Please: Take Mom’s Picture, Too

Well, it’s official: the holidays are over.

All that’s left, for a lot of us, is an alarming number of new toys (…donation time!) and about eleventy-zillion photos.

The other day, I was looking through all the pictures I took—kids in front of the tree, kids opening gifts, kids looking bored and vacant while I practically popped blood vessels trying to get them to smile—and I noticed something kinda sad:

There were hardly any pictures of me.

There were TONS of pictures of Dad, helping the kids open gifts, wrestling with them on the floor, sitting on the couch watching The Grinch. There were pictures of Grandma, decorating cookies with the kids. Grandma, reading books with the kids. Grandma, smiling with her lap full of grandkids. There were even pictures of the aunt and uncle from the east coast, who we only see once a year.

But no pictures of me. The mom. The default photographer.

Believe me, it’s not that I love having my picture taken. I’m just as good at nitpicking a picture of myself as the next girl. (Not that that’s something I’m proud of. I actually try pretty hard to avoid doing it—but ya know. Old habits.)

Regardless of how I feel, I think it’s important for my kids to be able to see pictures of me, someday, as I am right now, and as I am with them.

I know that when I look back at my own childhood pictures, I’m almost more interested in seeing the rare images of my shockingly young-looking parents than of my crooked-toothed, perm-haired, stirrup-wearing self (yikes, the 80’s).While watching old videos of us kids at Christmas, I’m always thinking, “Pan to Mom! Pan to Mom! Oh my gosh—LOOK at how young she is!”

And now that I’m a mom myself, looking back on old pictures of my mom is even more poignant, because now it makes me think: she was once exactly where I am now. A young, vulnerable mom. Winging it. Trying things. Making mistakes. Taking it a day at a time.

It’s comforting, in a way. Because today, she’s the wise, seasoned mom. The one who made it out of the trenches of parenting small children with a smile on her face. She made it, and so will I.

But the biggest reason I want to see old pictures of my mom is probably that she represents a huge piece of my childhood experience. So many of my favorite memories were planned and coordinated by her. So many of my memories are somehow wrapped up in her. Even if it wasn’t anything special—not Christmas, not a birthday, just some ordinary day—she was almost always there.

Honestly, to have all those pictures that don’t include her just doesn’t do justice to the memories.

A few years ago, Allison Tate wrote this fantastic article for the Huffington Post, making the case to get moms back into the picture. She cited mommy self-consciousness as the primary obstacle for making this happen, and while I agree that that’s a real issue for many of us moms, I don’t think it’s the whole picture (if you will).

The other problem is much more simple:

When Mom is the default family photographer, as she often is, it’s unlikely that she’ll end up in too many pictures herself.

(I know: duh, right?)

After I first read Allison’s article, I was inspired to make an effort to get into more pictures. But it turned out that all the self-confidence in the world wouldn’t make pictures magically happen.

To get into pictures, default-photographer-moms like me usually have to either A) ask someone to take her picture (embarrassing/feels egotistical) or B) take a selfie (embarrassing/feels egotistical).

And if she’s not feeling photoshoot-ready—say, when she’s blurry-eyed and messy-haired and makeup-free on Christmas morning—how likely is she to bother with either?

Now, if someone took it upon themselves to grab the camera, point it at her, and say “smile!”—I bet she’d smile. Maybe she’d complain and frantically smooth her hair, but eventually, she’d accept that a picture was going to happen, and she’d smile.

She might even treasure that photo, later, when she notices how much her eyes were sparkling above those up-half-the-night-with-the-baby bags, and when she remembers how genuinely happy she was in that moment.

And when her kids look at that picture? They’ll see nothing but their beautiful, perfect mom, in those familiar clothes and with that familiar expression, doing the thing they remember her doing best: loving them. Making things special for them. Just being their mom.

Yes: the holidays are over.

But the photo ops are definitely not.

Some of the absolute best pictures come from capturing tiny, seemingly insignificant, everyday moments. The regular life stuff. Those are the moments she’ll really treasure, years from now, when all the little details she thought she’d never forget start to drift away.

So to anyone who lives with a mom, or knows a mom, or spends time around a mom, please: take her picture now and then. Even if she resists. Even if she rolls her eyes, ducks her head, or frowns down at her outfit. Even if she says not to bother. Do it anyway.

Afterwards, you don’t have to show her the picture to see if she “approves.” Don’t open the door for her to criticize herself, or to beg you to delete it.

Just say, truthfully, “you look perfect,” and put the camera away.

On behalf of her future self, and most importantly, on behalf of her kids: thank you.