DIY photobooth-style family photos

The other morning on the radio, I heard a piece about hipsters: what defines a hipster, what sorts of things they like. It was kind of inadvertently funny, but had an interesting takeaway. Hipster culture is, one interviewee posited, a byproduct of a generation unable to display sincere emotion. Nothing can be enjoyed for its own sake, but must be enjoyed "ironically," presumably, I guess, because that lends the participants plausible deniability. 

I'm definitely guilty of this sort of tendency to downplay my enjoyment through irony. Case in point: Though I've been decorating our house for the holidays since we moved, I've only this week stopped apologizing for the dorkiness and admitted that I just like holiday decorations. 

Anyhoo, long story (not very) short, I hesitated to make the photobooth canvas Hanukkah project I'd chosen because I thought it might be too goofy, not arty or offbeat enough for our walls. Yes! That was stupid. Even after it was done, I asked Nathan if it wasn't too silly to hang up. I've only recently warmed to the concept of having family photos around the house (photos of family members who live in the home, that is), so this one was a stretch for me. I'm glad I went for it, because it's so cute. So, so cute. And here is how I did it (sorry for the funky formatting. All the info is there and I don't care enough to mess with it):

To make the pictures look like they were taken in a photo booth, we positioned ourselves in front of the living room curtains, then, in Picasa, made them black and white and used the vignette tool. 

I gathered my materials: 

- an 8x24" stretched canvas (not pictured)
- mod podge (matte)
- foam brush
- scissors
- 4 5x7 family photos, B/W copied

I cut the pictures out, and left a small border but wish I hadn't. 

I then laid out the pictures where I wanted them, switching up the order until they looked right. In my case, Nathan and I have the darkest/most hair, so putting our pictures next to each other looked bad.

For the mod podge initiated this will be obvious, but for those who don't frequently decoupage it may feel like you're screwing up your pictures. You are not! Brush a thick coat of mod podge onto the back of each picture, making sure to get the corners and edges. Stick them in place one by one and smooth out the bubbles, working from the middle to the outer edges. 

Your paper will bubble up a little no matter how diligently you smooth, but don't worry. It'll dry flat.

After you've placed your pictures where you want them and smoothed them all out, you can sit back and get a preview of how it's going to look when finished. 

Adorable?

Great!

Next!

Cover the whole surface with a thick coat of mod podge, being careful not to loosen any of your edges. I try to go in the same direction though I'm not sure it matters.

Let the first coat dry (15-20 minutes) and do another coat. I did three coats and was really concerned about some major bubbling that was making George look like he'd been punched in the eye.

I decided to leave it overnight to see if the bubbles went away, and they did! There are a few small creases and wrinkles, but I think that adds to the charm. 

I hope yours turns out just as cute as ours! 

two

Today, our boy turned two. We did his favorite things: ate pancakes and veggie sausage, played at Time In with two besties, split a pizza, "cooked" in his kitchen, posed for photobooth pictures and ate a 'dilla with beans after which the aforementioned very lucky little guy donned a sombrero as he was serenaded and given a real, full-size soccer ball he's since dubbed "new one." Everywhere we went, people wished him well and he returned the sentiment with "happy day!" Happy day, indeed. Exactly two years ago, when we were settling in for our first night as a family of three, I never could've guessed how cool this kid was gonna be. 

Since his first birthday, we've made a tradition of visiting the mall's photobooth (which, alas, is new-fangled and not the charming old variety) on the 14th of every month. He's grown more aware, funnier and less distracted by the buttons and his own likeness each month. His hair grew in; his sleeves got short and then long again; he learned what the pre-flash countdown meant, and developed a preference for animal backgrounds. Here is our year, 2011: 13 months to 24 months of George and Mama, smooching and waving and being caught off-guard, through colds and hat-hair days and the better part of another pregnancy.  

(Yes, we were "proud to be fabulous" two months in a row.)

