By: Gari Lister
Our attachment therapist a long time ago suggested that if my girls had a difficult time with my massaging and touching them, I could have them rub lotion on me. Well, I started out with lotion, but I have three girls so . . . the lotion turned into nail polish, and the nail polish turned into hair styling, and the hair styling turned into makeup. Every so often, one of my little girls runs into the bathroom and runs out with a lotion or a blush or a handful of hair accessories and gives me a hopeful look.
Last night, I wound up with two pony tails (think Buffy if you can remember that far back), LOTS of lip gloss (a 9 year old believes you can never have too much), cheerful pink blush, and eye shadow highlighting not only my eyelids but also the circles under my eyes . . . a look Christian Dior may want to investigate, because it was actually more attractive than you would think. Over the last few weeks, I’ve had pippy-longstocking braids, dreadlocks, and more hair barrettes than any one person could wear without a headache.
And of course my toenails are always interesting. Now I have navy blue metallic, but before Christmas I had pink camouflage, which I thought was really cute until I realized during yoga that it actually looked like my toes had some strange spotted disease. And my nails are never quite perfect. A scratch here, an empty spot there. That’s what you get when your manicurist is 11. But I can actually afford to have my nails done several times a week – how many stay at home moms can say that?
And aside from the economics, my messed up nails and make-up have another benefit: two little girls giggling and cuddling with me (and sometimes even their oh-so-cool oldest sister joined in). So please forgive my appearance if you come by my house without warning some evening . . . I may look a little silly, but with every brush, and every nail, I’m healing babies.