It's everyone's favourite time, right?
When mom or dad pulls out the camera and starts demanding that everyone get-over-here-please and look neat and tidy and would-you-all-just-smile-already!
Maybe someone hauls out the matchy-matchy sweaters or decides on a beach theme.
Then mom starts licking her fingers and wiping them all over your face as she tries to clean off the jam or pizza sauce that managed to somehow splash onto your forehead over the course of the day. And you end up smelling like mommy-spit.
She attempts to smooth down those hairs that constantly spring forth from your double crown with reckless rebellion, but then she sighs and gives up.
She fusses with your clothes, buttoning up those buttons that have been crookedly connected all day. It didn't matter when you were building a fort or playing baseball, but it matters now. Because now is picture time!
And everyone is being tidily arranged for a Family Photo Shoot.
I love taking pictures.
Not that I am great at it, or anything.
I have this beautiful Nikon camera that is black and has all these super pretty, fancy buttons on it. When a camera has that many buttons, its gotta take great pictures.
And it does.
I'm sure it could take even better pictures than the ones that I come up with if I took the time to learn more about how it worked. But I lack the patience to sit through the learning part. What I do know is that you point the lens doohicky part towards people or things and then you push down on a thing-a-ma-jigger and - viola - moment stored in time.
Because, for me, that's what it is all about.
Not the hokey-pokey, people, but the moment-storing part.
I love how a camera allows you to seize a moment, to take a snapshot of time and keep it close.
Like a concrete "carpe-diem-ing" if you will allow me to totally slaughter some Latin phrase for a moment and make it into a verb.
I love taking pictures because I love storing moments.
The funny moments: eyelids flipped inside-out, tongues sticking out, eyes squinting, mouths caught open mid-laugh. Family members piled on top of each other. Friends connected by looped arms.
The sentimental moments - Starry-eyed bride and googly-eyed groom standing shoulder-to-shoulder with interlaced fingers, making promises of a forever untainted by trouble. Tiny, wrinkled and pink newborn baby cradled in the arms of proud and terrified new parents. Kids crowded around candle-lit cakes at wild and rambunctious birthday parties. Close-up of a Grandmother's face, wrinkled and wise, only months before she passed on.
The picturesque moments - sunset setting the world on fire. Rainbows arcing across a thunder-storm sky. Blood-orange lilies burst wide open on stalks of slender green.
The memorable moments - the first day of school, of summer, of work. The first tooth, first step, first haircut. Or the last day of school, of vacation, of work. The last holiday spent with the closest of friends at a campground, sharing laughter on a still and moonlit night.
All moments stored on film.
To be gazed at again and again so that I can remember, retain and reflect on that time.
Every Christmas, just before my family is about to sit down around our tree and begin opening gifts together, I shout out, "WAIT! HALT! HOLD THE PHONE, IT'S PICTURE TIME!"
My hubby and my kids always groan, "Nooooooooooo! NOT THE CAMERA!"
But they are always too late and I will have the black-cased Nikon clutched in my claws and the lens pointed at their faces. I calmly assure them: "Someday you will all appreciate these pictures," I console them, "So please stop rolling your eyes, smooth down your hair and maybe get changed into something that matches."
Every year, my family goes to a cottage together.
One cottage.
Two grandparents, four adult kids and their adult spouses, nine children ranging in age from 2-11 years old.
One and sometimes two dogs.
All in one cottage.
It's like a weeklong, crazy, reality show. But we have a lot of crazy fun too. And every year while we are there, we gather together for a big family picture. Not many enjoy this moment. We are at the cottage and, thereby, away from the hair straightener, hair curler and hair dryer. Clothes have extra wrinkles and picture time seems to always interfere with one of the children's naps. Also the nine kids and dog are difficult to keep together and smiling. The big boys begin wrestling and are suddenly filthy and everyone is hot and irritated, already.
But we persevere.
My dad gets it.
He used to be an avid photographer complete with his own dark room in our home back in Fergus.
He photographed many weddings and loved to whip out his handy-dandy camera and snap shots of me and my siblings as we grew up. There are many pictures of us growing up....all uber cute, chubby cheeked and innocent looking. And then, all uber cute, less chubby cheeked and less innocent looking as we grew older.
So my dad is a big supporter of wrangling the masses into one group shot.
My mom loves it because we are her offspring and she has used up a lot of mommy-spit on our faces over the years to get us camera-ready. She understands that a whole lotta spit and agony is necessary to capture those faces on film. And that it is worth the trouble.
For memory's sake.
Last night, my little family had a Family Photo Shoot. Not a point-and-click photo shoot done with mommy angling the camera, setting the timer and then dashing in front of the camera and diving into place beside daddy. Not that kind. An honest-to-goodness Photo Shoot with a Real, Live Professional Photographer.
I was so excited!
My kids were less so.
I had had an appointment yesterday at the Juravinski Centre and it had gone much later than expected. I'm talking an hour and a half later!
Which meant I had to rush home.
Thankfully my mother had begun dinner so only the finishing touches had to be applied.
I bellowed to the kids and Paul to come to the table and then announced, "Okay everyone, you have to eat QUICK QUICK QUICK because we have pictures tonight! It's TURBO-DINNER-EATING TIME!"
Because that's a thing.
Well, at least it is in my house.
Everyone eyed the pasta piled high on their plates, took a deep breath and then began gobbling.
I mean, there was sauce splashing all over the place. Globs landed on foreheads and the walls.
