Hair and make-up a big production
WELL, it's almost the end of the school year and we've been flat out with end-of-year activities.
There have been assemblies, concerts and other shows to attend and fortunately I've been able to make it to most of them.
As a working mum, there's nothing more distressing than having to miss out on these exciting things.
Consequently, my children are always excited when I can be there.
My daughter started ballet this year and has loved every moment of it.
I was certainly no dancer when I was younger. In fact, I was quite possibly the most uncoordinated child you could ever meet.
Sport wasn't quite my thing and frolicking around in front of the mirror was as close as I got to dance class.
Fortunately my children have inherited some kind of co-ordination gene throwback and are much better than their mother.
Anyway, this week was the big end-of-year ballet show.
We mums were given instructions on the hair and make-up requirements a few weeks ago.
Pretty standard ballet essentials like red lipstick, blush, mascara and a bun on the crown of their heads. Fairly easy... I thought.
Now I'm sure I've mentioned before just how thick and wavy my daughter's hair is.
She refuses to get it cut, so it flows all the way down to the bottom of her back.
Every day is a mission impossible to tie it back for school, so putting it into a ballet bun was going to be more like a die hard struggle.
I try to put a bun in her hair for classes each week, but it generally falls out by the time she gets out of the car. Of course, I wanted her hair to be perfect for the show, so this one had to stay put.
Shrieks could be heard across the neighbourhood once more as I brushed out the knots and attempted to make a ponytail at the top of her head.
One thousand and fifty two bobby pins were used to secure the bun and a can of hair spray was required to stick it all down.
Then came the make-up.
Now I'm no make-up artist, but I manage to get my own face looking presentable on special occasions, so didn't expect this task to be so difficult for me.
I learnt that putting make-up on my daughter's face is much harder than applying it to my own.
Eight year olds don't like to sit still. She ended up getting poked in the eye twice and fortunately the lipstick on her teeth could be easily wiped off.
At the show, I got a good seat - that is until "The BFG" sat down in front of me.
I'm 1.55m, so basically everyone is a giant to me, but this man was tall, very tall. I eventually managed to angle my head to see the stage, so all was not lost.
I couldn't stop smiling at each one of the little dancers as they came out. Fortunately I didn't stick my hand up to help with hair and make-up back stage, or they whole thing might have been a disaster!
My ballerina came out looking stunning and danced beautifully.
She didn't trip or give up half way though, like a certain someone else would have done either.
Then I got that lump in my throat, you know the one I mean.
It's when motherhood pride rises giving you that wiggly feeling, just enough to fill your eyes with tears of joy.
Or in my case, the joy in knowing my child hasn't inherited my lack of co-ordination.