is GLITTER!
I've come to the conclusion that having play (or real) makeup, if you have a girl is an inevitable event. No matter how you try to not, somehow, someway, it's going to show up at your house.
And somewhere, in this fiasco-looking-to-happen-on-my-watch, it's going to involve glitter.
Somewhere over the past year, the Howler was given a play make-up set. Not a bad one (no light blue eyeshadow, no fire engine red lipstick) and everything washed off easily that night in the tub. The problem we had with it is what you'd expect--the stuff simply ended up everywhere, and no matter how easily it cleaned up or washed off, there was still time and energy better spent dealing with it.
The makeup was put up and, we hoped, "out of sight, out of mind." (Which, in the Howler's case was horribly optimistic--to the point of stupidity--on our parts. The girl don't do "out of sight" and "out of mind" is for mere mortals like her parents.)
She rediscovered it a few nights ago, and being the slacker that I am, I waited 'til now to blog about it.
She was fine with the lipstick/gloss. Of course, she wasn't using any kind of mirror, and, as we all know, unless you have years of experience putting on lipstick without a mirror, the braille method isn't the way to look your best. I'm just glad we weren't in the car, driving over RR tracks at the time.
She graciously assented to not touch the nail polish (it washes of walls, linoleum flooring and skin, I don't ever want to find out about carpets and upholstery, okay?). Very very good of her, we thought.
At bathtime, we noticed that the cat was twinkling. (I did not say tinkling, dear, I said twinkling.) Her bathwater also seems to have sunny little lights on it....but of course, we're old, and, as I mentioned above, rather dense, so it wasn't really something that registered in the frontal lobe.
Afterwards, though, when straightening up for the evening, we noticed that there was an unnatural glitter about the living room.
In the makeup set, there were, apparently two smallish tubs of body glitter. If the actual event of opening one of them was even half as explosive as the re-enactment of it, I'd have to say we'll be finding glitter in five years when we replace the carpet. (It's sealed tightly, and since no one said, "No glitter, " it was fair game--you twist with all your might, and as it comes open, throw your head back, and fling your arms. When you realize what's just happened, quietly close the tub back up, set it gently inside the case, and hope no one notices.)
This, from a child who does NOTHING, literally, quietly. Not a peep; not a whine. Not nothin'. Nada. Zip.
Glitter is an insidious, aggressive thing, just so you know. But it does make black cats particularly beautiful at night.
I've come to the conclusion that having play (or real) makeup, if you have a girl is an inevitable event. No matter how you try to not, somehow, someway, it's going to show up at your house.
And somewhere, in this fiasco-looking-to-happen-on-my-watch, it's going to involve glitter.
Somewhere over the past year, the Howler was given a play make-up set. Not a bad one (no light blue eyeshadow, no fire engine red lipstick) and everything washed off easily that night in the tub. The problem we had with it is what you'd expect--the stuff simply ended up everywhere, and no matter how easily it cleaned up or washed off, there was still time and energy better spent dealing with it.
The makeup was put up and, we hoped, "out of sight, out of mind." (Which, in the Howler's case was horribly optimistic--to the point of stupidity--on our parts. The girl don't do "out of sight" and "out of mind" is for mere mortals like her parents.)
She rediscovered it a few nights ago, and being the slacker that I am, I waited 'til now to blog about it.
She was fine with the lipstick/gloss. Of course, she wasn't using any kind of mirror, and, as we all know, unless you have years of experience putting on lipstick without a mirror, the braille method isn't the way to look your best. I'm just glad we weren't in the car, driving over RR tracks at the time.
She graciously assented to not touch the nail polish (it washes of walls, linoleum flooring and skin, I don't ever want to find out about carpets and upholstery, okay?). Very very good of her, we thought.
At bathtime, we noticed that the cat was twinkling. (I did not say tinkling, dear, I said twinkling.) Her bathwater also seems to have sunny little lights on it....but of course, we're old, and, as I mentioned above, rather dense, so it wasn't really something that registered in the frontal lobe.
Afterwards, though, when straightening up for the evening, we noticed that there was an unnatural glitter about the living room.
In the makeup set, there were, apparently two smallish tubs of body glitter. If the actual event of opening one of them was even half as explosive as the re-enactment of it, I'd have to say we'll be finding glitter in five years when we replace the carpet. (It's sealed tightly, and since no one said, "No glitter, " it was fair game--you twist with all your might, and as it comes open, throw your head back, and fling your arms. When you realize what's just happened, quietly close the tub back up, set it gently inside the case, and hope no one notices.)
This, from a child who does NOTHING, literally, quietly. Not a peep; not a whine. Not nothin'. Nada. Zip.
Glitter is an insidious, aggressive thing, just so you know. But it does make black cats particularly beautiful at night.
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