Picture This!

I had the best idea this year, as it pertained to picture day at the middle school. Usually, I run around the morning of picture day frantically trying to help all three of my beautiful little girls do their hair and put the final touches on the outfit they’ve picked out (or I’ve specifically bought for this occasion). Not this year, this year, I planned to alleviate as much of the chaos that surrounds picture day as I possibly could. Let’s face it, I’m no proponent of spending $26 per child to have ugly pictures taken. The children almost never smile naturally, the backdrop is a drab blue/gray draping that does nothing but wash out my impossibly white children, and almost always someone has altered a shirt/necklace/carefully placed hair tie that my OCD cannot overlook for an entire year!

In true procrastination style, I stopped by the hair salon two days before picture day. I begged our hair stylist to come in after hours and help me. She agreed and last night she took the girls into the salon and primped their hair to perfection. She put in enough gel and hairspray to endure an evening of tossing and turning and left strict instructions on how to fluff their new do’s the next morning. Genius, right?!

So, this morning I woke up with the understanding that my 11 year-old and her 13 year-old sister could get themselves dressed and ready for school with little to no effort on my part. After all, I did my part. I suckered the hairstylist into doing my work.

As it turns out, even the best laid plans can be foiled by hormonal tweens and an overbearingly anal mother.

“Mom, can you fix my hump?” (the one in her hair, not one on her back!) “NO! Julie said absolutely NO combs!” I’m not really sure how else she thought I was going to fix her hump.

“Mom, what shoes should I wear?” seriously?! no one is going to see your shoes.

Three shirt changes later, a myriad of instructions about the proper handling of a diamond necklace given as a last gift from grandpa received for Christmas the day after he went to live with Jesus, a “discussion” regarding shoes, a couple of hair primping sessions, followed by massive amounts of hairspray later and we were ready for school.

“Mom, I have gym first period. How am I going to get my shirts to lay nice like you have them and make sure I don’t mess up my hair? Can you write me a note?”

Oh, yeah, I’m sure that would be approved:

“Please excuse my daughter from gym class today. I appreciate the important role physical health plays in my child’s life, but I cannot leave my workplace to redress my child and restyle her hair. I will be busy making money to pay for the ugly things!” Sincerely, the world’s most psychotic mother.