The Fall Photo Shoot That Was (Not)

I’ve had it in my head for a couple of weeks that I wanted to do a little photo shoot with each of the boys. Somehow, as if I didn’t know any better, I thought that we would, without any fussing or arguments, load up in the van and, at just the right time of day, head out to some idyllic, quintessentially autumn location (probably Pioneers Park). Once there, we would have found the perfect light with plenty of time, and Jason would have played with one of the boys while I captured the carefree shenanigans of the other—tossing leaves up into the air, stacking pine cones, doing somersaults, or looking directly into the camera with an impish grin. Then we’d switch kiddos and I’d catch boy #2 being completely himself as well. The colors would be rich and amazing! There’d be no stray cars or outhouses in the background! The light would take your breath away! The boys would be wearing killer-cute clothes, and their faces would be clean and snot-free!

Ahem. Instead . . .

I decided rather late in the day that the photo shoot should be right! now! I was, of course, neglecting to take into account the fact that the magic hour of light is also the witching hour. So instead of all that stuff I said before, we were looking at a fit that only a three-year-old could throw and that left ME in tears. What was it about? Shoes? Jacket? Candy? I can’t even remember now. As part of the Tantrum Suppression Agreement, we settled for Cooper Park across the street (strike the peaceful lake; strike the tall prairie grasses; strike the woodland paths; cue the playground already fully shaded; cue the grumpy mommy who had something else in mind).

I left the house with the camera and our mostly compliant youngest child, while behind me I could hear Jason and his mom, who is here visiting for the weekend, riding out of the end of the wrath of Simon. I’m not sure what negotiations had to go on, but it wasn’t too long before Simon emerged calmer, almost happy even, and with a dinosaur in tow.

It would be wrong of me to say I learned some profound lesson about gratitude, expectations, spontaneity, or even parenting. At the time, I was able to let go a bit and enjoy the moments of true delight in my adorable kiddos and in my wonderful husband, who never ceases to blow me away with what a great dad he is. Still, if I’m honest, I was still frumping about my expectations being blown, and I went home almost as grouchy and frustrated as when we started.

In the end, I didn’t get all those amazing shots I wanted (and, as I’ve written about before, maybe they weren’t even possible). But, yeah, we had some fun (she admits reluctantly):