Shots

I think that it is established that I am the world’s worst mother. Over the years my kids have been happy to point out all of my weaknesses and all of the things that that I did that they didn’t like. Now that they are older they are a little more forgiving, but the truth is, like all parents, I’ve injected plenty of my own personality into my parenting, and sometimes that means I’ve come up short.

This has become even more apparent in recent days when I’ve undertaken the huge project of getting everyone’s photo books updated. I began scrapbooks for my three oldest many years ago, and I was pretty well caught up when we moved into our current home ten years ago. Since then, I’ve done precious little. I did put together a book for Kelsey during her senior year in high school, but beyond that, stuff has just accumulated.

I began my career as a scrapbooker before the digital age, and I kind of like the old school method of cutting and pasting, in part because I’m comfortable with it and in part because I’m kind of tactile. But it certainly has its drawbacks. It’s messy, and it takes up a lot of space, and I don’t always have exactly what I want or need to complete a layout.

Plus I spend a lot of time sorting everything, especially photos. With ten years of prints, this is no small feat. I ask my kids to help, and sometimes they are actually helpful, but when they do, it isn’t always pleasant.  Sometimes they are annoyed because they cannot BELIEVE that I don’t remember some of the details of the photos—things that were clearly memorable to them. Sometimes they are peeved because, going through the photos, they are reminded of a time when they felt shortchanged, persecuted, or neglected: “Well, there was a year when I didn’t get to have a birthday party.” Other times they are unhappy with the photo quality: “I look terrible. Why would you include that?”

As we sort photos, I most regret the shots I didn’t get. Sometimes I would run out of film or the batteries would die unexpectedly, but sometimes I would just forget to grab the camera. I actually forgot the camera for my oldest child’s high school graduation. Seriously, who does that? Some days I really am a terrible excuse for a parent.

Assembling the books takes a lot of time and effort, and some days I don’t know if I actually enjoy it. Right now I feel so much self-imposed pressure to get it done that I’m not sure I’m loving it all that much, and I’m not sure I’m doing the best job I could do. Of course, I have more experience now, so I can do more on instinct. And since the idea is to highlight the photos, I worry less about creative use of paper and stickers, and focus on the pictures.

My other frustration is that writing in these books has always been important to me: putting the photos in context, remembering cute sayings or reactions, writing down the kids’ best friends or favorite foods. I’m frustrated that so many memories have faded, making the writing perfunctory and not as interesting as the captions I wrote when the assembly time was closer to the actual date.  

For the two younger kids, nearly all of our photos are digital, so I’m considering doing digital books for them. There are lots of advantages to the process: less mess for sure, less cost, more flexibility, fewer mistakes. But there’s also less “me” in the books. The books won’t have my terrible handwriting, my artistic style, my fingerprints on the photos. My kids likely would appreciate a perfect book, just like they would appreciate a perfect mother, but as they mature, the things they value may shift.

So maybe I’ll just keep doing it old school. Perfection—in projects and parenting—is overrated.