Polish, Parenthood, and Puppies
Fingernails were not an item I paid much attention to as a kid. Many of the other little girls would come to school with their nails painted. I was much more interested in being a tomboy and playing cowboys and indians.
In about the fourth grade, we had a teacher who kept a chart on each of us and checked different areas every day. One of the areas she emphasized was hygiene, which included checking our fingernails to ensure they were clean and well-shaped. I always received a negative mark in this category. I also chewed my cuticles until they bled. This didn’t add to a nice-looking nail experience.
I didn’t pay much attention to my nails until I started working in the bank. That’s when I decided to try acrylic nails. My own nails were thin. I also had oily nailbeds, which didn’t make a good surface for the polish to adhere to. Before the acrylics, I would use Sally Hanson’s “Hard as Nails” to try to strengthen my nails. It was a clear coat that made the nails look a little better.
The acrylics were fun, and I wore them for at least ten years. I kept them short by today’s standards. I felt more put together when my nails looked nice. The polish stayed on the nails for a good two weeks, so I didn’t have to mess with them all of the time.
After Michael and I were married, I kept the nails on. They looked nice for our wedding. Two years later, our son Matt was born. I had my hands in and out of water, changing diapers, and giving baths. My nails started popping off. I would try to superglue them back on, but after a few times, I got fungus under my nails. Next, we added a new puppy, and I could not keep my nails looking nice. I had them taken off and have had them off ever since.
I looked to my mom as an example when it came to fingernails. She didn’t make a fuss about them until after my sister passed away and my Dad died. Once she was a widow, she treated herself to regular manicures. She loved having her nails painted a bright red. They looked classy. My nieces were shocked to hear that she hadn’t paid much attention to her nails because when they knew her, she always sported great-looking red nails.
When Mom passed away in 2004, she was still wearing her signature red nail polish. A little detail, but one that felt so completely her. Looking back, my nails have told their own story: tomboy scrapes, acrylic ambition, new-mom chaos. But Mom’s red polish reminds me that nails aren’t just decoration; they can be a quiet signature, a little flash of beauty that lingers long after we’re gone.
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