Well, I have a little stressful situation coming my way. My daughter is going to college. I've written about this phenomenon before, and in my mind I know how great it is and how blessed I am blah blah blah, but my heart's working really hard to catch up with my mind. More about that later, but I'm just trying to explain why a little thing like a senior picture was kind of a big deal for me.
So on my wall in my living room I have pictures of all the children who have left home. When it comes to senior pictures, that's all I need. I don't need the hobby picture or the nature picture or the dressy outfit or the casual outfit. I just need one traditional background, chest and shoulder picture of my child for the wall. Let me rephrase that. I need one perfect picture of my child for the wall. And that's where the problem comes. Perfect means the stakes are high and I start to go crazy.
So I made the appointment and coordinated with said daughter for time and date. We talked about what time we would leave, I told her to choose her clothes, but I wanted it to be a solid color and blend with the other pictures. Then I tried to step back, but my stomach was churning and I felt the grinchy prickles of perfectionism undermining my feelings of peace and optimism.
On picture day I woke up on high alert but tried to repress the neurosis and act casual. I woke my daughter. She probably had an alarm set, but I could leave nothing up to chance. (Perfectionism likes to keep close company with control.) She took her shower and informed me that she had decided on her turquoise sweater because it was her favorite color. My mind screamed, "The turquoise sweater? The trim gapes! Unacceptable!!!" Reason tried to assert its voice, "That is a pretty color. It's not in as good of shape as it was. The trim gapes, but it's your choice." Crazy took over. "But you have to button it. I don't want to see layers of different colors..." Crazy didn't leave. I looked at my daughter and saw that her hair was still wet. Show time was in 45 minutes. My mind panicked, "Your hair is still wet! What if it's time to take the picture and you have wet hair? It can't be blow dried because it's curly. Why oh why didn't I wake you up earlier?" I tried to say something a little more logical than what I was thinking. "How long does it take for your hair to dry?" She replied, "I don't know." I thought I sounded normal when I responded, but I doubt that I did. "You really need to know how long it takes for your hair to dry so you can plan. When you get to college, you don't want to go on a date with wet hair, not to mention your senior picture is in 45 minutes." She was totally calm. She's cool like that. "I don't think it's a big deal for my hair to still be drying when I get picked up for a date. It will be fine, Mom."
On to make-up. She likes a natural look and is beautiful, of course, but in light of perfection I asked if I could dust her with a little eye shadow. I noticed the humidity had smudged her mascara so suggested she fix that and reapply. She fixed and said she'd reapply after she ate. She went peacefully about her business while I rocked around the house a ticking time bomb. At go time she promptly got in the car and away we went. I kept my mouth mostly shut and just let my crazy thoughts blast around in my head. "What if we're late? Did I get the check book? Where should I park? Should I come in from the south or the north? Did she brush her teeth? I'm sure she brushed her teeth. Is that a stain on her sweater? No, just a thread. Don't get a speeding ticket. Is that a policeman?"
And then it was time to start and we were sitting in the studio and she was relaxed and loving and I was gradually understanding that I have a problem, and if I have perfectionist thoughts they are no friends of mine nor my family's. I thought of all the school pictures we've taken and how I blogged about the best ones which are of the child's favorite shirts and natural faces. And then my daughter told me she had forgotten to reapply mascara, and I shook my head and laughed inside. And hopefully the photographer captured her beauty and love and goodness in my traditional background, chest and shoulders photo of my perfect daughter.
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