School Pictures...Torture

Today, the kids brought home school pictures.  The youngest one came running into my office this afternoon; smile a mile wide.  She couldn't wait to show me her mug.  When one is five,  the 8 1/2x 11 picture swallows one up.  Her beaming face was full of pride as she dramatically waved the glossy in front of my face.  I was forced to stop what I was doing and behold her effervescent beauty.  There she was.  Draped in a little, red Strawberry Shortcake dress she got from the Goodwill store.  Her raven-black hair slightly askew with red, floral hair bow drooping helplessly on her forehead.  The big scratch across her face from dog wrestling the Pomeranian the night before hardly showed up on the picture thankfully, but she did look like a girl with a story to tell.  A story of how proud she was of what she was wearing that day, and of how proud she was to be her.  Her big smiled stretched from ear to ear, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes looked right in to the lens that day; leaving one to wonder what mischievous activities she had planned for the rest of the afternoon.  I just stood and stared at that beautiful little girl, and took in her exotic loveliness for a minute. A far cry from my elementary school pictures.
 In third grade I wore a green plaid dress.  It was 1974 and I had long, white blond hair parted down the middle.  I had white blond eyelashes, which made me look like radiation treatment gone ary.  The fact that they were white made my larger than life eyes look even bigger.  Rat girl.  I have since then grown to love my eyes.  I think my head finally grew into them.  So, that picture was the butt of all my parents (dads) teasing back then because I wanted to smile a big toothy smile just like my idol, Donny Osmond.  I decided I wanted His smile, so I stretched my lips up waaay high over the top of my teeth that day for the greasy photographer, and smiled a rather large, canine smile which showed every single tooth in my head...molars included.  I remember grandma said, "Well, it looks just like you kid."  Mom smiled and said, "Aww, that is sweet."  She'd say that though no matter how crappy my picture looked.  That's what she did.  And then there was my dad.  He looked at it and let out a larger than life, gut busting guffaw.  "Ba Ha Ha Ha!" Then to make matters worse, he imitated my smile.  I couldn't help but laugh because I knew that's what I looked like!  My first real lesson in humility.
Then there was the short hair picture of 1976.  There I stood hands encroached around the liberty bell, American flag frozen on a painted back drop behind me.  I was developing my first case of acne, and missing a few teeth; which were by the way, not only yellow by this time from lack of brushing, but crooked.  Acne, crooked yellow teeth, short Dorothy Hamill wedge haircut, and the white eyelashes which made me look ill.  Plus a striped sweater which gave my already boobless shape a more concave appearance.  I looked like a boy.  A boy heroin junkie..with crooked yellow teeth.
Pictures really never got any easier for me.  Take for instance my senior pictures.  I had been lying in the sun all day, dripping in baby oil sans sunscreen.  I was literally fried when I went in for my pictures.  To make matters worse I decided to wear a purple blouse.  Purple blouse and purple face.  White 80's, overteased hair.  I looked like an Oompa Loompa Ziggy Stardust.  Yes, my dad still teases me about that one too.
Today I got my school pictures back as well.  This year I've decided I'm just happy I don't have a double chin.  I'm glad I can count the wrinkles looking back at me in my photo on one, well one and a half hands.  I'm happy I'm forty pounds lighter than last year's picture.  I also look at my picture and see a woman with a story to tell.  A woman with a little mischief on her face, and one who's had experiences...good and bad.  I can tell you that makes me happy. 

Sunday School Fall Lineup

Sunday School

This Sunday morning marks a fall ritual in our home.  The first day of Sunday school for the new season.  It’s not quite as good as the fall NBC lineup of shows, but it’s what we have to work with in our family.  It’s the only day of the year my oldest son, who is leaving for seminary next year, pops up out of bed sans the alarm.  He is teaching the middle school kids this year.  He showers, shaves, puts on his nice khakis with plaid dress shirt and appears in the kitchen resembling the cover of an LL Bean magazine.  The fall/winter edition.  He informs me as I stand doggedly with one eye barely open at the sink, pouring water into the kettle, that he has already walked the dog and fed the chickens.  I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm just once.  My instinct is to kick him, but instead I give him a thankful hug and kiss.  Looking at him right now, he reminds me of some 50’s iconic dad. He just needs a pipe.  The littlest one lopes down the stairs and I can hear her singing.  She reminds me of the CEO of a major Fortune 500 company.  She’s all business at age five.  She enters the kitchen.  “Mommy, what is the weather going to be like today?”  “If it’s going to be too cold, I’ll need to wear something warm.”  She has already brushed her teeth, her hair, and has found a long sleeved wool dress.  She has also ratted out her brother and sister for being mean to her already this morning.  She is currently in the process of painting her toenails to match said dress, and has chosen flip flops to showcase her freshly polished toes….that now match her wool dress.  She grabs a muffin from the pantry and gallops off into the living room.

Next comes my middle-school aged son.  He woke up less than five minutes ago.  He’s already come down stairs wearing a wrinkled t-shirt, a pair of black basketball shorts, socks (mismatched) and flip-flops.  I think those clothes were on his floor this morning, and I’m not really sure he’s brushed his teeth.  However, he has dumped about a gallon of stinky pre-pubescent body spray on his body, and now the air has a thin cloud of napalm like film hovering the living room’s atmosphere.  I’ll stay in here for a while.  I think I need my inhaler.  I haven’t been around that much haze since fraternity parties in college.  

It is also a ritual  each year on this special day that my oldest daughter stumbles down stairs with white-blond hair askew, and her award winning Meryl Streep-esque monologue which always begins like this.  “Mommeeeeeee.”  (It’s always very drawn out and dramatic.  She should surely win an Emmy for best drama.)  “Mommeeeeee, (eyelashes batting heaving, lip hanging down to her knees) I have a migraine.”  Her siblings see this brazen show of fortitude and roll their eyes.  She looks at them as if she has just witnessed kittens being sacrificed to hungry canines, and works up hot, fresh tears that honestly, I am in awe at.  And with that, she has once again charmed her way out of the first day of the season opener known as Sunday School, and I too now have an excuse not to shower today.   For I am her trusty sidekick; her partner in crime, and today, this first day of Sunday school, the family will leave for church, leaving Meryl Streep and I alone with our comfy blanket, the couch, and a nice hot cuppa tea to start the day.