don't have many Easter
pictures of The Tots, apparently.
thought I did. I spent
a good chunk of this past weekend tearing the apartment apart, looking
for a decent Easter photo to scan and post here on the website ... sort
of a *Happy Easter! Mom's Too
Broke To Send You A Real
Easter Present This Year, So She's Putting You On The Website Again!*
holiday greeting to the residents of TicTac. Most of Saturday and
Sunday were spent flipping through baby books ... digging through the
box of photos my mother gave me
for my birthday, a couple of years back ... rooting through shoeboxes
and shopping bags and ratty old hanging files ... even checking the
bloated *FootNotes* archives, just in case I'd posted an Easter photo
in the Memory Books, sometime in the past five years, and then
conveniently forgotten about it.
looking for an Easter morning photo of all three of them together:
preferably very young, preferably wearing jammies, preferably covered
in enough chocolate to open a Willy Wonka franchise. But my search
turned up surprisingly little in the way of useable Easter material.
I've got tons of pictures of all three of them at Christmas, grimacing
in unison in front of assorted family Christmas trees. I've got
birthday photos up the wazoo ... mostly featuring the three of them
clustered around a lopsided Duncan Hines double-layer. I've got
first-day-of-school photos, and Halloween photos, and Look
Mom! We're jumping into the deep end again!
swimming pool photos.
no pictures of all
three of them together on Easter morning.
not that such
pictures don't exist. They do. I know that for a fact ... mainly
because *I* am the one who got up every year on Easter morning and took
the pictures. (Just as *I* am the one who sent the finished film to the
drugstore ... the one who paid to have the pictures developed ... the
one who meticulously labelled the back of each photo, once they came
back from the developer, before mounting them in the archive-quality
family photo album, complete with amusing captions.) I close my eyes
now, and I can actually see those Easter pictures in my head. But like
so many things I left behind when I ran away -- my junior high school
diaries, Grandma's Forget-Me-Not quilt, the set of Mary Poppins books,
my first wedding dress -- most of those family photo albums remain in
the custody of my ex-husband.
remain in my ex-husband's attic
... along with my junior high school diaries, Grandma's Forget-Me-Not
quilt, the set of Mary Poppins books, my first wedding dress.)
Sunday afternoon, I
finally came up with one nice Easter picture of the girls. They're
sitting under a tree in my grandmother's front yard, during a break in
the annual family Easter egg hunt, circa 1987. As Tot photos go, this
one is very sweet. It's a beautiful, sunny spring day, and the girls
are sitting close together, as though they actually like each other ...
charmingly Olsen-Twinlike in their matching bangs and their pastel
sweats. The problem is that this photo could have been taken on
virtually any sunny, springlike day in 1987: there is nothing special
or significant about it to suggest that it's an Easter
snapshot. They're each holding a paper shopping bag -- which *I*
happen to know
are filled with candy and hard-boiled eggs and more of that stoopid
plastic green grass that wraps itself around the brush shaft of your
vacuum cleaner, shorting out the motor -- but to the casual observer,
they simply look like a couple of young shoppers, tuckered out after a
long day of pricing Barbie cars. I also found an adorable picture of
one-year-old Kyle, taken that same year, wearing the straw cowboy hat
his Easter goodies came in ... but once again, unless you're the proud
doting mom who pointed the camera and pushed the shutter, you couldn't
tell that it was an Easter picture. You would just think it was a
incredibly cute picture of a incredibly adorable baby boy, wearing an
incredibly dorky cowboy hat.
... any Easter
pictures are better than no pictures at all.
course, by the time
I'd finished searching and sorting and pulling my hair out, trying to
come up with the perfect photo for the website, Easter was practically
over. Too late to post that *Next Year I'll Buy You Each An Easter
Pony! I Swear!* journal entry. (They're just going to have to settle
for a phone call ... and maybe a corny Blue Mountain e-card, if I have
time.) Even so, I suppose there are worse ways to spend an Easter
weekend than looking at your children's baby pictures. It reminds me
how sweet and small and uncomplicated the three of them used to be,
once upon a time. It reminds me, too, that there is no reason I can't
build myself a brand-new photo album, using the box of photos my mother
gave me ... not to mention all of those pictures stuffed into shoeboxes
and shopping bags and ratty hanging files.
reminds me that I need to pay a visit to my ex-husband's attic one of
to throw a rock?