When I posed with my soon-to-be mechuteneste and our daughters, a friend came over and asked in a loud stage whisper, “Why isn’t the kallah’s mother here?”

Points to me for remaining calm as I pointed to my new mechuteneste, who looks as young as her daughters. (Important mental note: Definitely splurge and buy the new sheitel that will certainly make me look ten years younger.)

After that set, the photographer gathered all my grandchildren for a photo under the magnificent willow tree on the front lawn. I couldn’t wait until those pictures came back — I’d take the best of all and hang it in our entranceway.

Two weeks later, the highly anticipated vort pictures arrived in my email. Of course, I wouldn’t open them until I davened and said Tehillim. I inserted a tiny little prayer that the pictures would look great. (Please don’t judge. I know my priorities in life and nice picture albums rank in the top ten.)

I could barely contain my excitement as I sat in front of my computer screen sipping sugar-free hot cocoa and eagerly going through the proofs.

What a magnificent looking family! I thought without a trace of bias.

And then I got to the pictures of my grandchildren.

I almost choked on my drink. Not one of the 20 or so pictures in the set was presentable! The boys were either making faces or had their backs turned. The girls were whispering secrets in one another’s ears or goofing around, showing off their first manicures. The smaller children were laughing at the antics of the others.

I was mortified. I went over the proofs again and again to find one “normal” picture to put in the engagement album. The one I settled on would not be proudly displayed in our entrance hall.

The weeks flew by and soon we were 14 days from the wedding. I ruminated over the cost for the girls’ matching rented gowns and updos for their hair and the boys’ suits and shoes and matching ties and initialed yarmulkes — and how wonderful it would be if the grandkids cooperated for pictures. But how was this going to be possible when basically well-behaved children change into completely different personas when a camera is pointed directly at them?

At the Shabbos aufruf, I gathered up the older grandchildren for a serious talk. I asked them if they liked the Chanukah presents we gave them that year (they did). Would they want an extra special present? (They would). We worked out a plan: They would cooperate with all smiles and no arguments during pictures at their uncle’s wedding, and I would compensate their efforts with something extra special.

That settled, I added a “Grandkids Gift” column to our wedding expenses spreadsheet. I knew the expense would go unnoticed alongside all the other costs of the wedding (like my new sheitel), but being the sensitive, caring wife I am, I added the column while my husband was in shul. No need to bother him with such an insignificant, minor adjustment when he had so many other wedding details on his mind.

The proofs were in my inbox two weeks after the wedding. This time, I knew sugar-free hot cocoa wouldn’t do it, and I fortified myself with a super-sized chocolate bar.

With prayer on my lips, I navigated to the pictures of the grandchildren.

What can I say? They were gorgeous! It was hard to choose just one to hang on my wall. Those “Grandkids Gifts” had been worth every penny.

But when I forwarded the proofs to my children, they agreed that the best picture of all was the one with the chassan and his siblings/siblings-in-law as they posed wearing false buck teeth and eyeglasses attached to a green mustache.

Who knew I should have bribed the adults, too?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 958)