Morning. Eldest child is rifling through my make-up drawer.
“What’s this, Mummy?”
“It’s an eyebrow pencil.”
He puts down the pencil, closes the drawer.
Afternoon. Eldest child is drawing a picture of his brother.
“Mummy, can I have the special pencil?”
“The one we use for drawing eyebrows.”
I give him my redundant eyebrow pencil. I’ve moved on to wax and powder these days. He sketches messy, over-defined brows, just like Mummy does.
“Now can I have the special pencil we use for noses?”
“We don’t have nose pencils.”
“No, we don’t.”
I don’t want to disappoint him, though.
“I could give you a special pencil for the edge of the lips, perhaps to also fill them if you want a base for lipstick. I’ve also got a pencil for around the eyes. Be careful, though, you mustn’t leave a gap between the line you draw and the start of the lashes. I think that’s all the pencils I have. But I have a lot of brushes.”
He is quiet. Pushes hard at the eyebrow pencil nub, stubs it in on itself.
“No, it’s okay, Mummy. I’ll just use the normal crayons.”
Sometimes I think, so will I.