I went looking for my makeup-removing towelettes this morning. Couldn't find them. Why? Because I have teenagers. This got me thinking about how things have definitely changed since my babies turned into teens. For instance, I remember when I used to be able to go into my makeup bag, locate my eyeliner, put on that eyeliner and then put it back in my makeup bag. Now I can't find my makeup bag. Because, teens.
And when I look in that 10x magnifying mirror at all the dark hair crawling around over my eyes like a caterpillar moving across my forehead, I mourn the loss of my tweezers, which have disappeared into the abyss that is the girls bathroom in my house. Those girls, however, have PERFECTLY plucked eyebrows. Thanks to my tweezers. Wherever they are.
Their nails are perfectly clipped, thanks to my nail clippers. Which I haven't seen in weeks. MY toenails are practically clawing at the ground when I walk because they've gotten so long. But in order to clip them, someone would have to locate my nail clippers. Naturally, NO ONE knows where they are because apparently, I'M the only one in the house that uses them. Their nails are perfectly clipped, but I'M the only one who uses the nail clippers. Whatever.
Scissors? Tape? I buy them new every Christmas. Why? Teens.
I don't bother painting my nails anymore, because why bother? My nail polish remover and cotton balls have mysteriously vanished into thin air. Naturally, no one has seen them. My husband takes pleasure in helping me out by telling me that he never uses the stuff. Thanks honey, you're a huge help.
I've taken to hiding things that I just refuse to part with. My deodorant is now in my sock drawer. Shampoo and conditioner? I hide those in my closet under my shoe rack and take them in when I shower each day. Razor? Underwear drawer. Shaving cream? The garage, where else??
One good thing about being shorter and heavier than my girls: they don't steal my pants. Oh sure, back a few years ago when 17-year-old was a freshman and I was 30 lbs. lighter, I attended her band concert and asked my husband what pants she had on (I could see her white socks like she was Michael Jackson without the glove) and he told me they were mine. She was wearing my size 6 pants. Sure, she was too tall for them (hence the white socks showing), but they fit her. See? Maybe there IS an upside to being short and heavy. That's my new story and I'm sticking with it. So pass me another doughnut.
Yep, I remember back when I could find things, like money in my wallet, food in my pantry, quiet in my house and the ever-important thing to find: my sanity. But alas, those days are gone. They've been replaced by teenagers.
This post originally appeared on the blog Snarkfest.