One of our priorities at the Regency Ball last weekend was to take fabulous pictures of each other in our beautiful gowns. So Carrie and I scurried away after lunch, found a bench by a window, and got to work.
As you can see, Carrie was looking extremely ethereal.
The golden curls . . . the big blue eyes . . .
I’m thinking Emma. I’m thinking Marianne. I’m thinking Elizabeth Bennett.
Okay, and a little sass occasionally.
It’s why I love her.
Unfortunately, soon it was my turn. And then I remembered that I have no sense of what to do with myself when the camera is turned on me.
So . . . what do I do with my arms?
Seriously, what do I do with my arms?? Someone? Anyone?
All of a sudden they felt 5 feet long.
And does it help if I put on a goofy face and pretend that I love being the center of attention?
The next attempt: sure material for future blackmail by my own progeny. Trying to look like a poster child for ‘Sense and Sensibility’ simply made me look terrified and weird.
I am Jenna, the spaced-out alien doll.
Heavens help us. I don’t think I can ever show my face on my own blog again.
How about my regular smile?
Okay, not hideous–but I don’t think they smiled that forcefully back in the Regency days. They were more . . . demure. Elegant. If only I had remembered my lesson in fake-smiling from the summer!
THIS ISN’T WORKING!
*weeping and gnashing of teeth*
*massive breakdown in the corridor*
Well, thank you for engaging with me in this series of awkward pictures that made me feel like a gangly 13-year-old again, with about 10 times too many knees and elbows. I hope you realize that the mere fact that I’m sharing them is a sign of the trust between us. Of our strong relationship. I have confidence that you guys will never use this material against me. Um . . . right?
And since I’m a good and generous person and I can’t possibly leave you on that painful note, I’ll zoom back to the photogenic Carrie and her husband Eric–the camera loves her, folks.
Hello, elegant couple from the days of Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy.
Wait a minute–was this kind of behavior even allowed in the Regency era?
Methinks these affectionate youngsters are modern impostors! Historical innacuracy alert. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Okay, well–they are rather adorable.
We’ll let it go this time.
Next week I’ll share pictures of the beautiful hall and the actual dancing–but only if you’re good! So be good.*
*Being good = sending me cookies and/or sending me $1,000,000 and/or sending me $10,000,000 and/or giving me back scritchlies if you’re my husband/mother/sisters.
So I’ve been saving the best for last.
This is a policy I have enacted since childhood, when I would eat the least agreeable items off my plate first, saving my favorite item for the grand finale.
Of course, sometimes my policy resulted in never getting to ‘the best.’ A prime example of this was my languishing candy collection, which I saved for that perfect moment for so long that it went stale and was ultimately tossed in the garbage bin.
The only people who enjoyed the candy were two small thieves, a certain small Erica and small Heidi.
But let’s let bygones be bygones.
What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s time for the cream of the Baby James crop of pictures.
These are they. These are them. Them are these. Whatever.
After pictures of Baby James and every conceivable person except for his own mother, it’s time to share all these lovely pictures from the informal photo shoot we did on the futon.
So this is part 1 . . . part 2 on Friday.
I love these two.
If only Alaska weren’t so dang far away.