6:45 am: Wake up exhausted. Dr. K says he’s never seen me stay up past 1:00 am this many nights in a row. I am passionate about the blog — or totally off my rocker. Either way, I’m going to crash soon. Wait-ing game.
7:06 am: I snoozed. Twice. I sweep a brush through my hair. Yippee, the oil has returned since yesterday’s wash. Cornstarch is my new best friend. I keep a jar by my sink and sprinkle it on my brush, scalp, ends…. It’s zip-a-dee-doo-dah awesome to start each morning looking like Cruella De Vil.
7:11 am: I choose Honey Lemon Face Cleanser and follow up with Lavender Sugar Scrub. Toner is Witch Hazel or Basic Chamomile Toner. Then it’s Brown Sugar Vanilla Body Scrub in the shower. I am glowing from excess oil.
Dr. K thinks it’s suspicious that I only use the cosmetics that taste the best. I say, hell, if it’s not going work anyway, might as well satisfy a sugar craving.
From there, it’s all downhill. Instead of refreshing and calming, my Rosemary Coconut Vitamin E eye cream is congesting and blemish-inducing. I swear it’s clogging the crap out of my pores. I could just rub Little C’s leftover French fries under my eyes with the same results.
As for the rest of my face, if I have to apply one more stir-fry-oil-combo disguised as serum I am going to go bonkers. Sesame, sunflower and grape seed oil as anti-aging potion for sensitive skin? Really? Oh, that must explain the breakouts that I NEVER HAD WHEN I USED ALL THOSE TOXIC EXPENSIVE CHEMICALS ON MY FACE!
This can only mean one thing.
It’s time to cook.
So far, all my concoctions have involved some blend of vegetable oils (grape seed, olive, coconut, jojoba etc.), butters (shea, cocoa), breakfast cereals (coconut flakes, oatmeal) and thickeners (corn starch). Sometimes I add an essential oil (concentrated stinky stuff like tea tree, ylang ylang, lavender, geranium…). Other times I throw in fruit, dairy products, condiments or veggies (banana yogurt honey mask). No major science involved.
Until today. I have to “emulsify”: mix water into an oil phase (cream), or oil into a water phase (lotion). Goal: ingredients blend permanently. Not making Newman’s Own Balsamic Vinaigrette here. Thus the two double boilers, candy thermometer, numerous utensils, bowls, emulsifiers and thickening agents. OMG. Where’s Walter White when you need him? I am in so much trouble.
Beeswax Facial Cream from Natural Beauty Alchemy.
Alchemy: “a seemingly magical process of transformation, creation, or combination that is concerned particularly with attempts to convert base metals into gold or to find a universal elixir.”
Think I need a bigger pot.
Turns out what I do need are bigger muscles. Beeswax is a total bitch to grate. I hack off a piece of flesh in the process, but after a quick look-see through the mound of shavings, I don’t spot human remains. Guess I kind of blew the whole sanitation aspect of this experiment. Oh well, I will only rub this cream on my face.
I melt the wax, add vitamin E and grape seed oil. Easy peasy. I heat up rose water in a separate double boiler. I hate roses. They smell like a funeral parlour, but I haven’t made another floral water so I am stuck. Both phases must reach 175 degrees F. I pass my candy thermometer from one bowl to the other. Too delicate to mess around with oven mitts, I add steam burn to my list of injuries.
Time to add the water to the wax. Moment of truth. I whisk vigorously and watch as I make CREAM! Holy shit! I jump up and down yelling:
“I made cream! I made cream! Mommy made cream!”
My kids run into the kitchen both terrified and awestruck, as they gaze at the crazy-ass woman who has replaced their mother.
As it cools I add foul-smelling essential oils (rosemary to preserve and peppermint for fragrance) and transfer it to a sanitized (rubbing-alcohol smeared) jar.
My Basic Cream isn’t quite as successful and ends up looking like a cross between banana jello and vanilla pudding, and smells like lemons. The water and oil separate when I test it on my hands, resulting in something that looks like it washed up on a beach.
FYI: Beeswax does not wash off. Anything.
11:13 pm: Exhausted (didn’t this entry start that way?) I head upstairs with my meager supplies. The beeswax balm is not quite the bomb. It’s more like industrial caulking. I rub it on my feet. The second cream miraculously transforms into an emulsion but it’s not going anywhere near my face. I use it on my hands. Both stink. I lie in the dark, asphyxiating and imagining Dr. K’s reaction when he comes to bed.
Ten minutes later, he tramps into the room, his usual light-footed self. I pretend to sleep. He burrows into bed and sniffs the air like a hound, then mutters under his breath.
“Fucking reeks in here.”
I burst into laughter, press my feet against his leg and ask:
“But don’t my feet feel soft?”
Like he could answer any other way.