It’s finally fall. The nights are cooler. The days are shorter.
The kids are at school. And that means only one thing.
It’s time for School Picture Day.
It’s finally fall. The nights are cooler. The days are shorter. The kids are at school. And that means only one thing.
It’s time for School Picture Day.
Now, every parent of a boy understands that School Picture Day stinks. You will pay, on average, 40 bucks for a picture of a child that looks like he has rolled in mud and spilled every condiment in the cafeteria on his shirt. And his shirt will be ripped thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a swing set.
Of course, School Picture Day doesn’t start out that way. At least, it doesn’t for me. I take School Picture Day very seriously. I have to. I’m terrible at getting posed pictures done of Junior. For me, School Picture Day is the only time I will get a professional portrait of Junior done until he’s married – and even then it will only happen if the bride’s parents arrange it.
Look, I know moms who schedule appointments to get family photos done every six months. These moms coordinate matching outfits for all the family members. Every year, their Christmas photos are these wonderful pictures of the perfect American family, color coded by gender and smiling without spinach in their teeth.
I’m not one of those women. So I have to depend on the school pictures to chronicle my son’s life. And what do I get? Junior in a stained shirt, with his gelled hair sticking out in all directions.
It isn’t like I don’t try to make School Picture Day work. We start our preparations for it the night before. Junior takes a shower – and he uses soap. He even washes his hair. My son is so squeaky clean before he goes to bed that he glows in the dark. But in the hours between 8 p.m. and 7 a.m., Junior’s hair gets all scrunched and his knees manage to get dirty even though he’s been in bed the entire time.
So after breakfast, his knees are scrubbed – again. And his hair is gelled into place using super-duper, extra-strength hair gunk that is guaranteed to last through an entire day.
Junior even gets dressed in brand new clothes. Yes, I buy him an entire new outfit. I have to. In the past, I’ve had perfectly clean, already worn clothes that suddenly sprouted mystery stains the minute Junior put them on. So I make sure I can’t be surprised.
Once that’s done, I put a comb in his backpack. I tell him to use it – and even show him how. I beg him not to eat or play until after the pictures are taken. I ask him to look in a mirror before photo time and see if there is anything wrong.
I think that’s where I mess up. You see, Junior is a boy. And frankly, he doesn’t care if his clothes are stained or his hair has dirt clods stuck to the super-duper, extra-strength gel. He doesn’t care that the only photo in our Christmas cards is one of a stained kid with yogurt caked around his mouth. To him, there’s nothing wrong with that look.
So I guess I have to accept this. My son will forever be captured on film as a dirty, ketchup-stained, wild-haired little kid. And that’s OK. After all, the pictures do show the real Junior.
I’m in a book. The new book, “Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Mothers,” features one of my essays. It’s available now – so rush out and get one. I need the money to pay for Junior’s school pictures – and more hair gel.
