Older (alternatively: All About Lash Extensions)

lash extensions one week after application

I’m not wearing mascara in this photo. Those are the lash extensions.  And yes, I’m in my car again, where I take all my best selfies.

Before I get started on this post which is (spoiler alert) about a bit of vanity and cosmetic upgrades, can we have a moment?  Can we all take a collective breath and say SHEESH!  This parenting gig can be So. Freaking. Hard.

I mean, how do you know if you are completely screwing it up??  You don’t.  Sigh.

Okay, that’s done.  Thanks, all.  I needed that tonight.  Back to business.

I was going through some old photos searching for a title image for this post, and it forced a little bit of a look at how I am aging.

Wait: before you can roll your eyes: I know.  I know I’m hardly an old bag.  I’m on the back half of my thirties.  I take good (enough) care of myself: work out, eat well (more on this shortly), try to have a hobby or two, that kind of thing.  My big vices — stress and wine, and a good dirty martini on #cocktailthursdays — are definitely high on the “aggravate aging” scale, but one seems inevitable and the others are life’s little pleasures, so there.

Of course, aging is a fact of life.  I mean, you’re aging too.  No offense; this is happening to all of us.  That’s how time works.  But still.  I’m not 24 or even 30 anymore, and the past seven years have been the Rearing Small Children years, which means I am categorically sleep deprived and said stress levels have risen exponentially because now I’m responsible for things like OTHER PEOPLE’S DAILY SURVIVAL.  This takes a wee toll on the ol’ under-eye circles.

So anyway, I’m at that piont where I go out to dinner with my friends and the subject of Botox is, weirdly, totally on the table.  Someone makes a joke about it, and then and we all kind of look around quietly like, Waiiiit, have you done it?  Would you do it? and then it’s all “mommy makeover” this and “varicose veins” that, and…God, we are so hard on ourselves, aren’t we?

A few weeks ago I was packing for ALT (aka, The Trip That Wasn’t), thinking about what to wear to the various evening events, and carefully deciding which makeup should go in my carry-on and what could be checked (after all, we wouldn’t want to risk our suitcase flying halfway across the country and back unaccompanied with our best stuff in it, would we?  oh wait: that happened).  ALT is a little high-pressure on the fashion front (see: fashion bloggers and all things Instagram), and I was feeling a little flat as I packed, thinking about ways to give myself a lift.  Then I came across this post from one of my faaaaavorite bloggers.

And I thought: YES.



Wouldn’t you know there is a lash salon (yes, this is a Thing) just down the street from LittleMan’s school?  I made an appointment.  I was a little wary of coming out of Lashfully looking like a Kardashian, so I went with a half-set (where they extend every other lash instead of every one).  You get to pick your color and the lash length and the look you want (all one length, winged out at the side, etc), and then the gal glues them on.  Lying there with my eyes closed for 45 minutes, John Denver playing (unexpectedly…weirdly?) on the sound system…it was very relaxing, actually.  Nothing to read, no phone to look at.  A little break in the day.

And, how do they look?  Well, I’m sorry but you need to stop reading right now and make yourself an appointment for lash extensions.  That’s how they look.  AWAKE!  ALIVE!  GLAAAAMOROUS!  I scheduled a fill before I even left the salon.

And do you know what I did next?  I ran to Sephora and had a whole consultation (with a girl barely in her twenties, but whatever) about anti-aging skincare regimens, because dammit, if my eyes are gonna look this fresh then the rest of me is too.  (In case you are curious, I bought this and this.  In other words, I’m a total sucker.  But my skin looks great.)

So.  That’s an example of what I think about when I’m not thinking about how parenting is just a nutso business.

I mean, except for this.  (Including this?)


Two crazy kids on one rainy day.

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