Glow In The Dark Teeth

Back to infertility tales in a second, but there's an exciting event coming up this weekend, and I just can't wait!

It's the Family Christmas Picture!

Back in 1995, we moved to a house with a fireplace. I joked that we should get dressed up in dorky clothes and shoot a picture of ourselves in front of the fireplace and send it out, so people would think that we were normal suburbanites instead of slightly deranged vegetarian hippie radicals.

Thus began a tradition that warms our hearts to this day.

The timeline for this sacred tradition is as follows:

1. Sunday, after Thanksgiving. "Let's get a head start this year!" I say perkily. Roger groans and closets himself in the bedroom to watch football games. "No Christmas stuff till December!" he shouts from his Safe Place.

2. First weekend in December. "How about this weekend?" I perkily request. "Too busy--we have to put up the tree and decorate," Roger warily replies.

3. Second weekend in December. "Now?" I whisper. "Sorry," Roger whispers. "Plenty of time until Christmas."

4. Third weekend in December. "It's NOW!" I announce in Drill Sergeant mode. Roger moans softly and checks the alcohol supply.

Sunday, Third Weekend:

The camera is set on the tripod, bringing back glorious memories of Christmas 1997 when the camera fell off and broke.

The family is ordered to get dressed up, except Roger, and I tell him to just put on something that doesn't clash. Last year Roger clothed himself appropriately but was barefoot in the first shots. I was too busy with the kids to notice. "I thought you said don't get too dressed up," he defended himself to my deafening shrieks of rage after I checked the picture on the digital monitor.

I put on a dress, slather on as much makeup as humanly possible, and break out the lipstick. I'm still working off of this dark red lipstick from 2000, which tells you how often I wear lipstick.

I usually choose a dress that shows off my legs, because I send the picture to three old boyfriends and I want them to see what they're missing with the skanky hags that they're currently partnering with.

I wobble out to the den in high heels, brush hair of screaming, wiggling kids, and we arrange ourselves in front of the fireplace. The self-timer is set and somebody runs back to get in the picture. "10-9-8-7.....Smile!" I hiss viciously.

I check the monitor. "Nope!"......I announce. "Meredith, you weren't smiling!"

Repeat. Ten, twenty times, until a picture is taken that makes me look cute and thin. Hell with the rest of 'em.

I upload the pictures to the computer, moaning and cursing. In 2002, we got some great shots, but I had lipstick smeared all over my teeth. You can see in the attached picture that my editing skills were rather...um...nonexistent. Although I do kind of like the glow in the dark teeth effect.

At least I've learned not to try a new camera or new software for this. I tried a new software program in 2003. Roger and Madeleine (5) and Meredith (3) quickly slunk away to watch Harry Potter. The scary parts of Harry Potter paled in comparison with Mommies Gone Wild as I consumed Bailey's Irish Cream and cursed nonstop under my breath.

We all have a drink and toast to another successful year.

Monday:

We rush to the store to print the pictures. As they roll off the line, I scream hysterically. "THE LIGHT IS WRONG!" Last year we didn't get close enough with our new camera, and all the pictures printed out orange.

Roger wrings his hands, silently wondering if a good shag every now and then is worth 24/7 of being married to The Crazy. "Here you go Hon," he sighs, handing me a tissue for the tears rolling down my cheeks. "We'll do it again if you want."

"WE HAVE TO!" I whine. "Don't you want DECENT PICTURES for the girls when they grow up?" Now what can the poor man do but nod his head and purchase some more beer?

Rinse, repeat, rush to store.

"They suck," I announce flatly. "But I guess they'll have to do." I rush home and stuff them into envelopes, announce that we're out of stamps, and force Roger to visit the post office.

It's the most wonderful time...of the year.