a peek inside the fishbowl

It was Mark’s idea to spend part of New Year’s Eve at Upper Canada Village. They’re hosting their annual Alight at Night event. We’ve gone for a few years now. We love it. It runs until January 5, in case you’re tempted to go check it out for yourself.

It’s quite the sight. You won’t be disappointed:

This year they put in an ice rink. It was something Mark and I had often wondered about… why not put in an ice rink and give visitors something different to do? They must have heard us, because they did. Be forwarned, it’s artificial ice and takes some getting used to. We overheard someone say it was like skating on an $80,000 cutting board.

Mark and I were happy to watch. The girls met someone they knew and played tag on skates. They would have stayed there all night had we let them. We brought a winter picnic of sandwiches on fresh bread, apples, and hot chocolate, and ate it while we walked around in an enchanted daze. It was busy, but once we got past the front gates it was dark and quiet. Quite amazing, really.

We came home around 9:45 and settled down to watch Miracle on 34th Street. (The original! No second-rate remake for us, nosiree!) One movie and a bowl of popcorn later, we spent a few uncomfortable moments with Dick Clark (I can’t be the only one who thinks the guy should retire) and watched the new year roll in.

And then we went to bed. :)

Happy New Year everyone! All the best in the year to come.

I know, I talk about it every year, but I swear, this is the last time I’m having Emma and Sarah’s annual Christmas portrait taken at the Real Canadian Superstore or any other Loblaw-owned studio.

I can’t stand going there. And I won’t go back.

Ultimately it comes down to this: you get what you pay for. And you know what? It ain’t great.

I made our appointment back in November and the earliest they could get us in was December 18. I asked if I could be put on a cancellation list, so we can get in earlier. I was told they didn’t have one, and that if I wanted to get the photo done any earlier I would have to call back to see if there were any cancellations.

Who has the time to do that? I made the appointment anyway, knowing it was going to mess with our mailout of Christmas cards. So everyone other than my mother and Mark’s parents received a copy of a photo I had taken this summer and had reprinted. I figured no one would care anyway. (Although I did.)

Fast forward to the day of the photoshoot.

The girls looked great. They were dressed and ready to go.

The photographer totally rushed us though. (Again, what did I expect?) It didn’t start out great. Sarah was upset about the first pose the photographer (a young girl) set up. Sarah didn’t like the fact that Emma was hugging her from behind.

I would have switched it up, but she stayed with it.

Little did I know that I was going to feel like stabbing myself in the eyeballs several times over during this whole picture-taking process.

The photographer missed the shot every time.

I don’t need a big fake grin. A small, natural, closed-mouth smile is fine with me. And I told her so. Sarah is a small smiler. And she did it, but the photographer would wait – it was excruicating – for a extra beat until Sarah showed teeth, and by then it was always too late.

At one point I was standing next to her. I saw a nice op. “Take the picture!” I said quietly. She didn’t! Arrrgh!

What’s worse, she was babytalking to get them to smile. THEY ARE EIGHT AND SIX YEARS OLD. I stood there while she directed the shoot, entirely in falsetto.

“CAN YOU SAY PURPLE PIZZA? WHO LIKES PURPLE PIZZA? DO YOU LIKE PURPLE PIZZA? PURPLE PIZZA! PURPLE PIZZAAAAAA!!!!”

or:

“CAN YOU SAY STINKY SOCKS? STINKY SOoooOOCKS? DO YOU HAVE STINKY SOCKS? EW! STINKY SOCKS!”

Dear god. I pictured what was happening in my brain, and it looked exactly like a soft-serve ice cream cone that had dropped on hot black asphalt.

Not only was it hurting my brain, but it wasn’t working. Couldn’t she see it wasn’t working?

I had this crazy, slow-motion scene looping my my mind’s eye (complete with background audio of Bionic Man sound effects) of leaping up and grabbing the camera and taking the photo myself. But don’t worry. I was able to control myself.

It finally came to an end, at which point I was forced to choose the photos I hated the least and decide how many wallet size or 8 x 10s I want of them.

When I ask about cropping out the excess space that’s floating over their heads I am always met with a silent pause followed by reluctant acquiescence. I wonder if they think they know more than I do, and that I’m just a crazy old mom who doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

One of my criteria for a great photo is that it has to look like the subjects in the photo. It’s hard to explain, but don’t you find that sometimes you take a photo of your kid and it doesn’t really look like them? They’re probably wearing an expression that’s unnatural. I want to look at a photo and say YES, that’s Emma. And Yes, that’s Sarah’s smile. Emma was great, but most of the photos did not look like the Sarah I know and love.

When the photographer and I were going though the photos afterwards (I was to pick three poses) she kept pointing out ones that she thought were cute. But the thing is, it’s too easy to do that if you’re not the parent.

“But that’s not her smile,” I’d say. Silence. I don’t think she understood.

I find this whole thing so utterly ironic. I know I can take a great photo, yet there I was, at the Superstore, subjecting myself to undue torture.

So I give up. I wave the white flag of surrender. I share the blame here. We can’t afford to bring the girls to a real studio, so we pay $30 and expect a miracle in return. It’s clear we are asking too much. What we ended up with as the 8 x 10 is okay, I guess, but it’s just OK. Am I being too picky here?

I am now doubly determined to rig up a portrait studio in the basement. How hard can it be? But I am going to need a few customers so I can earn back the cost of some lighting. Any takers? ;)

Few are the memes that catch my interest, but Dani posted one that was kinda neat.

What you do is take the the first sentence of the first posts of each month in 2007 and post ’em in a group. So simple I could do it without having to think. :)

Here’s mine:

Jan: [no words, just photos]

Feb: Last week Emma slept over at a friend’s house for the first time.

March: I love this!

April: Emma called from school this morning.

May:  The reality of the situation is that we’re getting fatter and more sedentary with each passing generation.

June: I walked the girls to school this morning.

July: If you’re a parent you might have some idea of how positively THRILLING it is when you find a recipe for a quick, healthy, meal that your entire family enjoys.

August: I spent most of yesterday in a stupor.

Sept: And this is where we spent it:

Oct: This photo sums up our weekend:

Nov: It wasn’t my idea, but Sarah declared she didn’t want a store-bought costume.

Dec: Day one: We made a fine mess making our paper snowflakes.