{Alternative title: I took 1,973 pictures of my kids & all I got was this lousy blog post}

From the moment we stepped foot in the car for the 8 hour drive north, I commenced my mission: To take the perfect picture of all three of my children, in one frame. Looking at the camera. Not a cheesy posed shot, but a natural photograph capturing their true personalities. Admittedly, I was a tad obnoxious in my efforts, but what better place to capture this moment in time than the beach? Beautiful backdrops, sun-kissed children, sunsets galore… I was going to get it, and it was going to be perfect.

For two weeks I gave it my all. I bribed them, only to have my props eaten mid-shot.

I pleaded with them to look at me, only to be blatantly ignored.

And even worse, I had them simply turn their backs on me and walk away.

They gave me smiles so fake I had to cringe,

and crawled out of the holes I set them in.

I joined in to tickle them into smiles,

But still, had nothing.

Then came the last night of our trip. The night that Evan pulled off his diaper and proceeded to run around the yard wearing only a shirt. Too lazy to get a new one, I momentarily forgot about my mission. I half hazardly captured a few shots, not paying attention to his lack of bottoms.

Later that night, when I reviewed my pictures, I discovered something horrible. Something unthinkable: I had captured the impossible– the perfect photo, featuring Ben, Lily, Evan. All looking at the camera, acting like serene versions of themselves, surrounded by glowing light.

Perfect.

Except for one tiny little thing…

It totally serves me right.

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