Wax On, Wax Off!

I have dark hair, so I kind of have a little bit of dark-ish peach fuzz on my upper lip that I call my mustache. Embarrassing, right? Ew. It's not that noticeable, but I notice it and I hate it. I use those wax strips from Walmart or wherever, you know, the plastic ones that you heat with friction and then separate the two-ply plastic, apply...and then RIP them off! There's no better way to do it. It lasts for a long time, and it doesn't grow back prickly. Ahhh, I feel somewhat liberated from having shared this so publicly.  Well, semi-publicly. Not that many people read this little blog, so those of you who do are sort of like my anonymous, faceless family. :)  So there you have it. I wax my upper lip from time to time, lol.

So, one morning, I was just going about my business, getting ready to rid myself of the peach mustache and Emma and Ethan happened to be in the bathroom with me. They like hanging out in there when I'm getting ready, especially when I'm listening to music. I started rubbing the strip between my hands, heating it up, and that got their attention. They watched carefully as I quickly moved my hands back and forth to the beat of the song on my iPod. Then I pulled it apart and told them it was like a sticker, one of their favorite things.

"Sticker!" they said. They started reaching for the other half of it, wanting to use it themselves, I assume. "No, babies. Trust me, you want no part of this sticker," I said. I began pressing it on one side of my upper lip and rubbing it on really well. Then, I closed my eyes and braced myself--"UHHHNNN!!!" I growled as I RIPPED it off as quickly as I could in the opposite direction of the hair growth.

Both of my children had horrified expressions on their faces. "UHHHHH!!" Emma mocked.
"Hurts really bad!" Ethan noted. I laughed out loud at their reactions. They were just standing there side-by-side, staring at me in the mirror with their hands up by their faces, gripping the bathroom counter. I guess I have done this so many times that I didn't think of just how dramatic it could be for two little first-time observers. Emma looked really sad for me. So did Ethan. "Hurts really bad!" he repeated with the cutest little scrunched eyebrows.

"Yes, it does hurt really bad. But I'm okay," I smiled even though my eyes were watering from the sting.

Round two.

I repeated the process for the other side and I still had their full attention. I guess they were going to have to learn of the harsh realities that women put themselves through in the name of beauty some time. It might as well be now and it might as well be from me...right?

"MMMM!" I tried to control my outward response this time, but it is so ingrained in me...and it really does hurt really bad. This had become too much for Emma. She poked out her bottom lip and started to cry. What a sweet angel she is. "It's okay, baby! Mommy's okay. I should not hurt myself on purpose, huh?" It seemed really ridiculous as I imagined what she had just witnessed and what she could be thinking of it. Am I impressing on this little tiny girl too soon some sort of odd and morbid self-hatred that she'll never forget? Lol, I hope not.

I read an article the other day about a woman who had decided to start telling her daughter that she was beautiful. She started saying, "Sweetie, I'm feeling very beautiful today," and so on. She wanted to stop the hateful comments against herself and the perpetual dissatisfaction with herself from infecting her daughter when she reaches adulthood. I think it's a really good idea. People tell me all the time that Emma looks like me and I think she is the most beautiful girl in the world.

Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. I'm feeling very beautiful today. Go, me!