Wars and Razors

Lexee came home last night from "the best Mutual activity ever" looking like this:

She had changed her shirt, since it was all wet from running through the sprinklers after the
paint war.

It was a Priest/Laurel activity, so she had been joined at the ankle to a nice young man in our ward.  It doesn't hurt that it was a young man her mother would be happy for her to marry... someday.  (I'm going to get in trouble for writing that, btw.)

And Mauri experienced a first:  shaving her legs.  Before I hear gasps of shock and dismay that I would either encourage or assist my youngest child in growing up way too fast, she STILL has hair on her legs.  They were so darn hairy that we didn't get it all.  I have sworn her to secrecy, so as not to start the gossip going in the 4th grade.  She's begged pleaded asked for several months for me to help her with it.  And she does possess her father's hairy genetic tendencies.  Unlike her big brother, who remained practically hairless until he graduated high school.  And I didn't want her to find some random razor (of which we have plenty around here), and do it herself.  She might end up like I did after my first leg-shaving attempt:  blood flowing like rivers down each leg, eventually morphing into long, dark scabs along the entire length of my shins.  (Yes, I had attempted both legs before realizing that I was using a little too much pressure.)  Embarrassing AND painful.  Hopefully it takes a good long time for that hair to grow back.