“Chase him down while I grab the snacks,” I called out to my partner, Luke. Dressed in our best holiday attire, he sprinted after our lively eighteen-month-old son, Jacob, in the backyard. It was Christmas Card Photo Day, and the terrible twos had arrived early. Jacob was channeling his inner superhero, but unfortunately, he forgot to cooperate with our plans. We had arranged for a professional photographer to capture our family photo, but it turned out to be more of a chaotic chase than a serene sitting—more akin to an action-packed news segment than a peaceful portrait.
“Perhaps we should rethink this, trying to take a formal picture with our one and three-year-olds,” Luke sighed, exasperated. “Let’s just apologize to the photographer, settle the payment, and call it a day.”
“Not a chance,” I silently vowed. I was resolute in my desire to secure at least one decent family photo for our Christmas mailing list of 175 friends and relatives, accompanied by a heartfelt letter from yours truly. This was the season of giving, not giving up. To me, this photo shoot was merely a small hurdle. After all, I had navigated much tougher days on my own; a spontaneous game of toddler tag with three adults supervising was not going to derail my mission. While Luke was understandably drained and a bit embarrassed, he failed to see that I might never again have clean-faced, well-dressed children in festive attire—crisp white turtlenecks beneath red cable-knit vests and black corduroy pants. The vests even had vintage brown buttons, making them look like tiny professors. I had donned a nice sweater set instead of my usual mom hoodie. Blurry or not, this photo was going to happen.
Laura, our photographer, was yet to experience the joys and trials of wrangling toddlers. However, she possessed both the patience and energy necessary for our rambunctious session. She suggested placing the boys on our laps for an outdoor shot, so I quickly fetched a blanket. Our older son, Ethan, squirmed, while the baby would not be tamed for a still shot. The resulting images featured Luke holding Jacob like an emergency responder—definitely not the serene family portrait we envisioned.
“Indoor shots might work better,” Laura suggested, possibly hoping to contain the boys. Unfortunately, there too, distractions and snacks dominated the scene, leading to yet another failed round.
“Why not try our back porch?” I proposed, still determined to capture that elusive perfect family picture. The porch became our next backdrop, and we hoisted the boys onto our laps, posing against the white wooden railing. Almost an hour had passed.
“Say Cheese! Say Spiderman! Say Family!” Laura encouraged, and it was the word “Family” that worked its magic, eliciting genuine smiles from our little ones.
To our surprise, this porch shot resonated with everyone who received our Christmas card that year. I was overwhelmed by the positive feedback; it felt as though I had just won an award. A distant cousin claimed we had taken first place in her annual card contest, and even a college friend—a single man—framed it in his living room. My mother was visibly moved.
“Why all the fuss?” I pondered. Perhaps it was the warmth of our family dynamic that shone through, or maybe it was simply the fact that we looked good in the photo. The image depicted a cozy family embracing each other amidst autumn foliage, exuding the essence of the American Dream, complete with our white picket fence in the background. That Christmas card offered hope and joy to many; perhaps it reached an elderly relative on a lonely day or a long-lost friend whose address I had hunted down before social media took over. Little did they know the effort that went into capturing that moment.
Maybe it was our perseverance that resonated, embodying the resilience that young parents often embrace. Or perhaps it was just my carefully chosen sweater set. The reason remains a delightful mystery. I frequently update photos in our home but can’t bear to replace that cherished black-and-white image. It resides in a metal frame featuring Kokopelli, the flute-playing deity that Luke brought back from a work trip. Although Southwestern decor isn’t my style, I welcomed it because it served a purpose. Since then, the photograph and frame have become a matched set, destined to remain undisturbed. Even now, I hesitate to tuck our famous picture away in a neatly organized album, fearing it might lose its significance. Like a family heirloom assessed on Antiques Roadshow, its value has only increased with time, and it now holds a special place in our family history.
“Am I going to have to chase after you again today?” Laura playfully asked Jacob during this year’s photo session, recalling our previous adventure. He shrugged and offered a half-hearted apology, a decade late. Christmas Card Picture Day remains one of my favorite family traditions, even if my young co-stars don’t share this enthusiasm. In 2014, I had to bribe the boys extensively to wear anything other than their comfortable sweatpants. Fortunately, this time they cooperated, merely exchanging playful jabs as they settled into position. As always, Laura guided us with words to evoke authentic smiles.
“Say Family!” she directed, capturing our moment once more.
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In summary, our journey to capture the perfect Christmas card photo was a blend of chaos, resilience, and ultimately, joy. The moment became a cherished memory, embodying the spirit of family and connection that resonates with so many.
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