Waxing Not So Poetic

Although I try my hardest, the voices in my head are often times more contentious than content. It suddenly seems that my house is too messy, the laundry is piled too high, my bank balance is too low. I hate my hair, my face, my clothes. I get bored of my music and my books. I don't want to leave the house & I hate the thought of staying home.

This kind of discontent usually leads me to some impulsive act that gets the issue out of my system for a while. I clean for a full day, I wear makeup, I order 20 books from the library, I splurge on new CDs. I've been known to shave my head and throw out all my clothes. Usually, my fixes are pretty harmless.

Unfortunately, for all involved, such a time has come upon me as of late.

The main focus of my dissatisfaction has been my hair. Hair, hair everywhere. The hair on my head is frizzy and falling out(happens after every pregnancy). The hair on every other part of my body has grown thick and full(happens during every pregnancy).

I tried to deal with the hair on my head in a rational manner. I paid for a haircut. I'm still not satisfied, but have let it go for now. If my hair is blue or pink or orange next time we meet, you know why!

The hair on my body was another matter. So, I decided it would be a great idea to wax! Now, I've never waxed a centimeter of my body before. Never even considered it. In fact, I have laughed at others for this. Sigh... I should have stuck with that instinct.

I was a bit appalled at the $10 price tag for the waxing kit from Target but I figured, "It'll be soooo easy and last soooo long. It'll be totally worth it!" Wrong, wrong, wrong!

The kids were all happily occupied yesterday morning so I decided the time had come to try it out. I microwaved the wax and snuck off to my bathroom. No sooner had I begun applying the horribly sticky, messy wax to my upper thigh than all 4 children decided they needed me. Of course.

Luckily, I guess, the sight of me on the floor spreading goop all over myself with a stick was enough to distract them from whatever it was they so desperately needed at the moment. But, that meant I had an audience.

Molly offered to help with a wicked gleam in her eye. I declined.

Lydia wanted a complete explanation and judged me. I explained in as teacher-like a way I could manage in such a situation. (Homeschool moment! "Mommy is suffering from low self-esteem. You want to write this down? E-S-T-E-E-M. It means confidence or satisfaction in oneself. Low self-esteem means..." ugh.)

Rowan bounced around the hot, drippy wax and laughed. I set up a perimeter.

Desmond sat happily unaware in his chair. At least I didn't have to answer to him.

My horrible little girls were delighted to realize the pain I was putting myself through as I applied a strip and tore the first patch of fur from my thigh. The shrieks and giggles were enough to make me regret I'd ever started this. But I am not a quitter & I don't like to admit I am wrong, so on I went.

As I neared the area of my leg closer to the crotch, I realized I should have taken my pants off. Yes, I now realize that is pretty obvious. But it didn't say it in the instructions! Ugh... I sure hope this crap comes off my favorite p.j.s in the wash!

So now the pants are off, giving the kids one more thing to laugh about. I complete the front of one leg and start on the back. The back... HOW AM I GOING TO REACH THE BACK?!?! I contort myself into some circus, yoga, pretzel pose and slap on the wax where ever it lands. Then the strip goes on. Sort of. It seems I have not applied the wax in a shape that conforms to my strip. I'll just have to do this quick and keep going before it hardens. I pull the strip as fast as I can and ...nothing. NOTHING! No disgustingly hairy patch on the strip! All the hair is right there on my leg!

Apparently, I have not pulled in the opposite direction of the hairs' growth as the directions have told me to. I realize I am going to have to figure out the direction of the hairs' growth on the back of my legs that has not been given any attention in 16 months. (I know this because my parents paid for me to get a massage 16 months ago and I didn't want to gross the masseuse so I Naired.)

Molly heads to her room to get a little mirror for me. So now I am pretzel-posed holding the waxy stick in one hand and the little mirror in the other. I think I am going to cry. The hair does not go one way. It goes every way!

Now please don't judge me too harshly for this next part. I was desperate. And it was her idea. She offered. Please vouch for me with her therapist when this comes up in the future as one of those horrible memories of her adolescence.

Molly, dear Molly, took pity on me and offered to finish the backs of my legs. Like I said, I was desperate. At that moment it seemed like I was doomed to be a hairy, half-waxed beast until the rest grew back, or take the offer. I hang my head in shame to admit I took the offer.

Thankfully, this did get the whole ordeal over quite quickly. It also gave Molly some insight into a career she would NOT enjoy pursuing!

Finally, much more humbled, much less hairy, I got in the bath to oil myself up. Yeah. I said oil myself up. Wax does not wash off. Wax has to be rubbed with blue oil until it comes off. The blue oil comes in a tiny little bottle, with a tiny little hole, in tiny little drops. I was fed up with that in about 2 seconds. So I reached for a bottle of extra virgin olive oil. In the tub. With all my kids.

As I looked around at all my lovely children, I thought about how much they like to talk and tease and tell amusing stories about Mommy. So I did what any wonderful Mommy like me should do. I threatened, pleaded and swore them all to secrecy. Of course I know that will only last until the first time they see any other person in the world. And I realize the nice, old, surfer-type dude working the cash register at Trader Joe's doesn't read my blog, but this gives me practice. So I am ratting myself out. It just seems better this way.

Sigh...