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I have two girls.  Which means, nothing of mine is sacred.  Lotion, the girlies just have to smell like mom.  Same goes for any body spray, perfume, shower gel, etc.  High heels are fair game.  My make-up box is a small gift from God, like manna rained down from the heavens. 

“Mama, can I have a snack?” Allie asks. 

“Did you finish your lunch?”

“Yes!” she replies excitedly.  I rarely turn down a snack request if meals have been finished. 

“Wait a minute!”  I take a closer look at my four year old.  “Did you bump your head on something?  Is your eyebrow red?”  I grab her face in my hands, get my face one quarter inch from her eyebrow, and examine her.  “It looks like a scratch!  Did you hit yourself somewhere?” 

She confused.  She’s looking at me as if my time in a home may come sooner rather than later.  “Nooo….” she says carefully, with a tone you might use to someone unstable that you don’t want to set off.  She disappears. 

I don’t really think twice about it.  My girls are always doing their best to destroy the beautiful face God gave them.  Preferrably in as little time as possible.  If she’s not in any pain, and can’t even remember doing it, odds are it’s not fatal. 

She reappears.  This time, with a little red pencil, tip dulled.  She doesn’t even look ashamed. 

“Maybe it’s THIS!” she announces.  I retrieve the pencil from her hand, thinking, Dear God, did she try to take out her own eye with one of her sister’s colored pencils?  Where is her survival instinct?! 

“Lip pencil,” I read aloud off the side.  I glance up at her, at her eyebrow, thinking, Yup.  That’s lip pencil, alright.

“I find this in your make-up box.  And I want to use it, but I don’t know where on my body it goes.” 

The moral of the story?  When your kids get a hold of your make up, you have no idea where they’ve used it.  It’s best to throw the whole thing out and get a new one. 

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