Portraits

Today we packed two bags with the essential wardrobe changes and accessories and sallied forth into the land of cruel and unusual punishment known as

Picture Day

Of course, as homeschoolers, we are denied the convenience of simply dressing them in something decent on the selected day and putting them on the bus uttering prayers and threats that they'd better stay clean until the pictures are taken. We're also blessed by not shelling out $29.95 for a picture with one eye closed and mouth hanging open in the middle of a word.

Nope, we got to pick *3* outfits, including the required matching hair accessories for each different look and traipse over to the photography studio with its multiple backgrounds and poses.

For the past few visits to a mecca of captured memories, we always manage to hit the exact moment when the girls are hungry. Or tired. Or grumpy. Or just plain mad. Our frustrated photographer ends up trying everything in her arsenal to coax a smile out of my crotchety children while I threaten them from the wings with unimaginable horrors if they don't SMILE! And LOOK HAPPY!

I had high hopes this morning as the girls were both very happy with their outfit choices and they both seemed to be as bright and sunshiny as the weather. But L had to go to dance class before our picture appointment. Where she started crying. Uncontrollably. For no reason. This was not looking good.

On the plus side, we ended up leaving dance early, which gave us plenty of time to get L calmed down (she eventually told her she was crying because her "stomach hurt"), eat lunch, and get to the portrait studio 30 minutes early where they could go ahead and get us started.

And the session went beautifully! L's stomach troubles disappeared and the girls cooperated, smiled, laughed, and posed on cue. We got a whole slew of amazing shots and K spent the rest of the day talking about how fun it all was. So here are just a few of the shots from the CD they so graciously gave us of the entire portrait session.






That last one? That's what happens when you give a 7-year-old a feather boa. Or maybe just MY 7-year-old.