The Self-Portrait That Never Was

It was a lovely evening. Dinner had been finished, shoes had been laced, jackets had been tossed aside, and we were out the door for our last fresh-air stint of the day. The sun was setting slowly in the western sky. The spring-wakened birds were trilling from the woods around our house, making the most of the last light of the warm day. The wind had picked up, tossing our hair in unruly directions, but we didn't mind a bit. The evening was perfect.

Perfect for a self-portrait of Mia and I, I thought. We hopped on a swing together, anchored our arms around each other, and....

Made the wrong face. Cut off too much forehead. So we tried again.





The wind picked up at the wrong moment, tossing hair around to obscure an otherwise pretty picture. So we tried again, again.

I made sure to tell Justin, who was pushing Lauren's swing, to stay out of the back of the shot. I should have known better. I think this picture will give me nightmares. Neither memories of beautiful birdsong nor a colorful sunset can erase that frightening face from my dreams.

And if that doesn't do it, my chapped lips and bushy eyebrows are sure to do the trick. Blech.

I gave up after that; the self-portrait was futile. I couldn't take a picture for laughing at Justin, and Mia only wanted to duplicate his crazy expression, anyway.

But the evening was still perfect.

This post is included in Mommy and Me Mondays at Really, Are You Serious?