It's Holiday card time here at Chicky Chicky Baby.
(Heavy emphasis on "Holiday" because I don't want my Jewish friends throwing their latkes at me. Unless my mouth is open. I loves me some latkes.)
That means the photo session from hell. Hurrah!
This year there was the extra added joy of trying to wrangle a constantly rolling baby and positioning her close enough to her sister to get them both in the picture but not so close so that one of them suffocated the other. And by that last bit, I meant keeping Chicky from physicall abusing C.C. We weren't 100% succesful but, hey! Everyone is still alive! It's a freaking Christmas miracle! God bless us everyone.
If you don't know the history of our holiday card tradition you can go here, here and here. The short story is, I'm cheap. Also, I hate having some mall photographer who is making 10 bucks an hour wave a feather duster at my kid's face while making noises similar to those of a choking cat all in the name of getting my child to smile at the camera. I can do that for free.
Besides, the pictures my husband and I take are way better.
I had envisioned taking a family portrait outside the new house but that didn't happen. It was cold and when it's cold my nose gets all red and by God if my nose is all red in a picture it had better be because I have some gin in me. So we decided to throw a white sheet down on the ground, lay the girls on it and have Mr. C take the pictures while I acted like a doofus behind him.
It seemed good in theory.
Chicky: "If they think I'm asleep, maybe they'll just go away and take their camera with them."
C.C.: "What is that crazy broad doing back there? Dude, wake up. Our mom's finally lost it."
However, my husband, my wonderful, precious, darling husband whom I love more than all others except for our wonderful, precious, darling offspring is a total stressbag when it comes to taking his kids' picture. Or anything that involves both his kids, now that I think about it. About five minutes into our photo session he was stammering and sweating and frankly some words were starting to come out of his mouth that even I was impressed with, so to save some money on future therapy bills I took over. Thirty seconds later I had this year's card.
It's just this side of cheesy to me - I mean, we're in danger of putting Olan Mills out of business - but it's done.
Hallelujah and pass the gin.