I'm not one of those people who likes to blurt things like, "Only 50 shopping days until Christmas!"—in fact, I sort of think those people deserve a teeny, tiny punch to the groin. However, as much as I am reluctant to jump the gun holiday-wise, it's really never too early to start thinking about our card.

The reason being, of course, is the damn photo. OH GOD THE HOLIDAY PHOTO. Every year it is a giant festering pain in my ass, and yet every year, I grimly make the attempt.

Lucky for you and your ability to laugh heartily at my despair, I also document all our inevitable failures. Please enjoy the horrible fruits of my holiday-card labor from the last two years:

2009:



Hey, aside from my older son Riley's gaping baboon mouth and the fact that we apparently spend every waking moment of the day beating 2-year-old Dylan with a Stick of Sorrow, this isn’t too ... okay, it’s awful. NEXT.

 

Whose idiot idea was this? A group thumbs-up? What are we, The Fonz? AYYYYYYY. And why does Riley look like a Children of the Corn? While Dylan is all, I DON’T KNOW WHERE MY THUMB IS DURRRRR! Next.

 
Oh look, we are having SO MUCH FUN! What a FUN AND ZANY FAMILY! We are on a ROLLER COASTER! A roller coaster of FUN! The children are particularly fun-filled, what with their confused, miserable tolerance and all! HA HA HA FUN! NEXT!

What? Terrible, just terrible. Let’s blame my husband for this. Next.

Aaaaand we have dual crying. Please note my frozen grimace of FUN, while Riley struggles to escape my death grip (OF FUN), Dylan sobs inconsolably, and my husband wonders out loud if I remembered to bring the cyanide death capsules to this little photo session. NEXT.


You know what? SCREW IT. Ladies and gentlemen, Picker Von Nostril and Horsey McPictureBook. Happy damn holidays.

2010:


Hey, this isn’t so bad, right? Dylan’s okay, I’m okay, husband’s okay, and—oh. Never mind.


Pathetic, probably-abused Dog; Monster Hands, Suspicious Toddler. Yeah, pass.

Sure, go ahead and visibly recoil from me, kid. Oh hey you know that carrying-you-for-nine-months-followed-by-major-surgery-thing? YOU’RE WELCOME.

Wildly unattractive angle for me, child pounding my head, other child apparently making howler monkey noise. Jesus. PASS.


I ... uh. Why is—why? WHY?


Okay. Okay okay okay, everyone’s sick of trying to do this, this looks like the closest thing we’ve got to a—WHAT THE HELL, RILEY.

Honestly, I'm not sure why I keep trying, except maybe at this point, the head-poundingly-frustrating process and inevitable terrible photos have become an important part of our pre-holiday traditions. If someone's not crying, it's just not Christmas, dammit.

Do you take a holiday family photo each year? Is it ... challenging?