Sending a message?

I remember reading an excerpt from fashion icon Simon Doonan's book in which he discussed growing up with a larger than life fashionista for a mom. He recalls her quest to get her hair as big as possible, and coming to pick him up from school with a fur coat thrown on over a negligee. Potentially devastating to a young boy, but really, how fabulous is that? Many of us remember watching in wonder as our mothers got ready to go out for the evening. The little rituals: the application of lipstick, a spritz of a familiar scent, slipping on some jewelry - all signaled the mysterious rites of womanhood. There was a romance to the ritual of getting ready that made me long to be a woman.
Today, as I quickly applied some mineral powder foundation from a compact, the rear view mirror as my only critic, I pondered what I was teaching Lola. When I told her that I was applying my makeup, she said the word "makeup" for the first time, and I question whether it will hold the same wonder for her as it always has for me. Whenever she catches me applying lipstick in the car, she purses her lips and says "my lips mommy" and I pretend to dab a little on her perfect little pout. She has that girlish fascination with makeup, and with anything that Mommy does. But tonight, I wonder if Lola's earliest impressions of makeup will lack the drama and ritual of my early memories. Will she forever associate getting ready to go out with a hasty swipe of lipstick and an arrangement of hair as we prepare to slip out of the car? I need to make sure I am also sending her an alternate message: that taking care of oneself doesn't always have to be an afterthought, a last minute detail to be rushed through before heading out to face the world. I'd like to show her that it is as essential to our well being as sleeping and breathing, and that it can sometimes be a long, enjoyable ritual as well as a necessity.