The Joys of Professional Photography
By Glinda
Today I took my 9 and 2.5 year old to a “professional” photographer because I am a horrible mother who hardly ever takes pictures of my children. Or, at least that is what I am basically told by the grandmas. Well, maybe not exactly in those terms, but you can feel the disapproval at the lack of photos from a mile away.
I also put professional in quotations because I don’t think the studio we went to employs people who have MFA’s in photography, or whatever. More like a high school diploma. At least a GED. So it is definitely a hit-or-miss type of thing and it all depends on who you get.
My 2.5 year old, who 98% of the time shows no fear of anything, freaked the hell out at getting up on the little platform they have the children stand/sit on. Why, of course she did. I tried to get her individual photos first because I figured she had the highest burnout potential, but the shrieks of “No, no, no, noooooooooooooooo,” and the requisite dead man’s lift that goes with them enticed me into having her brother go first.
After brother was posed, in rather stupid ways for a 9 year old, I must say, she couldn’t wait to get up there and hog the spotlight.
Then came the challenge of getting both of them to look semi-decent at the same time, which failed rather miserably. My nine year old was sacrificed. He looks as if he is going to eat his sister as an appetizer as soon as the pesky camera goes away, but whatever.
My daughter doesn’t like to sit still for more than a few minutes, so kudos to the photographer for actually getting me at least three suitable photos to choose from.
And then I had to pay them over a hundred bucks for the privilege.
And, and, in this day and age of things like computers and printers, the photos won’t be ready until the end of May. WTF?
I think I might be in the wrong business.