How many more sleeps? Do you know? Til Christmas I mean. Well I’m not going to be exact because quite frankly all that will do is scare the bejebus out of me. I have still done zero shopping. Zero.

Today, after I suggested it, we decided to take photos of the 7 grandchildren to then transfer onto a canvas for a lovely Christmas Gift for the Grandparents. Great in theory. Not so much in practice.

I’m sure my two sisters in laws were probably thinking I was insane to start with, but seeing as I’ve been a big fragile of late, decided to let the crazy lady have her way.

The problem being, none of the kids particularly wanted to take photos. It was hot as all shit and a stray kid from another family would just. Not. Piss. Off.

So in a lot of the photos is a suspicious looking Indian kid and seven children failing spectacularly to look and smile at the camera in unison.

How do professional photographers get this process so right? Do they have a substance that is to children what catnip is to pussycats? I tried the bribes of jellybeans and candy canes. That only gets you so far i.e. not far at all.

I had visions of free flowing white dresses fluttering behind the girls whilst they danced down the wooden planks onto the beach. There would be impromptu butterflies descending upon their noses while they Eskimo kissed and the boys would sit and man hug. All in glorious black and white montages that would copy gloriously onto to canvas.

Reality: We didn’t make it past the playground due to hot as shit day and my two boys who if weren’t wrestling, were busy trying to take each other out on the slippery dip. My nephew did not want one bar of our stupid “idea” and resolutely refused to get in any of the photos. I think in toddler speak he told me to shove my candy canes up my arse.

To top it all off, a guy dressed like Santa up top, i.e. Hat and beard and like a patriotic Warwick Capper down below, that is green and gold dicktogs, walked past the kids pushing a wheelbarrow of empty stubbies, presumably from the Surf Club. Disturbing, but probably not as disturbing as when my 3 year repeats the same sentence to the kindy teacher tomorrow morning. That is “Why Santa not wearing shorts today mum?”

All I can say is thank god for photoshop.