I love Christmas. It could be the only holiday the world celebrated, and I would be just fine with it. Because I love it so much, though, I have these ridiculous ideals in my head of how magical the season will be for me and my entire family. The ridiculousness of these ideals was well and truly captured this weekend when I attempted to take some photos of the girls in their Christmas dresses at Union Station. Here are some of the wins:
Did you notice the tears in the girls' eyes in some of those photos? How about the snacks we had to keep shoveling into Sarah? Did you see the nice bruise Kate got on her cheek when she bonked her face on the bench? And Tom's hands mostly cropped out of photos after that because he was afraid to let her sit up on her own? What about Sarah's mysterious absence in many of the photos? (Hint: She was busy melting down next to me while I took pictures of Kate.)
Yup. I noticed, too. Truthfully, most of the photos had to be deleted because the subjects were blurry (read, flailing about in a tantrum or tipping over) or not fully in the shot (read, I was taking pictures with the camera at my side in an attempt to trick Sarah into thinking I wasn't taking pictures). And then there was this:
Yup. That's the true meaning of Christmas right there.
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