Momservation: The beauty of electric blue eyeliner and mascara is the eye of the 80’s baby beholder.
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Turns out I do have a limit of what I will do for my kids.
My daughter had the first of two Homecomings she was invited to coming up.
I took her dress shopping.
I took her shoe shopping.
I took her to get her nails done.
But when she asked me to book her an appointment to get her make-up done I drew the line. It was something I wasn’t willing to pay for.
“Why can’t you do your own make-up?” I asked remembering how I loved the challenge of taking my hair and make-up to the next level for formal dances.
“I don’t really wear make-up. I don’t know how to do it,” my 14 year-old Freshman said.
“I can show you how,” I offered, excited for this milestone like a dad would be teaching his son how to shave.
“Nah. I didn’t really like my make-up the last time you did it for me. You don’t really know how to do the latest style.”
Ouch. I thought our preliminary make-up lesson had gone well. I tried not to sound hurt. “Fine. Then have one of your girlfriends do it,” I said remembering how I always got ready for dances in a group.
My daughter continued to protest. “But I don’t really have any good make-up.”
“Then let’s go buy some!” I said excited again for the mother/daughter bonding over the Homecoming pre-game.
I probably spent more money on the make-up then I would’ve having her get her make-up done. But I rationalized it by saying she would get many uses out of it.
She got one. When we did a trial run the day before Homecoming, the new make-up brand the lady at Walgreens recommended for us, Rimmel, gave my daughter an allergic reaction. By the time we figured out what had inflamed her cheeks into an angry, itchy red rash our only option was to use my make-up.
She wanted this. Let’s just say I’m not a cosmetologist for a reason.
I didn’t have the liquid eye-liner that my daughter in the 11th hour realized was what she needed for the look she wanted. So I went to my old ‘80’s playbook and melted my eyeliner for the look.
It was a disaster. Totally flustered and upset with angry red cheeks and awkward clumps of black eyeliner weighing down her eyes, she took it all off and just went with some light eye shadow and mascara. Though I thought she still looked beautiful, it was not the start to her first formal dance I had envisioned.
We got this. I like mine better. But anything to make Baby Girl happy.
When my daughter came home from the dance and reported on the good time she had, she had one request: “Mom, all the girls I talked to had their make-up done. Can I get mine done for my Homecoming?”
I took only a moment to mentally erase my line in the sand. “Sure.”
Grandpa has two-cents of thought. Writing this I’m gazing with tear-filled eyes at a photo of a three year-old Whitney asleep with a teddy bear and looking angelic; likely the genesis of her grandpa moniker for her of Angel. How about this solution to the make-up problem: NO boys; NO dates; a nice monastery school education; and a moat around your home until I find a suitable one.
Oh, Dad. No wonder I never wanted to bring boys around…