Fashion misfire.

If the front door is open, Grace will dash through it. Rarely, however, will she do so without first putting on shoes. I was a barefoot country girl, so I'm a little disappointed by this, but what can you do?


Note the loafers. Combined with the jammies, I couldn't help but laugh. I know she was thinking, "You take Brady out in your underwear, Mom."

Still growing.

About a month ago, I realized Grace had outgrown all of her clothes, including shoes, in what seemed like a few days. I hit the mall and did the best I could, and she seems okay with what I picked out. We still tussle over actual outfits, however, mostly due to the change in weather. She wants to pair a flowered tank with plaid shorts and Crocs when it's fifty degrees and raining, insisting she'll be fine with her rain coat and orange fishing hat. And sunglasses. I've tried asking her to pick out a pair of pants — no, not SHORTS, not a SKORT, PANTS — and then I give her a choice of tops that I think match. It almost never works. She will dig to the bottom of her shirt drawer and pull out the most ridiculously wrong thing, then fight like crazy to put it on, "...ALL BY MYSELF!" This is going to be so much fun when I start my job.

Coupla things...

First, I want to share this dooce.com post, because it perfectly articulates how I feel about this election year. And I have intentionally kept my head as far up my ass as possible to avoid hearing anything that will cause me even more despair than I already feel about politics in this country, but a girl can ignore only so much.

Also, I've been thinking a lot lately about finding joy in the little moments when life takes a U-turn and becomes more stressful than enjoyable. And it's so much easier to do than I imagined. Recently: Grace in bed next to me, reaching out in her sleep to make sure I'm still there; a good friend's little girl recovering from a serious illness; going by myself to a meeting and being embraced by a group of perfect strangers as if I'd known them for years; knowing exactly where I want to be in six months; family and friends who care enough to call every day because they know I'm going through a difficult time; watching Grace run up and down the sidewalk squealing with delight; Brady letting me fall asleep with my head on her butt before making herself more comfortable. And the thing is, I could go on and on. (I'll spare you.)


Grace loves shoes, and while we don't always agree on which pair will best complete an outfit, I'M JUST SO HAPPY SHE LOVES SHOES!


Obviously, that megawatt smile will always be one of my life's greatest joys.

Feeling the pain

A few days ago my mom was freaking out expressing her concern about our decision not to reinstall the safety gate at the top of the stairs after Grace's repeated yanking on it pulled the giant plastic anchors out of the drywall. I told her Grace was navigating the stairs like a pro, and I was more likely to fall. Then I said a handful of words I immediately wanted to take back: "Huh, I haven't fallen in a while." I knocked on wood, but last night, sure enough, I fell down the stairs into our living room. Nothing was bleeding, no one saw me (except Brady, who was all, "You are such a clutz.") and this morning I couldn't find a single bruise on my body. But now? EVERY PART OF MY BODY HURTS, including my toes. I'm old.

I've tried to be a good sport about falling over the years, mostly because it usually happens in public, and no one likes a crybaby. I once fell down the stairs into the shoe department at Nordstrom (downtown, of course), a sort of sacred place for me. Within minutes I was surrounded by men in dark suits talking into their wrists. I muttered something about the steps being wet to save face, so you know somebody watched THAT video over and over to make sure there would be no litigation. Then I slunk off and bought a pair of fabulous, expensive and totally impractical shoes to soothe my nerves. When I got home, and I swear I am not making this up, there were TWO RIGHT SHOES in the box. I went back the same day.



I had a spectacular fall down a looooooong flight of stairs at a train station in Italy. When I finally hit bottom I was like a beetle stuck upside down, legs waving in the air, because I was wearing a big backpack. My friends helped me up and I limped to the hotel with blood soaking through the knee of my jeans. Sigh. Good times.

I could go on, but I think I'll just start a category called "injuries" and share a good one from time to time. Feel free to join in. Now I'm gonna go have a nip of tequila and try to get into bed without incident.

This can't end well.

No, she didn't hurt herself. But her (my) shoes fell off and she got all frustrated. I could tell she was thinking she could easily climb on the bed with the appropriate footwear.

Nothing says "I love you" like a new pair of shoes.

These were my peace offering after the tutu incident. NOW she looks like a Portlander, no?

EVERYBODY HAS THEM

One day we were at the park and as I looked around the playground I realized that EVERY CHILD BUT GRACE was wearing Crocs. I can't say that I see the appeal, but the situation was obviously unacceptable and immediately corrected. She dug them, and they turned out to be pretty practical.