“Chase him down, and I’ll grab the Cheerios!” I shouted to my partner, Matt, as I watched our eighteen-month-old, Lucas, bolt across the yard. Dressed in our holiday best, Matt sprinted after our little whirlwind. It was Christmas Card Photo Day, and Lucas had decided that the terrible twos were going to make an early entrance. He was like a pint-sized superhero from a movie, completely oblivious to our plans. We’d booked a professional photographer for the occasion, but instead of a calm sitting, we were in for a day of wild action, reminiscent of a frantic news correspondent’s toughest assignment.
“Maybe we should just call it quits. Trying to get a formal picture with a one-year-old and a three-year-old is madness,” Matt sighed, exasperated. “Let’s just apologize to the photographer and send her home.”
“Absolutely not,” I mouthed back, refusing to give up. I was determined to capture at least one decent family photo to share with our 175 closest friends and family members, complete with a festive letter from yours truly. This was the season of giving, not surrendering. I’d tackled tougher days solo; a little game of toddler tag with three adults wasn’t going to stop me. Matt, bless him, was understandably flustered (and maybe a bit worn out) by the chaos. What he didn’t realize was that these would be the only clean-faced, holiday-dressed kids I’d get—complete with white turtlenecks, red cable-knit vests, and black corduroys. The vests even had vintage buttons, lending a scholarly charm. I had even put on a nice sweater instead of my usual mom hoodie. Blurry or not, this photo was happening.
Laura, our photographer, hadn’t yet experienced the joys of wrangling toddlers, but she had an abundance of energy and patience. She suggested we try placing the boys on our laps for an outdoor shot, so I fetched a blanket. Our older son, Jake, squirmed, while Lucas remained committed to his refusal to be still. In fact, one sequence featured Matt holding Lucas like a life preserver in a turbulent sea. Despite the plaid blanket, it was anything but easy.
“What about some indoor shots?” Laura tentatively proposed, likely hoping to keep the boys contained. No luck there either—no tears, just a lot of distractions and snack time galore. Strike two.
“Let’s try the back porch,” I suggested, still clinging to the idea of the perfect photo. We took our positions, one child per parent, against the white railing. Nearly an hour had passed.
“Say Cheese! Say Spiderman! Say Family!” Laura encouraged. “Family” turned out to be the magic word—third time’s the charm.
Surprisingly, the porch shot turned out beautifully and resonated with everyone who received it. I was inundated with compliments as if I’d just won an award; it felt surreal. A cousin declared we’d won her annual card contest, and a college friend, of all people, framed it in his living room. My mom even teared up.
“What’s the secret?” I mused, reflecting on the flood of praise. Perhaps we just cleaned up nicely. The comments centered around the photo’s warmth and the sense of unity it conveyed—a snapshot of our family, tightly knit against a backdrop of fall foliage. It looked like a relaxed day in the countryside, captured in classic black and white, reminiscent of the American Dream framed by our white fence. That year’s Christmas card seemed to bring a little joy and hope, perhaps reaching an elderly aunt or a long-lost friend I had tracked down before social media. Little did they know the chaos behind the scenes.
Maybe it was our perseverance that shone through, a testament to resilience that all parents understand. Or maybe it was my choice of sweater. It remains a mystery. I continually update our home photos but can’t bear to replace that treasured black and white image. It’s housed in a quirky metal frame featuring Kokopelli, the flute-playing deity that my husband brought back from a work trip. Although Southwestern decor isn’t our usual style, I let it stay. Over the years, the photo and frame have formed a sort of harmony, remaining undisturbed. Today, I can’t bring myself to tuck away our iconic picture, fearing it might lose its magic if it’s relegated to an album.
“Am I going to have to chase you again today?” Laura asked Lucas at this year’s photo session, playfully reminding him of that unforgettable day. He shrugged with an adolescent grin, offering a half-hearted apology, a decade too late. Despite my boys not sharing the same enthusiasm for Christmas Card Picture Day, it remains one of my favorite traditions. In 2014, I resorted to bribery to convince them to wear something other than their beloved sweatpants. Thankfully, they actually managed to sit still this time, exchanging playful nudges instead of wild chaos. Once again, Laura prompted us for genuine smiles.
“Say Family,” she instructed, capturing the moment perfectly.
Summary
Christmas Card Photo Day is a memorable family tradition that brings both chaos and joy. With toddlers in tow, the pursuit of the perfect holiday photo can feel like an uphill battle. Yet, amidst the disarray, the captured moments reflect the love and resilience of family life, creating cherished memories that resonate with friends and relatives alike.
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