 It's been a good year. To many, many, many more like it, and not like it, with plenty of photobooth duets, trios and quartets. 

expect

I am always late in turning my calendar. A shame, and odd since I'm eager for the coming month spent with a fresh page of Nikki McClure's art, hanging in the kitchen, visible and inspirational at (almost) all times. As I was doling out avocado slices or picking up a thrown water cup for yet another rinse, I looked up and realized that the calendar still said February though it was March fourteenth. George and I had plans, like we do every month on the fourteenth: go to the mall. Use the newfangled photo booth that Mama wishes was still the real, old kind with the red or blue curtain but consoles herself by choosing a funny header appropriate to the past four weeks of development. "Oh, by the way: I'm awesome" for 13 months. "I freaking love you" for fourteen months, Valentine's Day. Our new tradition whose seed was planted years before when my roommates and I covered the grimy breakfast nook of our punkrock house in photo strips, demanded one from each houseguest that crossed our couch, every band that used our floor. 

I got distracted, didn't turn the calendar, but released George from his high chair and we got ready for the day. Went to the mall. Got our pictures, chose the "USA!" header for George's recent rallying cry/fist pumping victory dance. We stopped off at the drug store and came home. While George played on the floor with his puzzle, I took a pregnancy test that turned positive even as I willed it not to, glaring down at the defiant little plus sign that wussed out and only partially materialized. But it was enough. I didn't really need the confirmation, anyway. Even barely pregnant -- one day late -- my body gives itself away; we've been together for awhile, you know. 

Feeling a sudden burst of responsibility to my household, I remembered I'd left February's cheery cherry blossoms hanging in the kitchen. Turning the page, I felt a little silly. If Nikki McClure could be so prophetic, a complete stranger reassuring me with her meant-to-be-looked-at-for-31-days art, things would surely be okay. 

Of course, it was cruel of me to be anything but immediately delighted, and, it turns out, this pregnancy was easily jinxed. March changed to April and after three weeks of getting-used-to, what are we going to do? turning into we can do this, right?, the bleeding began. Though my midwife was optimistic and Nathan favored looking on the bright side (after all, this had also happened with George), I knew it just wasn't meant to be: an instinct confirmed by the poor ultrasound wand-wielding lady whose thankless job requires that she tell expectant women there is no sign of viability. The loss is sad, obviously, but this brief flirtation with another kid has opened my mind to the possibility of loving another one, doing this again, maybe even sooner than I'd envisioned when painstakingly organizing the timeline of my twenties and thirties. 

If and when we're afforded the luxury of adding to our family, I hope the person who joins us and George are lifelong lifelines to one another. Filling each other's gaps, two 24 hour open signs when everywhere else closes at 7pm and 5 on Sundays. People -- smart people -- have told me that a sibling will be one of our most valuable gifts to George, and the chance to parent another kid would be a gift to me, for sure. It's terrifying to replay the hapless nights we spent in George's beginning: the sleeplessness, the confusion and eventual giving up akin to the moment you realize you're drowning and start to enjoy the languorous kelp floating around you. But, you know? Sometimes, you're not drowning. I wasn't. Soon came the realization that I'd drifted back inland and could easily stand. It'll come again, after all that other stuff, which will (fingers crossed) be less like drowning and more like a too-adventurous swim. I'm lucky to've had the opportunity to work through those feelings before our next (next) shot at parenthood. To start with excitement, assured that we can hack it. Nobody deserves an "oh, shit" at their first sign of life, and for that motherly transgression, former fetus, I am truly sorry. 

I didn't plan on getting pregnant when I had a fifteen month old, but once I was, I quickly warmed to the idea -- the upsides, the pleasantness of the surprise, the potential -- which is, I think, my lesson in this bummer of a situation. The stranglehold I once had on PLANS has, in the past year and a half, loosened to a lazy handhold. I never thought I'd be the kind of person to let life happen to me, but here we are, Universe. Show me what you got.  

Have you dealt with an early miscarriage (lame, huh)? Did you get pregnant again quickly? How did it affect your family plans?