Noodles were slurped and nibbled lickety-split.
We tossed the dishes into the sink and then raced upstairs to wash faces, change, smooth down hair and apply make-up. It was mayhem, I tell you.
I had carefully selected clothing several days before.
Matchy-matchy golf shirts in several shades of blue for the boys. Matchy-matchy colourful dresses for Gwen and I.
I hairsprayed anyone in my vicinity and then attempted to corral my post-chemo curls into a style that did NOT resemble Seinfeld's Kramer.
No luck but we were outta time.
"Everyone lose the socks and put on the nicest sandals you own!" I screeched as we all sped down the stairs and towards the car.
Seat-buckled in and careening towards our Family Photo Destination.
We arrived with time to spare.
I breezed out of the car like I had all the time in the world and chuckled deviously with Paul.
"Who'da thought?"
We were at Sam Lawrence Park in Hamilton. This is a glorious rock garden with stone walls, stairs, shading trees, flowers of every shade and variety and a sweeping view of our city.
There, we met our Photographer.
Her name is Tobi Bos and she emerged from her car with a Gigantic camera slung about her neck. I think it was a Canon. I know it was black and had lots of buttons, dials, gadgety-things and viewing screens.
I'm pretty certain it could take pictures AND fight crime.
Tobi greeted our decked-out family with a bright smile and some cheery chatter.
Then she lugged out a heavy black backpack and hoisted it onto her back. More Photographer Paraphernalia, I surmised. She was armed and ready.
I gulped with excitement.
This was going to be SO good.
Tobi photographed my two oldest boys when they were teeny-tiny. They are among my most precious photographs. In one, my three-week-old son peers over my shoulder. He gazes straight into the camera like a black-eyed baby model. In another, my tiny second son is modestly wrapped in a colourful scarf and tuque. His blue eyes are bright and his chubby fists clenched.
I have spent years trying to photograph my family with my Nikon a la dash-and-dive technique. But someone is always looking askance. Or blinking. And someone is always making a face. Eyelids flipped inside-out, toothy-grimace-like smile, fingers in the nose.
Which is fine.
I mean, that is my family.
So I click click click and keep those pictures like the treasures that they are.
But having a real live, professional family photo.
Oh boy.
This was a savoury treat, indeed.
Tobi directed us down a path through the picturesque rock gardens at Sam Lawrence Park. My kids scampered off gleefully on their long gazette-like legs. Paul and I looked warily after them, willing them to not trip and fall and get covered in oozing, bloody scabs or dirt.
But Tobi was calm and undaunted.
She is AMAZING, people. And I am talking AMAZING with a Capital A, Capital M, Capital A, Capital Z, Capital ING, babee.
Where I saw stone stairs, slightly dirty and covered in black ants scampering too and fro, she saw a backdrop.
"Sit here, lean there, drap your arm over there," she said and we sat, leaned and draped.
And she click click clicked double fast.
Clickety-clickety click click click.
If we blinked in one picture, there was hope that picture number 17 would be Blink-Free!
If fingers lurked near noses, we could be optimistic that picture number 43 would have fingers far from zee face!
Hurray!
After each pose, our children would burst forth with explosive energy. They saw rock walls that needed to be scaled, gardens that must be explored, and trees that were essential to be climbed. I could feel my irritation level rising a little with each energy explosion but Tobi remained calm.
Remained Calm and Clicked On.
"They are so cute," she would comment as Paul and I would begin shouting after their fleeing forms.
"Come on back!" Paul and I would hiss gently at our children.
"Listen to Mrs. Bos."
"This will go quicker if you cooperate!"
"Smile, don't grimace. You look like you are in pain."
"Sit up, no slumping!"
"Less teeth. Open your eyes. Please stop jumping on my back and ruffling my hair."
"Don't get dirty."
"Come back!"
Tobi pointed and clicked.
Squatted and clicked some more.
Clamboured up onto a wall - my children were very impressed - and clicked yet again.
We smiled and droned out "cheese" for a million or so pictures.
Together.
Individually.
Near a tree.
With the city-scape spread out in the background.
While we ambled from one photo spot to another, we conversed quietly. Small commands to "stop throwing rocks" and "not pet the dogs right now" punctuated our conversation.
"So, what is your favourite subject to photograph?" I queried once.
I would have thought it would be the newborns.
Chubby rolls wrapped in gauzy linen. Sleeping forms arranged into angelic poses.
For sure, the newborns, I thought.
But I was wrong.
"I love taking pictures of families," Tobi promptly answered adjusting the strap of her heavy camera around her neck.
"I love families and putting them together in pictures. Big families with tons of kids. Families with just one or no child. I love it."
"Really?" I questioned incredulously eye-balling my kin. The boys had begun to wrestle with each other. My daughter was having a minor melt-down. My youngest almost lurched in front of a moving bus. Paul was unleashing several one-liners.
"Really?" I questioned again.
But I think I get it.
Families are wild and chaotic.
Kept clean by spur of the moment spit.
Families are loud and can be characterized by moments of ugliness and inappropriately-timed wrestling.
But families are also so beautiful.
Characterized by people who love and support each other through times of trial.
Who persevere even if it is nap-time for all involved.
Who encourage each other and make promises of a forever-after that may not be trouble-free but will be endured.
Together.
I am so thankful for my family.
And, today, for the woman who captured our family on film.
Effortlessly.
Artistically.
Lovingly.
Beautifully.
Click on, Tobi, click on!
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