(More than) Fourinarow.net

I’ve heard that the brain cannot remember pain.  Although I’ve never researched it, it’s believable.  I mean, women go through pregnancy and child-birthing multiple times (some of us more than others).  And there are people who have run more than one marathon.  Painful, right?  And, yet, people repeat those experiences.

I believe, however, that my brain is special.  It DOES remember pain.

How, for instance, could my brain possibly forget this experience? (With this as the follow up.)  Or this one?  How about this one?  Maybe this one? Here’s another (am I a glutton for punishment or what?)  Oh!  Here’s another.

I didn’t forget.  Not one painful second.  So, I must just be incredibly stupid to have made an appointment with the local photographer to have family pictures done.

During last year’s online school auction, I bid on and won a session and portrait with a local photography studio.  (I must have been drinking heavily at the computer that night and found myself in a bidding war or something.)  I later collected my prize (in the form of a gift certificate) and set it aside.  Every once in a while, I’d come across it, think about the nightmare it would be, and set it aside again.  The last time I came across it, however, I noticed the expiration date.  December 31, 2011.  Less than two months away, and it’s holiday-picture-taking season.  It could be hard to get an appointment.  Shit.

So, I called, but they weren’t open.  Whew!  I set it aside for another week.  But, I’d be damned if I was going to waste the money I spent last February.  So, I called again.  And set an appointment.  I set it for Saturday morning at 10 a.m.  The best possible time.  No one had to get up early.  There was plenty of time to get ready.  No one should be hungry.  Things should go swimmingly.

On Friday afternoon, with less than 24 hours until our appointment, I realized that Luke had his first hockey practice on Saturday morning.  At 10 a.m.  Damn.

I called the studio and asked to reschedule.  But, I said, I really needed a Saturday.  Sure!  The lady said.  Come in at 4.  Stupidly, I agreed.

And so it started.

At 2:50 p.m., Dan took the oldest boys to distribute fliers for Good Turn Sunday.  I gave Dan strict instructions to sign in with the scout leader, grab some fliers, get them out and get back home.  Once home, they would all need to change their shirts, comb their hair and we’d all have to get to the studio.

At 3:17 p.m., while they were still gone, Andrew woke from his nap.  With flushed cheeks and a 103° temperature.

At 3:32 p.m., Maria kicked Sam in the mouth and gave him a bloody lip.

At 3:45 p.m., I’m panicking because the boys are not home.  I poured myself a glass of wine.

At 3:52 p.m., Dan and the boys are STILL NOT HOME.  I take another swig of my wine.

Minutes later, Dan pulls up.  I grab the bloodied Sam, the feverish Andrew, the kick boxer, the boys’ shirts and my f-ing gift certificate and head out the door.

Unbelievably, Dan is in a jovial mood.  (Clearly, men cannot remember pain.)

We pulled up to the place 7 minutes late.  Bad, but not too bad.

After introductions, the photographer ushered us through her storefront, passed her office and into her studio.

It was – predictably – a complete disaster.  The photographer was very nice, and had some great, silly tricks for getting Andrew to look toward the camera and smile.  The other kids, however, all thought the silliness was for them, too.  Instead of staying put, looking forward and smiling at the camera while the photographer worked with Andrew, Jack, Maria, Luke and Sam all laughed (with very wide-open mouths) at her antics, cracked up at Andrew, and grabbed for him when he attempted multiple escapes.  We tried sitting, kneeling and standing.  We tried sitting on stools and on the floor.  We put Andrew on a stump, on his brothers’ backs and in a toy car.

It got to the point where we were threatening the older kids.  I told Jack he would have to pay me a dollar for every bad take (and there were LOTS of them) if he didn’t shape up.  I told Maria she could never wear a dress again, as she kept flashing the camera.  Andrew would NOT stay put no matter what.  Luke was good, but wouldn’t smile (it’s not cool).  And, Sam began to stomp his feet and wield his fists because it was all taking SO LONG!!!

At 4:53 we gave up.  The photographer said she had one “good” family picture and one “good” picture of the children.  (Good being defined as all looking in the general direction of the camera.)

Dan scooped up the baby (but not before he could knock something down) and herded everyone to the van.  I stayed behind to schedule an appointment to go over the proofs.

As soon as we got home, we sent all the kids to their rooms for hard labor (they couldn’t come out until their rooms were sparkling) and cracked open a couple of beers.

We couldn’t get them down fast enough.