Say, "Cheese!"

I love pictures.

When I was little, I loved being in them. Today, I love taking them. And for the last five years or so, I have been taking a lot of them. I've photographed weddings, scenery, newborns, graduates, parties, engagements, and couples. But my favorite picture to capture is that elusive perfect family photograph.

I guess that makes me a glutton for punishment. I will tell you to your face that the only thing worse than moving is taking a family picture. I postpone it as long as I can. Currently, the family photo on our living room wall is missing an entire person. But I just can't wrap my brain around getting us all beautiful and happy all at once. Right--like, when does that ever happen?

I know I've captured the perfect image when the family says, "Oh, that is so us!" But can you really appreciate how hard that is to do?

I came up against my biggest photography challenge over the Christmas holiday. Please note that I mean every ounce of that superlative.

A family asked if they could use my camera for their family photo, and I agreed. I knew that meant they wanted me to shoot a family photo, but since we're old friends, I was happy to oblige.

This family is beautiful. Talented. Brilliant. Fun. They're all the good things a good family should be, and then some. There's the dad and the mom and their six children. Their numbers, genders, and sizes make for fairly easy compositions. I thought it would be a cinch.

Wrong.

To begin with, when it was time to take the photo, we were racing the setting sun. So from the start, I was a bit in panic mode, because you only have so long to get that perfect light when you're shooting outdoors. I waited patiently; then I gave a countdown; then I hollered for the last call. Then to be perfectly obvious that it was go time, I marched outside with my camera ablaze.

The children got the point. They followed me out, and I was able to take some initial light readings and get a feel for the setting. When Mom finally came onto the scene, I patiently and happily situated all her children around her. I captured some beautiful candid moments. But a family photo isn't worth much if Dad is missing.

Where was he?? I marched back inside to track him down. He wasn't there. Imagine my incredulity when I finally found him in the backyard on the swing set, enjoying a leisurely swing in the setting sunlight. I'll admit, I wasn't prepared for Dad to be the saboteur.

But as the saying goes, them apples don't fall far.

For the next hour, I got to know this family on a level that previously had evaded my understanding.

One daughter blinks constantly. It's a wonder she can see anything at all. The rest of her face looks beautiful, but her eyelids are completely closed. I have dozens of pictures that would have been the one, if it weren't for her confounded blinking. My tactic was to put the family in focus, and then look just at her. I timed my shutter to click in between her blinks, but even then, she was usually too fast.

I'm not sure I can adequately describe the relationship of the siblings, but my camera captured it. In addition to the sister who blinks, there's the one who constantly giggles while moving out of position. Add to them the brother who thinks it's funny to make his veins stick out on his neck, and the sister who randomly throws up bunny ears. Another brother looks great in every picture, but keeps running to look at the view finder just to be sure. The other brother throws out random suggestions that only he follows, like, "Let's all guffaw!" Apparently, he knows how to make something look natural when it is intended mischief, because he didn't get in trouble for any of this.

When it came time for the children to leave the picture so I could get just Mom and Dad, they did the exact opposite of my instruction. Instead of leaving the scene, they came up close behind Mom and Dad and made funny faces--all unbeknownst to their parents. Several more pictures fell by the wayside because of that little stunt. It's too bad, too, because there were some decent ones of Mom and Dad.

Then the children set up camp behind me and started teasing their parents mercilessly. Dad was so embarrassed, he couldn't hide it on his face. He looks like he's being ridiculed in all those pictures. Mom must be used to the behavior, or able to tune out the noise, because you can't tell from her face what slander is being flung in her direction.

At that point, I guess Dad gave up all together, because he actually licked his finger and put it in his wife's ear. But it didn't matter anyway, because a daughter ran into the shot to get the lipstick off of Mom's teeth that wasn't really there.

And though you would think that was rock bottom, it wasn't. My charm was stretched to the limits, trying to smother the insubordination in a friendly way so as to ensure I'd get cooperative smiles. I tried the old tactic of taking a photo with funny faces to see if I could get it out of their systems, but that failed miserably. That shot is filled with crossed eyes, stuck out tongues, furrowed brows, and blank stares--except for Sister Blinks A Lot. That was the best picture of her from the entire shoot, what with her eyes being wide open and all.

Making a sibling pyramid didn't help either.

When someone asked for a cuckoo-clock shot, I foolishly agreed. Mom and Dad stood next to each other with their children hidden behind them. Then the musically talented lot of them started singing, "So Long, Farewell" from The Sound of Music. With beautiful harmonies and perfect pitch, they came to the line, "Is popping out to say, 'Cuck-oo!'" At which point, six faces magically appeared from behind Mom and Dad. The only trouble was, I didn't get it on the first take. Let's just say I was unprepared for the magnitude of the movement in that shot. And for the next six takes, the youngest brother changed his pop out spot with each take. For his grand finale, he jumped up, head and shoulders above the crowd, effectively becoming a blue blur in my otherwise perfect shot.

Mercifully, the sun eventually set, and I replaced my lens cap with great finality. But I should clarify two things about this family so you can understand the enormity of my ordeal.

One, the children are all adults.

And two, they collectively make up what I affectionately call, "My in-laws".