I don't really know what possessed me to do this on the day before Easter weekend but I convinced everyone on Friday that it would be a good idea to take the girls to a photo studio to have their pictures taken. I've taken about a thousand kajillion (yes, that's a number!) pictures of The Caterpillar since she was born but where I've fallen off the Second Child Mommy Wagon is with having any kind of professional portraits taken. I haven't done a single one.

So the guilt finally
overcame me and I decided to have some Springtime portraits of them both. Guilt that ended up costing me about $300, I might add. Note to self: ignore guilt in the future -- it's less expensive.

We got quite a few nice photos of them both despite The Dormouse turning into a tiny Fellini:

Now let's do a picture with these eggs."

"Now, let's
stand up."

"I need a picture with my kitty."

"Now me and sister together with this stuffed bunny."

"How about I sit in this fire truck and sister sits in the airplane?"

I kept waiting for her to suggest that Death, Goudeau and Barbie all be playing chess in the background while sitting on armadillos.

I continually apologized to the very patient photographer and kept saying, "You sir, are a saint, I say. A SAINT!"

The photo session itself was kind of
fun. It was the picking out photos that made my head want to explode. I couldn't decide who needed copies and kept going back and forth until it occurred to me that I had a scanner at home and I got the bright idea to just get one 8x10 of each pose and then I could scan them later. Take that THE MAN!

But even then, the torture was not over because the clerk could not figure out how to manhandle the computer into taking all the multiple discounts and coupons my voluminous order garnered me. I stood at the counter so long my shoes left impressions in the floor.

I stood there so long that I started talking with the dude in the Easter Bunny costume who by law, I think, could not speak back.
"So you're the employee who drew the short straw and got stuck in the Bunny Suit on the day before Easter weekend, huh?" I said.

The Easter Bunny nodded his head sadly.

Finally, the clerk finished ringing up my order and I had to leave post haste before the stench of soccer mom permeated my skin. By the time our photo shoot was done (we wisely got there about two minutes before they opened, knowing that the place would be a madhouse in little over a half hour -- I'm not a complete idiot), the lobby was filled with screaming kids in adorable Easter outfits.

One uptight mom brought four kids, two girls and two boys, all in coordinating outfits... and all under about five years. They were adorable but not one of the kids was happy. I feel for the photographer who has to make four cranky kids all look at the camera at the same time and smile. I know from experience that it is not easy.

Uptight Mom kept singing Happy Birthday to You, thinking that would get their attention, and trying to get all the folks waiting in the lobby to join in with her to make it believable. Then she kept getting frustrated with all the other parents in the room who were too busy wrangling their own screaming, yet adorably dressed, kid to join in her little ruse. After about the thirty fifth repeat of Happy Birthday, I was ready to nix any future celebrations my children might ever have.

Uptight Mom had this great idea to have all the kids lie on their backs on the floor in a pinwheel formation and have the photographer stand on a step stool to take the picture from above. They finally got them all down and just as the photographer raised up the camera, one little girl sat up and started crying. Uptight Mom walked over to her, placed her foot on the little girl's chest, pushed her down and held her there then growled to the photographer, "Take the picture!"


Man, I would love to have seen those proofs.