Make Over / Take Cover!!

Today Emir was sitting on my lap looks up at me and asks if he will be "baggy" when he grows up. I question what he meant by that, and he is perceptive enough to see that I had taken offense to his comment and replies, "Oh, nothing." Having my shape and form candidly assessed I decide to spend a little time trying to beautify myself. Since I cannot afford to go to a salon for beauty services, I went to the store picked up a few beauty supplies and decided to do it myself.

The first phase of my make over was to give myself a manicure. Easy enough just soak your fingers, a little cuticle care and polish. I recognize that I should probably wait to begin this major beauty over-haul until they are in bed, but I am very motivated and excited to get under way. I decide to fix the kids lunch and sit at the table with them while trying to do the manicure. I am gently pushing back the cuticles, when one of them shrieks at the top of his lungs when Spider-Man appears on television. I was so startled I jabbed the cuticle trimmer in to my finger and am now trying to stop the haemorrhage with a Kleenex tourniquet. I inform him that it is dangerous to scream and startle people like that. He apologizes and gets me a Superman Band-Aid for the stab wound.

Having lost a pint of blood I am feeling a little light-headed, but continue to the next step of polishing my nails. I also apply polish to the kids’ fingers and we are laughing while blowing each other’s fingers to speed the nail drying process. The middle one mentions that he is still hungry and would like another sandwich. I tell him that my nails are not dry, but he starts to whine and I am at his mercy. I try to remove some bread without smudging my nails on the plastic wrapper. I think I have succeeded until I look closely at my nails and see I am the victim of breadcrumb stucco finger fungus. I am not pleased and show them what has happened because I did not wait long enough to let my nails dry. They like the look and are now rubbing their fingers across the dry crusts of bread on their plate to achieve the same affect.

Next on the beauty cure du jour list is to give myself a facial and apply a mask. The kids want a bath so the duo jump in the tub, "accidentally" pour an entire bottle of bubble bath in and are having a bubble fest. I think they would find it funny to see me with a "spooky" powder white facial mask. I apply the mask and leave the bathroom for a minute until the mask dries. Then I quickly push open the door, leap in the bathroom and start to growl like a monster. They jump and look at me and saying, "Mama, you scared us." I am laughing and waiting for them to comment about my face. They say nothing. I prompt them, questioning; "Don't you notice anything unusual about my face?" They stare at me and then the middle one asks if I have lipstick on. I shake my head and look in the mirror thinking that perhaps I really do need a blood transfusion after the cuticle haemorrhage incident. I cleanse the mask off my face and move on to the next treatment…colouring my grey hair.

I think back to when I purchased the do-it-yourself hair dye, standing in confusion at the hair colour aisle of the department store. Do I want permanent, semi-permanent, high lights, low lights, etc.? I look at the boxes and identify the model on the box that I most want to look like and buy that one. I read the directions and the kids are not fully water logged so I decide to go for it. I mix up the concoction and apply it to my hair. The dye is a dark brown colour and I hope that I am doing everything right. I set the timer and wait the prescribed fifteen minutes. The kids and I are joking about how I won't have grey hair after this process is done and they ask me if I will be "young" again. I tell them no, I'll still be their old baggy mama, but my hair will look youthful with lots of grey hair disguised as natural looking highlights.

The buzzer sounds, I rinse the dye out and excitedly look in the mirror. The vision I see is a female version of Eddie Munster. I am thinking what did I do wrong? I have a strange brown widow's peak dyed into my forehead and sideburns. I check the woman on the box and can honestly tell you that no one would mistake us for twins. I dig through the trash to find the directions. In very small print that I am sure no one reads it clearly states to be careful to wipe excess dye drips off your face and body as quickly as possible during the application process.

My paediatric audience says my hair smells good and asks me if I’m “becoming a werewolf”.

Now that I no longer resemble a purely human life form, I opt for the old beauty stand-by…make up. I apply the make up trying to camouflage the facial dye spots and meticulously apply my eye and lip colour. I am so naïve to think that when my husband gets home and sees the "new" me, he will tell me how gorgeous I look, sweep me in his arms and take me away from this madness. In reality he looks at me, immediately notices the unusual occurrence of my wearing make-up, and asks…"Are you leaving me for another man?"

I tell him, "Yes…Eddie Munster."

Trust me mummies; leave the beauty makeovers to the professionals.

written by Aida Halim.