Painting My Face

I’ve loved makeup for as long as I can remember.
I used to dig into my mom’s Amway stash when I was little (remember Amway makeup? Anyone? Blue compacts??)
I’d ask for the peel-off nail polish for my birthday, Barbie makeup kits for Christmas.
I begged and begged to be allowed to wear makeup in middle school.
Finally, in seventh grade, I was allowed clear mascara (whoot!) and green eyeliner. Because, you know, green accents brown eyes.

I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

Then in high school I was allowed a translucent face powder compact, a little more eye makeup, and brown mascara (never mind that my eyelashes have been black since birth- brown wasn’t as harsh apparently.)

Once I hit the pageant circuit my sophomore year, I entered into a whole new arena of makeup. Pancake foundation, thick liner, lipstick with liner, black mascara, brow pencils, concealer. I learned so many tricks and tips to really accentuating my eyes and lips for the stage. I managed to figure how to wear my makeup in the real world using those tips and tricks but with a lighter hand. I’d easily spend 30-40 minutes just making up my face for a regular day, never mind a competition. Every shadow was blended, every line smooth. If not, I’d wipe it off and start over.

Oh my. How things have changed.

With a baby, I barely have two minutes to myself, let alone 30 to make myself up.

I had sort of resigned myself to being sans makeup until little miss goes to kindergarten. And some days being sans makeup is ok. Makeup free days are liberating actually.

But then there are days I want to feel just a little more polished. A little less like I’m carrying all the baggage in the world under my eyes (seriously, how do I get this twitch under my eye covered up??) But my routine has to be fast and practiced. I don’t have time to mess around with multiple steps.

Brow shadow, concealer, mascara, and tinted moisturizer. Those are must-haves for my basic face. When I’m feeling fancy and reckless, I opt to smudge on one or two of Maybelline’s Eye Studio Color Tattoo colors. Check this out:


This is pink, obviously.  Smudged into my crease, I actually look halfway alive.  With Barely Branded on my lid and on my brow bone, my eyes are done for a daytime look. I can brush in a little dark gray (MAC Print is my fave) into my crease for a little drama (if I have the time which is almost never.)

I love these little pots.  The colors really do stay on for 24 hours and NO creasing whatsoever.  This is huge because at $5.99 a pot, I can stock up to my heart’s content.  My eyelids tend to crease very easily with regular shadow.  I can layer shadows over these and the color just stays and stays. I’d compare these to MAC’s paints and say these are better ONLY because of the price (I heart MAC but at $15+ per tiny tube, I buy on very rare occasions and use very sparingly.) Maybelline’s Color Tattoo products are very comparable in texture and staying power.

And this tired teacher definitely needs inexpensive, quick applying, long lasting makeup.

**Maybelline and MAC Cosmetics have no idea who I am.  All opinions stated and products reviewed are my own and no one compensated me for anything. 

Why I Stopped Following Fitness Blogs

Every time I go to the grocery store, I’m constantly looking for the best deal. Asparagus is $6 a bunch? Not the best deal. Spaghetti squash is $.49/lb? Best deal. Bananas are $.59/lb? Best deal.

Then I go online to find a new top or pair of pants and the comparison shopping continues. The Gap has a coupon but JCrew has my favorite. I get a teacher discount with JCrew but only in person or over the phone (I loathe ordering anything over the phone.) Carter’s is having a blowout doorbuster sale – better stock up on onesies for little miss. Pottery Barn Kids still doesn’t have that organizer on sale – keep waiting.

When I was pregnant, I used to compare myself to other pregnant women via social media.

Oh she’s 16 weeks too? But she’s not showing like I am. It must be fat in my belly.

Wow, look at her at 22 weeks. Barely a basketball. Mine could go through a hoop right now.

35 weeks? Really? I can hardly tell. But I am already being asked daily when I’m going to pop.

For the last six months, I’ve compared myself to other post-partum moms. Again with the belly. Hers is flatter or bigger or still there – unlike or just like mine.

The fitness IG accounts are the worst, in my opinion, for deflating a new mom, along with blogs of women that have two or three kids in tow as they do yoga on the beach, run around the block several thousand times, and/or work out in their driveways. I find myself constantly down about not being the active fit mom. For not being up at 4:30am to go to the gym every morning like I used to last year. For not having flat abs once again. For letting my thigh muscles wane.  For having jiggle where there wasn’t before.  For weighing less than I did pre-pregnancy but my clothes still don’t fit right. For having breasts that feed and don’t fit into a sports bra comfortably. For not picking up the five pound weights in between little miss’ wakefulness and working my biceps. And definitely for not having that flat belly back by the six week post partum mark.

At six months I should definitely have made some kind of progress in the fitness department. I mean come on! What else do I have to do all day long when I’m not working at school?

Never mind that little miss is back to waking every two hours at night. Never mind that breastfeeding is still working so I’m her midnight (and 2am and 4am) food source. Never mind that she’s not napping again so I’m trying to get her down by nursing, putting her in the swing, laying her in her crib, taking a car ride, wearing her in the Ergo pack, laying down with her. All in the same day. Never mind that there are loads of laundry to do, dinner to maybe think about never mind fix, vacuuming to be done, animals to take care of, and beds to be remade.

But I don’t have time to sit here and feel bad about myself for not looking like a fitness model or not doing burpees while little miss naps. She doesn’t nap, burps hurt my wrists, and I never looked like a fitness model anyway.