When Work & Family Collide

This morning I had to attend a mandatory hair and make-up lesson in preparation for DD2's ballet recital. The first part of the experience was shopping for a very long list of things I personally have never owned. Liquid eye liner, white eye shadow, fire engine red lipstick, fake eyelashes...and the list goes on. $80 poorer later and we had an entire collection of suitably diva-esque make up, complete with cute purple make-up bag (which I later discovered has a serious flaw - no mirror!) Truth be told, I wasn't all that confident of my ability to carry this off. It's not a lick of mascara and a swipe of lipstick we're talking about...it's full theatre make-up. One wrong move and your kid ends up looking like the members of KISS.

So away she and I went - with not one but two bags filled with stuff. One for her clothes: multiple leotards, different coloured tights, ballet shoes, jazz shoes, tap shoes...e.g. my last mortgage payment. The second bag was for her accoutrements: hair brushes, hair spray, a bazillion pins, hair nets, aforementioned make-up...you get the idea. There I was with DD2 and what felt like a thousand other Mums and ballerinas sitting the hall, learning step-by-step how to put all this crapola on.

I've mentioned before how un-girly I am, and how my Mom thinks that I was born to someone else because she is as high maintenance as they come. As a kid I would spend HOURS sitting on the edge of her bathtub, watching her get ready for parties. Like a lady-in-waiting I was responsible for helping her do up zippers, putting on earrings, and fixing stray bits of hair. At the time it was fun, kinda like playing dress ups but with an adult human rather than a doll of some kind. This was the 80's, so there was some seriously big hair, even bigger dresses, loads of makeup and of course bling. (Although then they didn't use the word bling...)

This morning, it became obvious that I was one of the only mothers there who was managing to get it on my ballerina correctly. Several curse words were said (particularly in regards to those eyelashes), a couple of kids burst into tears..and so did a Mom or two. I sat there, quietly feeling superior and clever, and said a silent prayer of thanks to my Mom. Clearly all those hours spent watching her prepared me for the hell on earth which is applying a perfectly straight line of liquid eyeliner to a squirmy seven year old. People, I was totally rocking that make-up. I might have to change the name of this blog to "Estee Lauder and the hungry three" because I was totally amazing (and clearly modest as well.)

Now while you might think that watching my Mom and learning from her was the key to my success, I will say that I had a second skill up my sleeve. If you close your eyes just so, and use all the powers of your imagination, you can magic that stupid little eyeliner brush into the point on a piping bag filled with icing.

Voila! A perfectly steady hand and a gorgeous looking girl who is grateful that I didn't carry my secret make up applying skill into writing "Happy Birthday Claire" on her eyelid with liquid eyeliner.