Last night, my eight year old said, “Mommy, I’m kind of going through a bit of a phase right now so could you get me a make-up table?”

It should be noted, her make-up collection is far more extensive than my selection of partially melted, then re-formed chapsticks. Glittery, bright, colourful tubes fill large cloth grocery bags or “purses” as she calls them while they lay scattered throughout the house.  She abandons them mid application for a toy she’ll more likely get the okay to play.

“Well, maybe one day there will be a make-up table in this house.”

Hanna: I’m going to spend a lot of time in front of the mirror at the make-up table nodding my head and saying, Um-hmm and stuff like that. It’s not a very nice phase so I’m hoping to get out of it soon. Like when I’m eleven.

That makes two of us.