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  • Writer's pictureA is for Agape

Bed Head on Picture Day

This morning, my children reminded me it was picture day. They said we wouldn’t get the class picture if I didn’t turn in the special form and the check and it was all due today. They told me this five minutes before we had to walk out the door.

I scrambled to find forms, sign forms, find a checkbook, fill it out and get everything to the correct child. Breathlessly, we made it into the car and to school with five minutes to spare.

I kissed them goodbye, waved as they walked down the hall towards their classrooms and breathed a sigh of relief that another day was won.

This afternoon, after picking them up, giving them each big hugs and noticing for the hundredth time in the past week that my son badly needs a haircut, the lightbulb went off. That’s right, that win moment I mentioned earlier was really a big fat fail.

Sure, I will now be getting an overly colorful picture of my children and fifteen of their classmates lined up with plastered or non-existent smiles on their faces. But I will also be getting a photo of my son’s unruly bedhead, too short, shorts and muddy sneakers. I will be getting a photo of my daughter’s pixie face beneath too long hair that I didn’t pull back into the braid or ponytail she needed, the wrinkled pants she barely managed to pull out of the hamper this morning and I’m not even sure about the shirt.

My kids are beautiful and wonderful and sweet but morning groomers they are not. And usually I let it go. But picture day is pretty important around our house and you think I would have remembered. Oh, well, we have another ten of these to go. I might get it right next time.

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