Today, I showed my mom how to do her makeup.
That sentence is a strange thing to type. And if your mind went to dementia, I get it. I’ve had a close family member battle it, but this is a different story entirely.
See, growing up, my mom never taught me to do makeup because she never really wore any. She was – and still is – one of the most naturally beautiful humans I’ve ever seen with my two eyes. Growing up, I remember random eyeshadow palettes here and there, but nothing else, especially not the case of cosmetics that most women have these days: foundations and concealers and powders and bronzers and blushes and shadows and liners and mascaras and lipsticks and lipliners and highlighters and sprays and serums and toners and … well, you get the idea.
I want to be really clear about something up front: no one needs to wear makeup. In fact, I’d advocate that you should only wear it if you want to {or your job requires it, as my career as a TV journalist did for 23 years}. But Mom turned 61 this year and I noticed a recent development of eyeliner – just eyeliner – on her lower lash line. This was new.
When Mom came to visit this past week, a few different emotional hits {RIP to the legendary Bella the Zombie Cat, whose story is coming, I promise} sort of thrust us into deep talks. About life. About growing up. About parenting. About aging. And even about makeup. I can’t remember exactly how it came up, but we were chatting about self-care and somehow we decided on a trip to Ulta.
We started simple: I bought Mom her first-ever eyelash curler. We worked with an associate to find the perfect there-but-barely foundation. I explained how you should always look on the opposite side of the color wheel to find the right eyeshadow and eyeliner colors for your eyes. We bought mascaras and a few brushes. Oh, and a tiny makeup bag for her tiny haul.
She was so excited to get home and open the packages she’d collected, storing them all in her new bag. A few days later, just hours before I was supposed to drive her to the airport, she reminded me: “You have to show me how to do my makeup.” So that’s what I did with the help of my 19-year-old daughter. I showed her what each item was, what it did and how to use it in the very simple routine we started her on: how to apply light foundation and buff it with a brush, how to use an eyelash curler, how to apply the mascara {I’m a two-mascara girlie and now so is mom} and how to apply, then smudge out eyeliner on her lash line. It took minutes and the smile on her face afterward is something I’m going to remember for a long time.
My mom was beautiful before the makeup and she was beautiful in the makeup, but the most beautiful part of it all was sharing this wonderful, somewhat delayed, moment of girlhood with the woman who raised me. And now, when she chooses, she knows how to make her gorgeous hazel eyes {the same ones she gave me} sparkle even more than they already do.
