Thursday, August 12, 2010

Where Babies Come From

The age old question that every parent dreads getting asked.

The average kid begins to ask that question between ages 6-8.  My daughter is 5 and a half and she didn't bother to ask.  She drew her own conclusions, and, when you think about it, she's really not that far off. 

Miranda's Baby-Making Theory

(get's cut off because my battery died but all she said after that was "...baby out. The end.")

She only missed the mark a tiny bit with the "pea" on the "conveyor belt".   She came frighteningly close on the "magic potion" supplied by the dad.   A little closer than I am comfortable with! And the baby coming out of a "secret door".   I guess only the daddy knows where the door is!

Her 3-year-old brother, Jack, took a stab at it too but he pretty much copied his big sister.

Baby-Making Theory (Jack Re-mix)


His incorporates some kind of baby store.  However, he was right about one thing.  When you use the "door" twice, that's it.  No more!  At least in his mom's case! The baby-making door (and the store, for that matter) is CLOSED!

Where do you your tots thing babies come from?

Sunday, August 1, 2010

An Asthetitician Without Pity

This weekend marked my annual "Girl's Weekend".   It's the one weekend a summer I spend with my two oldest friends.  By oldest, I mean the girlfriends that I have had the longest, not that they are, in any way, advanced in age... which they are not... the "oldest-in-age" friends that I have... and if even if they were, which they are not, I would certainly not be implying that in this forum.  (Whew!  Age is a touchy subject when it comes to chicks.)  I also won't say how long we've been friends, because, to admit that is to admit that we are not 29-years-old for eternity, which, in fact, we are!

The three of us have birthdays in July, August and September and we choose a weekend in late July or early August to hang out together.  We rotate between each of our homes, kick out our husbands (and children in my case), go out to dinner, drink, play games, watch movies, drink, talk about boys, drink some more, giggle a lot, eventually go to bed and out to brunch in the morning.  It's a blast!
That's not me - it's the Flirt! girl.

This year, we decided to throw some primping into the mix with a trip to Kohl's to try out their Flirt! cosmetics line.  Some how, this got painted as my idea.  I suggested the particular brand but my other friend had suggested the cosmetics counter makeover.

We arrived to find that they don't have a counter, per say.  It's more of an un-maned (or un-womaned as the case may be) island of cosmetic samples.    We lingered.  We browsed.  We lingered some more.  Eventually, a lovely young lady came over and asked if she could help us.  My dear friends threw me to the wolves and said that I wanted a make-over.  What happened to "we"?

The young asthetitician, (and I'm certain I'm using this term generously) will be called Lulu for the purposes of this story.  Lulu asked me my interests, I replied and she began to seek out some toner to remove my make-up.  As she began the unmasking (OH!  THE HORROR!  THIS IS A PUBLIC PLACE!  HAVE YOU NO DECENCY! --- ooops, sorry about the outburst), Lulu nervously informed me that she "usually only does jewelry".    Panic.   I laughed apprehensively.  My friends looked on, innocently, as they hadn't heard her confession.  Lulu turned away and I mouthed "I'm scared!"   They didn't know why.  Lulu put on some powder foundation which is hard to mess up so I wasn't totally freaked out yet.  Then she asked about my eyes.  I figured, at this point there was no going back so I gave her some ideas and Lulu, again, expressed her discomfort with applying my makeup.  Fortunately, this time she was within earshot of the REAL asthetitician, who was busy with another customer.  The real one, we'll call her Maggie, said I could wait for her if I wanted.  Ever gracious, I made it seem like I was doing it for Lulu and not because I was frightened that she'd paint me up like some kind of clown whore and send me on my way.  We had dinner plans afterward for goodness sakes!


So, we waited for Maggie.  We hovered.  I scared a few locals with my makeup-less visage. We waited.  One friend bought a card.  The other bought and ottoman.  We hovered some more.    Eventually, she was done with her customer and ready to put some war paint on my exposed features.  After a few moments, it was clear that Maggie knew what she was doing.  It was also clear that she wasn't about to sugar-coat anything.  


She started by saying "I'm sure you want something to cover those brown patches under your eyes."  Yup.  Surely, we do.  Brown patches.  Great.  Maggie got some concealer.   During the application she remarked, "See this side is quite a bit darker and puffier than the other side."   Awesome.  Not only do I have dark circles under my eyes, they are apparently horribly asymmetrical!  

Next, Maggie got some powder foundation.  As she's brushing it on my face she's saying, "...see the problem here is that your skin is two-tone.  You see, it's darker through here, here and here, and light here and here."   Super.  Dark, puffy, lopsided and patchwork.  Just what a girl always wants to hear!  When she was happy with the results, she turned her attention to my eyes.  She picked out some lovely eyeshadow and liner colors.  As she's making me beautiful, she added "You really need to get your eyebrows done, girl."  Dark, puffy, lopsided, patchwork and hairy.  Check.


At some point, she said something about me being pretty but, clearly I focus on the negative so I don't remember the details.


Awesome Mascara!
Some excellent mascara and great-looking, but not long-lasting, lip gloss later and we were done.  The results were actually quite lovely but, by this time, my friends were hungry and I was shell-shocked so nobody else got in "the chair".  I passed on the concealer and foundation for my horribly puffy, dark, uneven skin, figuring I had enough in my arsenal at home to tackle that particular problem.  I passed on the awesome-looking lip gloss that I knew would wear off before I got to the parking lot.  I bought the fabulous mascara and eyeliner. 


The moral of this story is.... well... heck if I know!  I guess it's that the chick at the make-up counter isn't there to make you feel good about yourself.  No matter how nice they are, they are there to make you feel bad about yourself so you only feel good about yourself after you are coated in a layer of their products and, consequently, buy them.


The other moral of this story is that you can always count on your oldest friends (again, the ones you've had the longest - not the most advanced in age) to be there when you need them.  They may not be there in the capacity you'd expect, but they will be there...
...to leave you at the mercy of the asthetiticians, qualified or not
...to buy cards and ottomans while you wait to face your doom
...to take pictures of you without any make-up on and post them on Facebook

But most of all, to ooh and aah at the results, whatever they may be!  Because, hey, that's what friends are for!