Tradition

What fresh hell is this?

I imagine this is what my family is thinking as we stand in the middle of the waiting room of Sears portrait studio on Sunday. Yep, I said it. I take Sears holiday pics. I have been carting the dear twins down to Sears every year since they were a year old. 6 months really, but it was that first Christmas picture, all done up and incredibly glossy that had me hooked.

Their cheeks gleaming, eyes shining bright. What was a mother to do, but pluck down her card and sign up for the full package?

So there we were on Sunday at year 14. Another year with more new sweaters from Old Navy, Me, The DH, The DD and The DS, a bunch of other parents and an army of screaming infant to 5 year olds. My gang kept looking at me and saying, is this it? This has to be the last year mom. We are not doing this next year. Eyes roll, heads shake. Even the DH agrees.

The tears prick, prick, prick at the back of my eyes. This can’t be it. This can’t be the last year. So what they are not babies. They are MY babies and it was just yesterday that I was carrying them in here in my arms. Besides this is our tradition. Our family photo. Does it matter that we look like fools and my babies tower over these other babies all done up in their holiday finery and screaming like banshees.

In a few short years they won’t be here to take these photos with me and all I’ll have is the hi-gloss techi-color sparkle in their eyes, the memory of these days of my forced tradition and maybe some Aretha Sings The Blues or Amy Winehouse and probably a bottle of wine. Sob.

How will I get them all back again next year. Bribery? I’m sure they will get hungry sometime.

Best,

Kwana