A Shoe In

There are many things that Alexis does that I know she learned or inherited from me. The constant need to twirl her hair? Apparently genetic. Talking with her hands so vigorously that you wonder if her feet might leave the ground any moment? I might have been known to do that from time to time. Her love of coupons? That's my girl! One thing that she definately didn't get from me is My Shoe Thing.

My Shoe Thing is pretty much the opposite of what you are probably thinking. Despite the fact that I have all the bits to prove that I am female, I don't like shoes. I wear them and everything, but I could really do without them for the most part. Actually, I should say that I could do with just one pair. And I usually do. I buy one pair of black shoes that can be worn with jeans or dress slacks and I wear them nearly every single day until they die. Then I replace them with a nearly identical pair.

I recently suffered the death of a pair of shoes. It was a very sad event, complete with the denial, anger, and acceptance that you would expect when something dear to you dies. Fortunately, I noticed the gaping hole on the inside seam of my shoe whilst I was presenting at a Psychiatric Hospital. There were literally dozens of trained professionals in the audience that were able to console me when I declared, in the middle of a big-deal presentation, "OH NO! My shoe died!" I'm such a professional.

Anyway, I hate buying shoes and do whatever I can to avoid it. If you don't believe me, ask my husband. I occassionally wear a pair of tennis shoes that the bulldog chewed a giant hole in two years ago. They are my only tennis shoes so I have to break them out anytime my kinda dress/kinda not shoes are a little too dressy for the occassion. Me wearing those holey shoes makes him die a little inside. But I keep doing it, because I hate spending money on shoes.

Alexis, on the other hand, has a Serious Shoe Thing. We have the same girl bits, but hers came pre-programmed to seek out shoes at every available opportunity. The girl just plain loves shoes. She loves putting them on, she loves walking in them, she loves sleeping in them. She seriously will not walk outdoors if she doesn't have shoes on (that comes in very handy when I need her to stand still--don't think I don't use it to my advantage, because I do). When she's in the house, she's constantly taking shoes off and putting other shoes on. Her shoes, my shoes, Daddy's shoes, it doesn't matter. Just bring on the shoes.

If Alexis is in a funky mood and I want to drag her out of it, I don't take her to Chuck E. Cheese like a normal kid. No, I take her to a shoe store. Within minutes she will be sitting on the floor, surrounded by dozens of boxes of shoes. She tries on big shoes, little shoes, shoes that light up, Dora shoes. Shoes, shoes, shoes. The girl loves shoes. Just yesterday she got three new pair, only one of which featured a certain Spanish-speaking little girl that's taking over the universe one product at a time.

I don't understand this shoe thing. But hey, if it makes her happy, then by all means I will play along with it. It's our differences that make us interesting, right?

A Letter for Alexis

Dear Lex,

This blog started as a way to keep in touch with our family, but it's grown to so much more. Somewhere along the line, I remembered how much I enjoy writing. And writing about you is, perhaps, my favorite thing of all. As an added bonus, we're left with a daily journal all about our world named Alexis. I truly think you will enjoy it more than you ever would have a baby book or scrapbook (good thing, that, because you don't have either one). We'll have stories to share for years and years and you'll know I'm telling them accurately, because I recorded them as they happened.

One thing I don't think I've done a good job of so far is telling you about who you are. So I thought I would take a moment and tell you just who you were as the Summer of 2007 came to a close. Since we all know I could go on for days about you, I'm going to limit myself to five adjectives. So here goes:

Funny: My little prankster, you are going to get even with me for everything I do to you, I just know it. It's a good thing that we are both equally good at taking it just as much as we dish it out, because you and I are in for a long ride.

Chatty: If you're eyes are open, odds are that your mouth is, too. It's really a good thing that you decided to be an early talker because all those words come in handy when you have no intentions of remaining silent. But then again, a lack of vocabulary has never stopped you from just making up your own language.

Independent: Dude, I have met my match. And then some. I'm a little surprised that "I can do it" wasn't your first sentence (you snuck "I want to slide" and "I need a cracker" first). I'm sure it will be your most often repeated.

Timid: This one is in direct conflict with your independent streak and you struggle with it all the time. When we are in a store, you want to run and explore and can't be bothered with keeping track of where we are. But then along comes a stranger and you come running like your feet are on fire. You say "Hi" and "Bye, bye" to everyone that walks or drives by, but only from a safe distance. And if they reciprocate, you immediately hide.

Beautiful: You really are the most beautiful person I have ever met. From the way that are always smiling to your penchant for making sure everyone else in the room is smiling as well, you bring joy to everyone that you encounter.

All my love,
Mom

Oh Broccoli, You Really Stink Up My Life

Kristen has asked a very good question. She wanted to know if having Dora on the broccoli bag has any influence over the eating of the broccoli.

No.

It doesn't matter that the Green Giant is on the bag. Dora is of no assistance. Nor is her sidekick Diego. I don't think even Barney* could keep the broccoli from ending up where it will end up. On the walls. On the floor. In the bulldog's mouth. Everywhere but in the toddler's mouth where it belongs. This is a big ol' problem for me. I once had a toddler that loved, LOVED her vegetables. She tried many times to convince me that all she needed was some Lima beans, sweet potatoes, and uncooked broccoli and she was set for life. I don't know what happened, but she woke up a few weeks ago and decided she doesn't eat green anymore. I keep serving it, she keeps ignoring it. Grr.

The fact that the bulldog ends up eating the discarded broccoli is like adding insult to injury. Have you ever heard the stories about how all bulldogs do is fart and snore? They're all lies. Lies, I tell you. Because all bulldogs do is FART and SNORE. It's like both ends have to be making noise at all times and must leave a cloud of stink everywhere they go. And guess what broccoli does to a bulldog? Makes it really easy to determine which end is stinkier, for one. So Meg eats the broccoli, I nearly die of lung poisoning, and Alexis doesn't eat the green stuff. Whatever. I'm over it.

*Lest you forget, fine friends and family, Barney DOES NOT LIVE IN PENNSYLVANIA. Any gifts bearing his likeness will promptly be burned and their ashes spread all over West Virginia. Not even a gift receipt could save his purple butt from my trusty grill.