Eyelash extensions (a.k.a. that time I did something really, really, really, ridiculously vain)

My natural eyelashes are like my hair. They are utterly plain to the naked eye. But to a professional, they are amazing. For instance, my limp, lackluster, rebellious hair always gets this comment from people who cut it, “Goodness, your hair is so thick!” Then why does it cling to my head like a skinny cat trying to stay out of a bathtub? Because it’s also ‘extremely fine.’ There’s the gotcha! I have a head full of hair, but it’s so fine, it doesn’t really count.

My eyelashes are sort of the same. Today, I went for eyelash extensions and she said, “Goodness, you have lots of lashes! I’ll have plenty to work with.” So why don’t they show up au natural? Because they are blond. And because I have my Grandpa’s super hooded lids. They are covered and camouflaged. Assassin eyelashes.

Back to extensions. I found a deal on Living Social and decided to give it a try. The first thing that scared me was when she came at me with a large piece of tape. This was to go under my lower lashes right up to my lid in order to keep the glue out of my eyeball. Panic mode set in. I have a thing about people coming at my eyes with things. The tape was so close to my eyeball that when I closed my lids, I could feel it keeping the lids from completely connecting. It was almost like when kids turn their eyelids inside out. I tried that once or twice – this is what it felt like. I’m trying to figure out a way to completely close my eyes because I can’t fathom watching her come at my eye with tweezers for 75 minutes. My eyes are rolling around trying to find a comfortable position while she is putting stuff on my forehead.

She tells me she’s using my forehead as a tray. Uhm…is this an insult? Is my forehead that large? She continues that it’s easier to keep all the eyelashes there while she’s working. I wish I had a picture of my hairy forehead. Alas.

She starts to work and the first thing that I feel is a pull. Now I’m in COMPLETE panic mode. What if this hurts? What if this process is painful? Like having all my eyelashes plucked out by tweezers? My whole body is so rigid now I feel like I’m planking. Seriously, at one point, I had to reposition my fingers because they were hurting so bad from having them laced together so forcefully. I finally realize that it will not hurt. And that’s when something worse happens.

I fell asleep.

And woke myself up with a snort.

Oh, God. Was I snoring? For how long? Was my mouth open? This isn’t a single person salon, but one shared with another woman and her client. It’s eerily quiet. Were they talking about me? Laughing at me?

She suddenly says, “Done!” and hands me a mirror. There, in the mirror is me. Except I see a camel.

Because I’m my own worst critic. I see Mr. Snuffleupagus.

I make a before and after picture and send it to my best friend to confirm that I’ve made a grave mistake and she calms me down with a single text. Her super power. Then, I start looking at the picture and I notice something good. My hooded eyelids, which have been a nemesis of mine since forever – the extensions have vanquished them. The new eyelashes are holding them back . They no longer hang over my eyelashes like an optical beer belly.

I’m still hyper-aware of them. I feel like people are looking at my eyelashes almost as if I’m wearing the metallic Halloween ones, but I no longer feel like a Muppet, so that’s good.

And I can recommend the process to anyone needing a good nap.

If I ever get my hands on the Tooth Fairy...

I have been a faithful supporter and helper of Santa since I had my first child.  I like working with Santa, he's consistent.  A real stand up guy.  Comes once a year, is always quiet, and always leaves a lovely note for the boys in addition to their favorite gifts.  Great guy, Santa. 

The Tooth Fairy, however, is a real flake. 

Yesterday, Stone came downstairs and proclaimed, "Cade slapped me in the mouth and my loose tooth fell out!"  After understanding the slap was accidental and part of general roughhousing, we rejoiced over the lost tooth, the super cute snaggle-toothed grin, and the impending growth of the piggy bank via the Tooth Fairy.  We put the tooth in a little plastic baggie and he went directly to his room and placed it under his pillow. 

And that's the last time the Tooth Fairy thought of it.  WHY didn't the Tooth Fairy set an alarm?  Or a task on his/her fairy-phone with an audible reminder??? 

This morning, Stone came into our room asking some very tough questions.  Why hadn't the Tooth Fairy taken the tooth?  Was it because it was in a plastic baggie?  Was it because he slept with his head on the opposite side of the bed with his head on a different pillow? 

Chad and I looked at each other with wide eyes that screamed wordless messages of guilt and blame.  Once Stone had exhausted his questions and we had offered lame suggestions as to the Tooth Fairy's flakiness and possible tooth extraction rules and regulations;  we decided to go ahead and fulfill the Tooth Fairy's duties right then and there.  Maybe the Tooth Fairy had been delayed by a polar vortex.  Chad slipped money under Stone's pillow and removed the tooth.  Then he left for work with a casual, "Stone, you might want to double check your pillow before you go to school to make sure the Tooth Fairy wasn't just late."

15 minutes later, Stone's demanding voice was carrying over the shower wall.  "Mom, my tooth is gone and there's money.  Who is doing this?  Did the Tooth Fairy come late?  Did Daddy do this?  I don't understand how the Tooth Fairy works." 

There were more lame suppositions on my part.  Maybe she was confused by the fact that his head wasn't on the pillow?  It CERTAINLY (heavy with over-played drama) wasn't Daddy.  He had left long ago and I had been getting ready the whole time. 

After minutes of this conversation, I finally heard resignation in his little voice.  Then he said, "It's a dollar.  And it's dirty and old.  Does the Tooth Fairy give away old, dirty money?"

I consider myself to be a quick-thinking, creative mom.  I'm rarely stumped by my children.  But, I have to tell you how grateful I was that there was a shower wall hiding my expression at this question.  What kind of Tooth Fairy runs late and gives old, dirty money?

I don't know the answer to this question.  Maybe it's the same Tooth Fairy who once left too much money for a tooth that was swallowed.  Or the one who left money, but couldn't find the tooth without waking up the child, so just left the tooth under the pillow with the money.  Or the one who only ever came to Mom's house and never went to Dad's house (this was a Pearce and Cole phenomenon).  Or the one who once dove to the ground and waited there for what felt like an eternity in order to escape being discovered by a waking light-sleeper... 

Basically, the Tooth Fairy sucks.  Big time.