The Perfect Photo Shoot in 10,011 Billion Easy Steps

Every year I set out to take a series of portraits of my children. I did this after I hauled them out to a professional photographer to the tune of hundreds of dollars, thousands of tears (mostly mine) and the dawning realization that they would be more relaxed and easier to photograph at home.
This year was no different.
I pride myself on the compliments I receive for how beautifully the annual portraits turn out (if I do say so myself – and I do). That said, I think it’s time to tell the truth behind the perfect portrait. Things aren’t always what they seem.
Or, as I like to call it, How to get the perfect portrait in 10,011 Billion Easy Steps – with just a hint of child abuse and threat thrown in for good measure.

Then we will have some animal involvement, to whit:

Jagger says “this is my good side.”

Ace must walk expectantly into every shot …

Ace says “Here, let me shove you off this rock so there’s more room for me and my ball.”

More “me and my ball!”

“Moves Like Jagger” indeed! Maroon5’s got nothin’ on him …

There may be goats … Penny and Billy are ready for their close-ups. Well, not Billy. Billy is busy being highly suspicious of the camera …
Finally, after endless takes, out-takes, and begging we might, God willing, end up with something like this:
My Babies, 2011



And every year I say it again, it’s worth every single second … and then some.

Torturing children for fun and photos

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Every fall since they were small I have herded the children out into the yard and forced them to pose for me. Used to be I could bribe them with candy. Now that they can score their own candy, I have to go for the hard stuff: “Because I said so” and threats of grave bodily harm. You do what works.
It’s been amazing to watch them grow, in a blink, from humans so tiny they could scarcely hold their bobble heads up long enough to be photographed into full fledged lanky people who can count and know that “just a few more shots” is not, in fact, 300 more shots. Back then I lived in dread fear that my then two-year old son would allow his months-old sister to topple out of the swing and on to the ground face first and how would I explain THAT to grandma?

Today I live in dread fear that someday they will have valid excuses to dodge my annual Fall Photo Sessions. Things like “mom I have to work” or “mom I moved out five years ago.”

I love FL. I really, really do. (aka the one where we fall in love with surf, sand, and the call of the wild (if somewhat scary) seagulls.

Dear Atlantic Ocean,

Damn you for being so azure blue and enticing. I will never view Ohio lakes as anything more than mud puddles again.

Surfer Girl

How is it possible that a child born and raised in the midwest took to the surf and sand as if born to it?