Picture day. What a nightmare. You've never seen this level of tantrum-throwing, hair-pulling, and needless whining, and that's just from Sam in anticipation for the event. Seriously, though, if you ever want to see what truly manic children look like in action, come see my kids get their pictures taken. For some reason, any pose we attempt to get them in, no matter how painless or natural, results in a body-turned-to-jelly style head-to-toe limp slide into a puddle on the floor. It's a horrible reaction my children have to being asked to look presentable. And it is infuriating. Add to that trying to get a shot without glare from a three year old's glasses, without a tongue sticking out or a diaper or belly showing, and you got yourself one evening of complete parental hell. One the upside, the pictures turned out great. Reflecting on the pictures last night after the kids were finally in bed, I decided I might just keep them. The pictures, that is. The jury's still out about keeping the kids...
Ok, maybe I'll keep them. I mean, they look pretty cute in their nice clothes.
And, look how nicely they seem to be playing together...
Oh, who am I kidding. They are holy terrors. Look at those mischievous grins. Up to no good, I can tell. Just thinking up ways to torture us, no doubt.
Oh well, at least we survived picture day one more year. Maybe next year will be easier. Surely they will be more manageable by then, right?
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