So this summer we’ve venturing abroad. As feeble as it is, it’s not a step we’ve ever braved before, because, well so many reasons I don’t envy any family: buggy on plane, child overheating, trying to get a baby to nap while wanting to sit on a beach, litres of suncream, panicking they haven’t got enough suncream on, insane stuff, just all the stuff you need for a younger child plus a flight with a baby. No thanks.
However, we finally felt we could handle it. Mr MotherFudger wasn’t so sure, but we’re going. Hoobloodyray.
So we cracked on with the kids’ passports, which obviously includes photos.
Now the smalls have a weird thing about photos – the girlchild basically hates having her picture taking. And currently we’re in a phase where the boychild copies her – so he hates it too.
I take a lot of pictures like this:
So the whole passport taking process was an interesting one:
- “Kids you need your pictures taken for the passport”
Imagine if you told your children you were banning Christmas or cancelling their birthday? Basically the same reaction. They groaned and moaned and said “noooooo” about a thousand times. The girlchild refused. I told her there wouldn’t be a holiday then as they wouldn’t let her on the plane. They came round in the end as I told them it wasn’t an option, they were having them done.
- “I can’t take them though – we have to get them done in a booth”
Repeat response to 1.
- “I need to brush your hair and make sure you both look semi-respectable”
More dramatic wailing. The boychild WAS OK before we left the house – as usual – by the time we arrived at the photo booth he already had dirt on his trousers, but at least his face wasn’t his usual look of ‘I’ve dipped my head in mud, glue and general muck’.
- “Kids you’re going to have to kneel, hold your bottom up so we get at exactly the correct height…”
Whoever changed the design from a twistable stool to the one big orange stool has never met a child or a person under 5ft. That big orange stool may look fabulous in their Shoreditch apartment but it’s shite at performing the function it was put there to do. Try encouraging a just four-year-old boy to stay at exactly the same height while on his kneels…followed by….
- “DO NOT SMILE. No, don’t move your head….keep looking forward. DON’T SMILE. Don’t look down. Keep your face exactly as it is.”
What fun we had. How much I enjoyed the other shoppers in the supermarket watching me scream at the children like circus animals.
- “Well done children – we have the photos. Let’s go choose a treat as you were so good.”
Phew. Big sigh of relief. Just to get the photos and form signed by my friend. So pleased the photos are all fine. Actually the boychild looked quite good. The girlchild looked, erm, somewhat strained, but hooray. Winning.
- Have photos refused at Post Office because there’s a tiny clink of light on their cheeks.
Swear in front of PO woman. Curse entire photo system. Silently weep.
I’m pleased to report I then went somewhere where THEY took the picture.