Monday, April 18, 2011

"Face Painting"

Solana went to a birthday party yesterday. The invitation stated that there would be "face painting and cake." I thought, "that's nice of them to warn parents that there would be face painting." At least we could show up with a wash cloth if we were heading straight to dinner or church right after the party." I imagined the face painting would look something like this butterfly we did on all the girls last year at Solana's butterfly party:

But instead I picked her up looking like this:

I really wish I was a better photographer for this or that I had taken the picture straight away. She had red lipstick on and around her lips (to make them bigger). She had fake eyelashes drawn out the sides of her eyes. Black eyeshadow to resemble thick eye liner and purple eyeshadow on the rest of her eye. Seriously, she looked like a 5 year-old street walker.

I was slightly amused because I knew it was just for the birthday party but also slightly apalled. The inspiration came from some dolls I'd never heard of - Monster High. Now, I know that lots of parents find these dolls harmless and absolutely adorable and I'm sure they're both. But I'd honestly much prefer to keep my little girl...well, a little girl. I don't really want her thinking about lipstick and eyeliner at the age of 5. Heck, she doesn't even know who Hannah Montana or Justin Bieber are. That stuff can wait. Totally.

If she's going to reach beyond her maturity level I'd rather it be for something educational. The other day Dave and I smiled as we overheard her singing in her room, "I am! A PA-LE-ANT-OOOOOO-LO-GIST! I am! A PA-LE-ANT-OOOOOO-LOGIST!" That is cool. Hooker makeup...not so much.

Speaking of Dave...he was cracking me up. I think he stared at me wide-eyed for about 10 straight minutes after I brought her home. He was beside himself. And just kept shaking his head. She asked if she could play outside as soon as she got home. "Why don't you go wash up" he suggested. (I knew he just didn't want anyone to see her like that. Hehehe) She thought he meant "wash your hands." We agreed not to say anything to her, though. We didn't want to make her feel bad or self-conscious. After all, it was just a birthday party. And to the mom's credit - Solana came home calling it "face paint" and not "makeup." :-) But still...geesh!


catchupdaphne said...

omg, I totally agree. Couldn't agree more. And your approach at not saying anything is what I would do. They have their whole lives to be grown-ups. Childhood is way more fun. Especially at five years old.

carol anne said...

These Monster Dolls are just like the old Brat Dolls that I hated ~ skimpy dressed big headed hooker dolls -- that were around when Paige was little. I don't even like Barbie for this age... But you know me :)
Solana looks super cute though, even with the big girl make up!
Paige was allowed to wear eyeliner (colors I picked)and lip gloss this year to school. She wore it for about a week and a half and just stopped on her own. A lot of her friends wear a ton of make-up, I am kinda glad to see that my craziness with all of this has paid off a bit.

I probably just jinxed myself... and Paige will start back up and want to wear BLACK eyeliner!

The Hillbergs said...

Holy Cow! Who is her little friend? Wait, let me guess, is it the 5 year old wearing the velvet track suit that says "Hoochy" across her bottom? Have you seen what kids are wearing??? Oh god - I sound like an old lady - but I swear, I just want my kids to be kids until they are at least 8, you know? Good job not making a big deal of it (i'm not so self-controlled) -- and hopefully, when Solana DOES finally get to wear make-up (or face paint as some people apply it as), hopefully she'll have better taste than the Goth look. Just saying...

Anna said... This article completely agrees with you. Parents are the final arbiter of their children's privileges. This is from Samm's mom; she turned out okay, huh :)

Emily & Troy Williams said...

Have you read Tina Fey's "A Prayer for My Daughter"?:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.


Megan B ♥ said...

Oh my goodness! Ha ha ha ha ha! That is so hilarious/awful!! I'm totally with you, my friend. Keep the little girls LITTLE! We don't do any of those kinds of trash dolls. And furthermore, how can you put street walker paint on such a pretty little sweet face? Did you check the rest of her body for tramp stamps? ;)