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I’ve developed an obsession with eyelashes. You know – like the kind of obsession you had in high school with Sun In. That obsessed.

It started a few years ago when I was at one of those baby play classes with my youngest son. I would have been 100% focused on interacting with him so he could glean every ounce of enrichment from the class – but you can’t overestimate the importance of independent play. So that freed up my time to notice this girl who had awesome eyelashes.

I wanted her eyelashes.

Of course, I immediately befriended/interrogated her.  Turns out, the lashes were fake and fabulous.



I immediately committed myself to focusing more on my eyelashes. I mean, my family too. But also my eyelashes.

I first tried the Younique transplanting gel and natural fibers. Because suddenly everyone was selling this product. It was the Stella & Dot of the makeup world.

And Younique really does add major volume. You just put on the gel as if it’s mascara. Then apply the natural fibers with a different wand and then use the gel one more time.

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But this (like mascara) is temporary.  So next, I decided to first try one of those eyelash conditioners like Revitalash that make your eyelashes grow.

My sister-in-law was suddenly sporting amazing eyelashes and she said she was using one of these eyelash conditioners. And you know what? It worked. So if my sister-in-law ever tells you to buy something (eyelash conditioner, stocks, subprime mortgages, whatever), buy it.

But then I ran out of the eye conditioner.  And I forgot to buy more. And well, pretty quickly I had the same lame eyelashes as before.

Finally, I decided to really give this fake eyelashes thing a go. I booked an appointment at a salon and learned that it would take two hours to apply the eyelashes. Okay, that seemed lengthy but YOLO baby, YOLO. (I’ll wait while my mom googles YOLO.)

I showed up for my appointment and half way through the first eye, I asked the woman, “How long have you been doing this?”

And she said, “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks at THIS salon?” I said, hopefully.

“Nope! I just got trained. This is my second week applying eyelashes.”

If there was ever a time to use, OMG, this was it. So OMG.

After the first eye was completed, I took a look.


Hmm…. I don’t think so. I immediately brought up a friend’s Facebook page. This! This is what I’m looking for…


Super glam, right?

I very very very nicely told the eyelash woman that my look wasn’t quite what I was going for, had her remove the eyelashes, tipped her and left.

I’m not giving up.

I may try fake eyelashes again. Can you train children to put these on? I’m looking into it.


Turns out my kids love sleep away camp! But they are very subtle about it. Like last week I got this letter from my 9 year old daughter…

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The circus activities are fun! Fantastic! Tell me more…

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The kids in the “green shirts” are day campers who get to go home at night.

And clearly she’s begging us to let her come home. But I’m also reading between the lines and I think she’s saying… I LOVE THIS CAMP!!!

Above view of young children standing together in the park with handsclasp

Anyway, this is one of those 3 week camps, where the kids come home on the weekends. Never heard of it? I’ll tell you why. Because no one is looking for their kids to come home on the weekends!

As soon as my 9 year old daughter got home, she totally defected. She insisted she wasn’t going back. And frankly, we didn’t make her.

Because she’s 9. And summer is supposed to be fun, not agonizing.  And most importantly, because they had a pretty generous refund policy.

I still have one kid at sleep away camp.

Who I’m just going to assume is having the BEST TIME EVER!! (Please don’t tell me otherwise.)


I dropped my older girls at sleep away camp. “I can’t believe I won’t see you guys for 7 weeks!”

“Mom, it’s only 3 weeks. And we come home on the weekends.”

“Is that the camp we chose?! Huh. Okay, well, I’m still sad. What am I going to do with myself?”

Well, you have three other kids, a part time job and you’re going up north for the week.”

“Wow. It’s a wonder I even had time to drop you at camp!”

I brought my 11 year old to her bunk and then got my 9 year old settled in hers. I kissed her goodbye. Her eyes filled with tears. Which of course made my eyes fill with tears. She looked at the room of girls she didn’t know yet. And she pleaded with me to stay just a little bit longer.

I did.

And then it was time. The counselor was herding them out the door to start a full day of activities. They’re in the circus program which I’m reasonably sure doesn’t involve lions or anything. But I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the camp emails all that thoroughly.

Wear sunscreen, I beg, as a I back out the door.

Don’t borrow anyone’s hair stuff no matter how amazing it is!

Miss me so much but not too much but just enough so that you are missing me but having fun while you’re missing me.

Don’t forget to write today so we’ll actually get it before you’re home for the weekend.

You have to reapply the sunscreen! Not just put it on once and then forget about it. This is Florida. Please remember!!

And then it’s really time.

I say goodbye and walk back to my car.

When you have a baby, you can never get a breath. But then those babies grow and you start to realize, parenthood isn’t about saying hello. Not at all. It’s really about saying goodbye. For preschool, for camp, for school, for a sleepover, for college.

Letting kids go when they are ready to go.

Even if it’s just for five days until they’re home again.

My 6 year old has been sobbing for days. She didn’t want her big sisters to leave.

But I promised her, soon we will be saying hello.



This past year my 3rd grader made her first best friend. She’s had close friends before but this was her first “I must talk to you all the time and after we hang up, I call you right back because there is one more really important thing I need to tell you.”

The kind of friend where you absolutely buy one of those heart necklaces that say BFF and each friend wears a half of the heart.

To read the rest of this post, please click on over to Alpha Mom


It’s camp time. Camp is awesome. Mostly because I’ve never had a kid come home from camp and say, “I have a book report on the monkey bars and dodge ball due tomorrow” or “I have an exam in hanging out and playing with my friends that I haven’t yet studied for and I also need to build a diorama tonight.”

The pressure is off. I really only care about 4 things when it comes to camp.

  1. Cost. (I like cheap.)
  2. No technology. (Because if my kid is going to stare at an iPhone all day, I can do that at home for even cheaper!)
  3. Sunscreen. (It needs to be applied. At some point. Before camp is over.)
  4. Lice. (I don’t want it. My kids don’t want it. If you’ve ever hit rock bottom in your life, lice will actually take you lower. Way lower.)

My kid did once get lice at camp. I’m sure the fact that she was wearing every other girls’ headband, hat, hairbands, barrettes and bows had a little something to do with it.

And if regular old lice isn’t depressing enough, now there is apparently super lice which is sadly not super at all. In fact, the idea of it can make a parent who is about to send their kid off to camp very panicky indeed.

Which is why I partnered with Vamousse. If your kid picks up these pesky critters at camp, Vamousse lice treatment kills lice and eggs in one 15 minute treatment, is non toxic (which is very important to me) and is effective on pesticide resistant super lice. And the mousse is super easy to apply…

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And a lice free kid is a happy kid.

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Vamousse also has a daily non toxic shampoo that defends against lice when used for 10-14 days following a potential exposure. So seriously, skip your kid’s regular daily shampoo and throw Vamousse lice defense in their sleep-away bag this summer.


And don’t forget to give your kids a lice check before they head off to camp. Since lice can be present way before they start itching.

And now I feel itchy.

And you feel itchy.

But hopefully our kids won’t be itchy this summer.

This post is sponsored by Vamousse. All ideas are my own.

kelcey kintner