Tucker’s Kindergarten class hosted the moms for an afternoon called Queen for a Day.
We were invited to bring nail polish, makeup, lotions, and perfumes – all the ingredients for a day at the spa. Relatively speaking.
Sidenote: My fingernails are my greatest vanity. I’ll say this up front to anyone who wants to know. (Although that’s kind of a weird question to ask someone, but still, I hide nothing.) Nobody paints my fingernails except Cindy, and she and I have an appointment every other Wednesday.
Knowing my limits, I took along lotion for a hand massage, and I tossed in a flower for Tuck to sweep into my hair.
We were granted a red carpet entrance, followed by a couple of musical numbers about how moms are for hugging and kissing. And then, the spa treatment.
Sure enough, Tuck swept that flower right up into my hair, working around the decorated paper crown.
He helped himself to an extravagant amount of lotion, and he smeared it on my hands and arms. Then my elbows. Then my upper arms. Then into my armpits.
At which point he encountered one day’s worth of stubble. (I just discovered I don’t like that word.)
“What? What is that?! Mommy! Is that hair? Ew! That’s hair under there!”
“Shh. Shh, Tuck. It’s only a little.”
And as if that weren’t enough, he turned to his friends,
“Dude! You guys! Look at this! My mom has hair under her arms! You should feel this!”
Right. I’m going to let a dozen kindergarten boys investigate.
“Shhh! SHHH! Tucker! Shhh!”
And so, a happy Mother’s Day announcement on behalf of my hairy armpits and slimy – albeit fragrant – arms.