Last night before bedtime, Tyler—peering critically at my face—wrinkled his nose and said:
"Mom... you have gray hairs in your eyebrows."
Daily reminder from a Teenager that I am the Aging Mother of a Teenager: Check.
Because I'm so mature, I reply:
"At least I have TWO eyebrows... unlike some people in this room." We're the only humans around for miles.
"Whattaya mean?" he protests. "I have two eyebrows!"
Actually, he's right. No son of mine would leave the house rockin' a uni, especially considering the epic (harrowing? cautionary?) tale of my own eyebrows.
Oh, the stories I could tell. The hours I spent sitting on the floor in front of my mother, who had three different pairs of tweezers and the intensity of a renegade paratrooper... the pictures of me in college when I rebelled and refused to pluck them for two solid years.
HOR. IF. ICK.
Anyway, T's brows are indeed still plural—but lately I have noticed a general increase in their volume. Based on personal experience, my instinct was to think "growing together." But that's not the case at all.
Now it's my turn to peer at him, wrinkle my nose, and say:
"Wow... actually, Ty, your eyebrows are getting pretty... uh... tall."
And it's true—those eyebrows are gaining some serious altitude on that forehead of his. In fact, upon closer inspection it would be more accurate to use the term "bushy-to-the-point-of-resembling-fur"—but I love my kid to pieces, and Lord knows adolescence is hard enough without your mother sucker-punching you in the Self Esteem. So I stick with tall. (And pray, daily and fervently, that he never never EVER reads my blog.)
"Did you know your eyebrows had gotten that... tall?"
"Yeah, I guess. I don't know. Did you know your eyebrows had so many gray hairs?"
Silly boy. "Oh, yeah. I color over them every day with an eyebrow pencil."
"Yep." Glancing at his forehead, I add: "I'm an expert at eyebrows. I can fix any problem that has to do with eyebrows."
We both stand there. I'm half hoping he takes me up on my offer. He doesn't.
I want to push the issue... I want to thin those suckers out right there on the spot... but while I know exactly what to do with bushy eyebrows on a 13-year-old girl (thank you, Renegade Paratrooper), I'm not sure the same protocol applies to a 13-year-old boy. So I drop it.
And then I finish shaving his upper lip with the electric razor—which is what we've been doing the whole time.
"There ya go, bud. You're all set."
Once a week he asks me to shave his moustache (don't get me started)... because he's not ready to do it himself. I'm happy to oblige, because I know it's one of the few "Mom-I-need-you" things left between us. And because I know it won't last much longer.
And because I know those things, I'd never ruin a perfectly good shave (moment) with talk of tall eyebrows.
"Thanks, Mom... you did a good job."
I sure hope so.