Gary Lauteis One Christmas Card Coming Up

Every year in December we go through what is known as “picture time” at our house. It’s sort of like World War Three but without rules. The tradition started years ago when my wife and I thought it would be a good idea to have a Christmas card featuring our children and dog. It would be folksy, w agreed. And, since we didn’t intend to be explicit aboul the children’s faith, nobody could take religious offense. However, there was one problem: we didn’t have any children or a dog. I was all for renting, but my wife figured it would be cheaper in the long run to have our own. So I wound up having these three kids and a St. Bernard dog (my wife can do anything if she puts her mind to it) on my hands. For 364 days in the year, they cost me money but on the 365th they have their one duty to perform: They pose for our Christmas card. Well, yesterday was it. For some unknown reason we never get the same photographer twice. In fact, last year the one we had never even came back for his hat. All we want is a simple picture of three sweet kids and a 195-pound dog smiling in the Christmas spirit. I can’t think of anything easier than that. But it never quite works out that way. I assembled the cast and converged in the room only to find the floor littered with laundry.

“What are the sheets doing all over the bar stools? ” I asked.

“They’re supposed to be there, ” my wife replied.

“To look like snow, ” my wife explained. “Could you tell I have bar stools covered with sheets? ”

“Never in a million years, ” I said. “It looks exactly like snow.”

“Should we put the children on a toboggan and have it pulled by the dog? ” my wife asked. “I could bend a coat hanger and make it look like a pair of antlers.”

“Sounds swell, ” I encouraged.

“You don’t think it looks a little phony, do you? ” she wanted to know.

“Don’t be silly. I would never guess that it’s a dog pulling 1 toboggan across the room floor past some bar stools covered with white sheets, ” I said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was looking in on a scene in the Laurentians.”

My wife seemed pleased with that. “Stephen! ” she ordered. “Stop crossing your eyes.” And then she added to me, “Do you think we should dress them like elves? ”

I said it was fine by me. “Everything’s fine, just as long as we hurry.”

The photographer, meanwhile, was setting up his lights and trying to keep out of reach of the dog, who was going around smelling everybody’s breath to see what they had enjoyed for dinner.

“Didn’t you give the dog a tranquilizer? ” I asked. “No, I thought you had, ” my wife said.

“He’s just a little excited, ” I explained to the photographer who was trying to get his camera bag out of dog’s mouth without much success. “C’mon, boy. Give LI the bag.”

“Jane! Stop punching your brother, ” my wife interrupted. “You’ll make him blink for the picture.”

We finally got the camera bag, the kids got tired and our “reindeer” gave a big yawn.

“Smile! ” the photographer pleaded.

I made faces. My wife waved toys. It was swell except that nothing happened. One of two elves had pulled the floodlight cord out of the wall socket and was trying to screw it into his sister’s ear. There’s no point going into all of the details. Within ninety minutes or so, we had our picture and the photographer gratefully retrieved his camera bag and left. Next year, I think I’ll handle it differently.

I’ll mail out the kids and the dog directly and not bother with a photograph.