Picture Day

My daughter had school pictures today. The challenge for me was that she is in the afternoon session of 4K. I send her off the Kindercare each morning looking pretty cute - dress clean, curls bouncing. However, my husband has openly admitted that by the time he picks her up at noon to take her to Kindergarten, she looks like a homeless street urchin. The Little Match girl, in the flesh. Curls have turned to frizz, dress has met up with a marker, face bears the remnants of lunch.

So, what to do? I got her up early today and gave her a new dress to wear. Then I pulled her hair into two braids and . . . shellacked her entire head. I layered on as much hairspray as I could until she waved me away and told me I'd gotten some in her eye.

I guess I'll see what comes back and then purchase one of the fabulous "packages" I have been offered (check #4 to the school, for those who are keeping track). No matter what, I'm sure her photo will be better than the ones taken of me when I was in elementary school. I always hated picture day. I remember standing in line in the barren hallway outside the auditorium. They'd hand each of us a little black ("unbreakable!") comb so that we could tame any wayward strands. It was akin to slaying a dragon with a butter knife. Even then, I knew that not even a fully-loaded salon would help me, so I always just held the comb in my hand until it was my turn. Then, when I was in front of the camera, I would conjure up a smile that involved only my teeth and not any other part of my face. "Claudia, why didn't you SMILE?" my mother would always ask.

"But, I WAS smiling," I would always respond.

I'm sure my daughter's photos will be a marked improvement over what I brought home back in the day. But even if they aren't, if you are reading this and you are related to me, you'll be getting one in the mail either way. Cheers!