Aboriginal Glow & Mascara Eye Jabs

Move aside, ole Mary Kay, because the Squirrels have discovered a deep affinity for makeup!

It may have started with our K family summer vacation where Rachel and Kate tortured poor Erin with subtle colors like hot pink and purple:

Or perhaps it was Lena's rampant makeover binge at Christmas this year, after which she would cross her arms, step back thoughtfully, and say "My work here is done!":

But whatever (or whoever) the culprit, the Squirrels are vastly in love with makeup experimentation.  Armed with new Caboodles (ah...fond memories of the '80s), no one is safe:

So what did the Squirrels want to spend their Walmart gift cards from Dale & Candy K on but MAKEUP!  And not just any makeup but a multi-layered, retina-burning display of colored powders, blushes, eye shadows, and lip glosses:

I talked Kate out of the purple glitter mascara but she was definitely determined that WHATEVER makeup kit she bought at her favorite store (Claire's...motto:  lots of overpriced crappola that is guaranteed to break upon usage), it HAD to include mascara.  She is a bit of a disaster trying to apply the stuff.  It winds up under her eyes, on her eyelids, and once on her chin (not sure what happened there) not to mention the more-often-than-not eye jab that leaves her whimpering.  BEAUTY IS PAINFUL! 

Eli, on the other hand, has a unique method of applying powder (pat, pat...rrruuuuubbbb all around with her hand).  And the sad news is that most generic makeup kits are made for the vanilla crowd, not my beautiful chocolate Squirrels, so Eli ends up having a faint Aboriginal glow to her after multiple applications.  Who am I to judge?  I tried to accomplish a "smoky eye" on myself and wound up looking like I just stepped out of the boxing ring after three rounds.

Why do I allow such chaos?  See for yourself:

That's right...at least a 30-second interval of absolute silence in my day and it all comes off with a good washing.  PRICELESS...even if they bawl when I won't let them go out of the house looking like hookers who fell face-first into a Crayola vat.  Mother of the Year, here I come!  Where is my crown and sash?