Smile, dammit

Family pictures ... hate 'em.

Really, I do.

In case you are wondering why, let me offer evidence:

Exhibit A, where I'm not sure if the camera is on. It was.

Exhibit B, emerging sneeze/itchy nose.

Exhibit C, with puppy photo bomb.

Exhibit D, where we just stopped trying and gave up with half my face and the top of Hubs head cut off.

Granted, these are selfies on the couch with poor lighting and dumb t-shirts. Yet, I thought it would be fun to bring it in for an impromptu family pic of the Three Amigos ... the Three Musketeers ... heck, even the Three Stooges.

And that's where it all goes wrong: we just can't always naturally pull it together very well for pics of us all together, at the same time.

It's not that we're unhappy or hideous people. We're a pretty cute trio with a dash of whimsy about us. But something - or someone - always goes wrong.

• Hubs closes his eyes. Because, apparently he is afraid the flash will steal his soul through his eyes if he leaves them open for a picture. He denies it, but photographic evidence would suggest otherwise.
• Kiddo smiles, but if it takes too long, he begins to clench his teeth, ala, "I can't wait to lock these two old farts away in a home." 
• I'm pretty adorable most of the time. (I mean, come on - these dimples - amiright?) Unless I laugh or the photographer is at eye level with me, and then about seven chins unfold and I look like Jabba the Hut.

Bears a striking resemblance.

But the thing is, we need family pictures. It's important to capture these stages in our lives together, even if they are awkward. Terribly, terribly awkward. These are memories, people, and we need to capture them ... even if it's in a trap and we are trying to chew our leg off to get away.

So last weekend, we had the mother of all family portraits: the church directory. It's like the yearbook of your adult life and you gotta bring it; you gotta look good: smiling, happy, peaceful, content and a little holy wouldn't hurt. If people wonder, "Hey, who's that awesome family in the fifth pew?" - they look it up in the church directory and right there we are, being awesome.

And so I went about coordinating outfits. I would wear a white tank and light teal cardi (of course!); Hubs, a golf shirt in a darker shade of teal; and Kiddo, a white golf shirt. Adorbs! And appropriately awesome.

Long story short, here's how it went down Saturday morning: Hubs' shirt had a snag mid-belly. Kiddo had a black smudged stain of unknown origin on his white shirt. My outfit was cute, but I had an unrelated emotional meltdown and cried. That's not a good look for me. Think toddler art with red finger paints - that's what my splotchy complexion looked like.

Hubs and I argued in the car on the way there. Kiddo sulked. This was not the making of a good picture for the church directory. We risk being known as the Grumpy McGrumpersons in Tattered Clothing.

I tried to think of something to say that could perk everyone up. As we pulled into the church parking lot, all I had was:

"Just smile, dammit."

And we did.

We faked it. Because some days you are not awesome or adorbs, but you put on a smile and get through it. And we did. Together. The three of us. And somehow, that makes it better.

It's not the best picture of the Malones. But if someone wonders who that family in the fifth pew is, they can look us up and see three smiling faces.

Because, if nothing else, we smiled ... dammit.