Let me just say that I hate portrait studios for no sane reason. Maybe it is my fear of a bad photo of me haunting me the rest of my life. Until recently, I had not even subjected my own children to the experience enough times to suit my relatives, especially my dear mother-in-law. Elijah is nine months old, and this was his first time. And seemingly just to prove my theory right, the portrait studio was a fiasco. The poor “photographer” lady had overbooked, some technology mishap that involved internet booking combined with un-synched call-in booking. Whatever. So there where a ton of customers with small children expecting to be waited on and one lonesome worker. We did get the kid’s pictures taken (after Eli pooped on his outfit). We forced Ollie to, gasp, touch his little brother and we even made him smile about it, all the while the poor sears girl was running back and forth snapping pictures, squeaking ducks, answering the phone, and trying to pacify a fast-food generation of adults. One customer even used her witchiest tone to tell the sears gal, “We are not toddlers. You can’t just wave a feather in our faces to make us happy.” What a nightmare. We left before viewing and ordering our pictures as is the customary practice. The Sears girl was crying, literally from stress. Bless her heart, and gave my mom a free sheet of pricey pictures just for being patient. Here is the end result of a hectic afternoon. They are so sweet; I might be tempted to do it again before too long.