School photo.

This week my daughter had her school photograph taken. Let me tell you something that will make you doubt my skills as a parent: I have never bought one. Not one. Not a single shot. The reason? They are all hideous. No matter how early on in the day the photo is taken my daughter always looks like she has been dragged through a hedge backwards, and then left there for a week. I don't know how she does it. I remember one particularly awful year the sample photo came back and she had what looked like a glass eye. It was not a glass eye, obviously. I think the sheer effort of trying to follow the photographers instructions (judging by the manic, strained grin) caused her left eye to wander independently and her neck to elongate an extra 5 inches. I am assuming the people taking the snaps have so many small faces to capture that one little soul trying her hardest to look normal but coming off anything but is just part of the daily grind and not something to worry themselves about. However, I worry. I worry that I have never bought any of the damn photos at £30 a pop to produce when Daughter is older and wants to reminisce about her school days. So this week, I was determined to make the school photo purchasable. The night before the big day I washed and dried her hair and rubbed cream into her face for her dry skin. I ironed her clothes and sorted out lovely hair clips. I was determined this was the year of the School Photo. I had in mind to also get the matching keyrings and possibly a mug with my little darlings face emblazed upon the side. I am sadden to inform you that I went to bed quite excited about the prospect of a framed school photo sitting on the sideboard.
The next day I woke up. I stretched. I jumped out of bed. I pulled on my dressing gown. I went into the children's bedroom to wake the kids for their breakfast. And what did I spy? Sitting bolt upright in bed was my daughter. Her eyes were still shut. Wondering what on earth was going on, I said her name in a hushed whisper as I approached her bed cautiously. "I cant open my eyes, mum", she said. "Don't be ridiculous", I scolded. On further inspection, I could see she was in fact correct. She couldn't open her eyes because they were crusted over with gunk. Overnight she had contracted an infection in BOTH of her eyes. I hastily got a warm, wet flannel and wiped her eyes clear to reveal eyeballs that looked like they belonged to a rabbit in a L'Oreal lab. "Sorry, mum", said my daughter in a pitiful voice. I looked down at her. It was then that I realised she was missing a front tooth. "Where's your front tooth, love?" , I enquired casually. "Must have swallowed it", she shrugged. Great.
In a strange way I am looking forward to this years school photo. Whilst they are not perfect I have realised these pictures capture a true representation of school days in our household. Although, I shan't be buying a mug. I think the conjunctivitis would put me off my tea.