I keep a photo on the fridge from a family reunion that happened several years ago, back when we only had two babies. Everyone is neatly lined up with smiles plastered on their faces, until you get to where my husband and I were standing near the end of the row … Both of our children were throwing gigantic tantrums at having to pause the fun and games to pose for a picture. There was no bribing them, no calming them down, and both my husband and I were laughing at how hilarious the situation was.
I don’t keep that photo on the fridge because it was a happy memory or because I like my family.
I keep it there to remind myself of how I fit in with them.
I didn’t care that my babies were ruining the picture. Heck, in the years since, I’ve decorated our house with all sorts of chaotic and candid photos, because they make me laugh whenever I look at them — they’re way better than posed pictures. I like that my daughters refused to obediently stand still and fake a smile.
I keep that photo so I never forget how different I am now from the background that I was raised in.