Over the years, I’ve been forced to do crazy things that go completely against my nature on behalf of my kids. Most of them involve varying levels of crafting, a word that never even used to be in my vocabulary. I’ve sewn costumes on the sewing machine, stabbed myself trying to get merit badges attached to sashes, burned myself on hot glue, and the list goes on and on. Next up, trying to put makeup on my girl child.

It probably won’t come as a shock that I’m not terribly into wearing makeup. For one thing, if I have the choice between five minutes of sleep and five minutes of anything else, sleep will almost always win out. I’ve tried picking it up over the years. I mean, I own enough to “get a little dressed up” for weddings, at which time everyone tries to figure out why I look different. (I let them think I’ve lost weight.)

A few years ago, I had to apply E’s makeup for her dance recital. She was little enough that I could get away with a swipe of lipstick and a dab of eye shadow. Then, when A got into drama and acting, I had to learn how to do more basic stage makeup. For guys, this isn’t much: a little foundation to even him out, and a few dabs to darken his eyebrows and make his eyes stand out a little more. The hilarious part was when he came to me assuming I would know something about how to do it, and we both had to watch YouTube videos to educate ourselves.

Now, E and I have been going through some major girly rites of passage lately. It started with the shaving. Now, I finally remembered to pick up some “safety” type razors, and shave gel, and I had them stashed away for when we had the time to sit down and learn how to use them properly. A few weeks later, I remembered I had them, and asked her if she wanted to try them out. She rolled her eyes at me, lifted up her arm, and informed me that she’s figured it out herself just fine. That was a bullet I appreciated dodging.

Next up was going shopping for a semiformal dress. We needed two of them: one medium fancy, and one just a hair fancier for her first Christmas “party.” One of the things I will be always be a little bit angry about losing is the last year of E being able to wear “kids” clothes. The poor girl has been wearing the oddest combination of clothing as I try to guess her new sizes in junior and women’s.

Heading into the mall and assorted dress stores was going to be a challenge to begin with just to figure out what size she was, and then I had to deal with the daunting task of finding the right combination of fitting her, while maintaining age appropriateness. I started looking at the hot glue gun and the sewing machine longingly. They seemed like an easier fix to the matter at hand.

The first store we hit had a dress that was wildly inappropriate on top, but hit just the right notes on the bottom. I got hopeful when I happened on a dressy little cardigan which would tastefully cover up the top, and then got sucker punched, when the thing was way too small, and actually managed to make the whole package worse. E was pretty bummed out, too. I was getting the feeling it would be a long day. So, color me stunned when we stopped in the next store, and almost immediately found four dresses that checked all the boxes. The slightly less formal one turned out to be really cute, and when she slipped into the longer, more formal one, she did a little spin and pronounced the flowy skirt to have just the right amount of “spinnies.” She’s not 3 anymore, but for just a second, there was a glimpse of my little girl who loved her spinny dresses.

Even better was that both dresses worked with a pair of simple, low-heeled black pumps, and with the addition of a pair of dark tights, our work was done. This is probably why I was entirely too optimistic going into the whole makeup thing. Finding two dresses in one store on the second try was akin to climbing Everest. Everything else would be easy. E needed “crazy makeup” done for her stage performance. She was supposed to be a brightly colored fish, with makeup to match. She needed mascara, eyeliner, glitter, the whole shebang.

Since I don’t wear eyeliner for the simple reason that putting anything remotely resembling a sharp stick near my eyeball doesn’t sit well with me, I was squeamish even trying to put hers on. I thought by getting liquid liner, I could avoid that. Liquid liner is just GREAT when it drips into a kid’s eye.

Next up was the mascara. Unfortunately, all the good lashes in the family went to A, and E is stuck with my puny ones. I was sure I’d put about five coats on, but I still could barely see her lashes. So, I put about five more coats on. Even though I couldn’t see them on her lashes, they showed right up on her cheek when she blinked. Cleaning up that mess made her look like she’s just cleaned a chimney. When I screamed for more makeup removing wipes, I was smartly informed by A that I’d already gone through two packs. Trying to put eye makeup on someone who is crying buckets because you’ve just stabbed her eye with a mascara wand takes the cake on things that I can’t even believe I’ve tried to do for my kids.

After two days of trying to make things work, for the final performance, I threw in the towel, went to the store, and bought anything that looked simple and colorful. E was then so distracted by all the pretty colors and possibilities, that she sat relatively still and cooperated, and in no time, she looked like a little glittery rainbow fish. Still, the whole thing was traumatizing enough for her that she boldly announced that she was never wearing that junk again. She’ll have no arguments from me, and I can’t wait to break the news that she’ll be getting five more minutes of sleep every day for the rest of her life!

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.