My wife works incredibly hard. As a stay at home mother of two, she is constantly in motion. I try to help where I can, but to be perfectly honest, I could not do what she does. I like to think I would be able to keep the children fed and clothed, but forget about school, gymnastics, soccer, play groups, helping out in the classroom and housework. From the first cries for her in the morning to the nightly family battle called “bedtime”, she never stops. That is why I wanted to do something really nice for her for Mother’s Day last year.

Since we did not own one decent family picture where all four of us were smiling and looking at the camera, I thought it would be a great idea to get a family photo taken. I don’t know if it is all little kids or just mine, but every time we would try to get a picture of just the four of us, one of three things would happen – 1) at least one finger would lodge itself into one nostril for the duration of the photo shoot, 2) at least one set of eyes would be either closed or staring vacantly to the right or 3) someone would end up crying hysterically. Needless to say we felt we deserved a nice family photo. We worked hard, we were good parents, we didn’t feel like we were asking too much.

When I told her about her present, she was ecstatic. She was finally going to have that elusive family photo. Our appointment was at the Picture People the next day, so we spent all Saturday laying the groundwork for a successful trip. Their were promises of jellybeans, ice cream, ponies, vacations, luxury cars, lake houses – you name it, we promised it to our kids. All they had to do, was listen to the camera man and smile. Easy enough. Probably not our best parenting moment, but by this time we were so excited, if it ended up costing us $213,467 in bribes, so be it.

The morning of the photo shoot went incredibly smooth. Everyone got dressed, sat still while their hair was combed, didn’t even object to the color coordinated family outfits. Even the car ride was easy, no hair pulling, no Indian burns, no crying. We were cautiously optimistic. When it was finally our turn, we all walked peacefully back to our sitting room and waited. Our photographer walked in and we were ready to go. He introduced himself, met the whole family, made the kids laugh, positioned us for the first shot and moved behind the camera. Everything was right in the world.

And then he said, “Everyone looks great. Okay Tyler, can you smile like a fuzzy, little monkey for me?”

For whatever reason, Tyler did not want to be a fuzzy, little monkey that day. Once he started crying, Kailey lost it and started screaming at the top of her lungs. Before we could say “cheese”, we were in the middle of a full blown meltdown. We tried mightily to hold it together, but in hindsight, I think we were destined for failure. We tempted fate. We flew too close to the sun. We didn’t just “want” a good family photo. We felt entitled to one. Apparently we weren’t.

I love that these pictures are proudly displayed in our living room.

I learned a couple things during the Mother’s Day Meltdown (that’s how we refer to it). First, I am not really entitled to anything. I can want something. I can even expect something. But expecting something and feeling entitled to it are two totally different things. As I have tried to minimize my sense of entitlement, I have found that I am disappointed far less often. Second, sometimes I just have to let go and enjoy the ride. I so badly wanted the perfect picture for Mother’s Day, I nearly gave myself a heart attack trying to force it to happen. Once I calmed down and just enjoyed the chaos for what it was, I ended up with the perfect family photo – one that captures the beautiful craziness that is my life.

As a techie, I simply love digital photography. With the exception of television and the Internet, I can’t think of any greater consumer advance. Having spent almost a year working in and exploring Europe with a 35mm film camera, I am painfully aware of just how incredible digital cameras now are. Where before you would have to agonize over every shot and keep your fingers crossed that they would turn out, now you can just fire away and review them immediately. When taking pictures of my kids, I just basically hold the button down. Hopefully, after a few hundred shots, I will get one or two where everyone is smiling and looking at the camera. I shudder to think what I would be spending on film with two little kids without my digital camera. Needless to say, they probably wouldn’t have a college fund.

Despite my love affair with my digital camera, I have come to realize that my desire for “the perfect shot” has had a negative impact on my living NOW. Sometimes, I can get so wrapped up in preserving the moment that I neglect to really enjoy it. This was no more apparent for me than during Tyler’s first school Christmas pageant.

It was supposed to be a nice family event. Tyler and 100 of his closest three year old preschooler friends were putting on a Christmas pageant for all of the parents. We all got dressed up in our Christmas best and I was armed to the teeth with a digital SLR camera (with two lenses), a digital point and shoot camera and a digital video camera. Come hell or high water, I was going to capture this precious moment. Carrying about 300 pounds of recording equipment was a bit cumbersome, but like all of the digital dads in attendance, I was committed to capturing history.

As the show started, I was a complete wreck. Our seats were less than ideal and the chairs were packed way too close together. I was desperately trying to get the perfect shot with 99 other Christmas-sweater-wearing dads in a tiny auditorium. To top it off, the lighting was atrocious. As the temperature climbed with my stress level, I started sweating profusely and I nearly lost it. In a last ditch effort, I switched to the bigger lens and fired away. I ended up taking about 200 pictures in the desperate hopes that something would turn out. Here are the two best shots from that night.

Sadly, I don’t remember anything about Tyler’s performance that night. I don’t remember any of the songs that he sang or the Christmas stories he told with his friends. I don’t remember if he was excited, nervous, scared or all of the above. I was so focused on capturing the moment, that I missed it. All I remember from the evening of his first Christmas pageant – an evening that I will never get back – is that I was furious because I couldn’t get the perfect shot. I love cameras and I love capturing and preserving precious moments, but take it from me, sometimes you need to leave the camera home and fully engage in the moment. You’ll be surprised at what you see and how well you will remember it later.