody. Or perhaps it was simply my sweater set. I frequently update our home photos, yet I can’t bear to replace that cherished black and white image. It resides in a metal frame adorned with Kokopelli, the flute-playing deity, which Tom brought home from a business trip. Although Southwestern decor isn’t our style, I embraced its arrival, as it served a purpose. Over time, the photo and frame have become harmoniously linked, too precious to disturb. Even now, I can’t bear to store our iconic picture away in a chronological album, fearing it might lose its magic. Like a family heirloom revealed on Antiques Roadshow, its value has only increased with time, now holding a hallmark status.
“Am I going to have to chase you again today?” Laura asked Ethan during this year’s photo session, playfully reprimanding him for his antics from that fateful day a decade earlier. With a sheepish grin, he shrugged and offered a half-hearted apology, albeit a dozen years too late. Christmas Card Photo Day remains a favorite of mine, though my co-stars might not share that enthusiasm. In 2014, I resorted to bribing my boys to wear something other than their usual sweatpants. Thankfully, this time, they actually sat still—though not without some brotherly jostling. As in past years, Laura prompted us with words to elicit genuine smiles.
“Say Family,” she instructed before capturing the moment.
In conclusion, capturing those family moments can be chaotic yet rewarding. Whether it’s for a holiday card or just a family keepsake, the effort often yields cherished memories that hold a special place in our hearts.
Keyphrase: Christmas Card Photo Day
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