Shoe lies

I had an interesting conversation with a co-worker in the hallway today. As I passed by her she exclaimed “Cute, sassy shoes!” I replied with gratitude as she went on to ask “But, I just don’t know how you girls wear them all day. Don’t your feet hurt?” I looked her straight in the eye and said “Oh no, at my desk I kick them off and if I have to walk anywhere downtown I put on flats”. She let out a long and pronounced “ooooh” as she realized the farce that is a woman trotting around in her high heels all day pretending that she’s doing so pain-free. She tossed back, “So, you don’t walk over to Target in those?”
I guffawed and stated “Hell No!”
So ladies, here it is. The rest of us are not teetering around in our four inch or higher
stilettos all day. If you are, please stop, you’re killing yourself for no reason. If you’re
walking down just to get a latte, sure leave those sexy heels on and make the men swoon
at the way you walk with a titillating swagger; make the women swoon with envy that
you have the cutest shoes they’ve ever seen. However, if you plan to power-walk more
than three blocks you must leave the damn things under your desk and put on a pair of
flats. Your toes will tank you, your stilettos will enjoy the reprieve, and the women
trying to balance on one foot at a time for a little relief while in the elevator will envy
you.

Happy Mother's Day from Dead

If you know me well you know I’m not a believer. However, once in a while a good horror flick will give me the creeps and make me think that ghosts are staring at me in shower. Sometimes I hear them saying “Damn, that lady needs to shave her legs and workout a little more”. I hate ghost, they’re so snarky.
On Sunday a spirit channeled herself through me. She said to my beautiful little monkey “Every day is Kid’s Day”. My head whipped around so fast that my neck still hurts. I thought to myself, “Oh my gawd, my mother is here”. Not only do I look at my hands every day and think, those are my mother’s veiny hands; but now she’s taken over my larynx and is spewing forth the quotes I loathed so much as a kid. When I start calling myself “Abbey Normal” and telling my daughter to “drink your milk so your ovaries don’t shrivel up” please check me into the nearest mental institution.
I won’t complain too much about all of her traits I’ve inherited. This oily skin is keeping me from getting wrinkles. I am also grateful for my big brain and mesmerizing eyes. However, I will admit that I am working pretty damn hard trying not to repeat her mistakes. So much so that the weight of it swings me to the opposite extreme, "hello new mistakes I didn’t see you coming". Is this a bad thing? Not so much. It has made me to be very self-aware and I work improve myself so that I can offer my daughter a safe place to fall; even if it does involve hugs from veiny hands and a quote from Abbey Normal.

Demons and Cheezy Puffs

Tuesday night at the Shaffer Shack was full of thrills.
The Monkey woke at 10:00p.m. and proceeded to wail and scream and contradict herself for two hours straight. (up, down, up, down, momma, dada, momma, dada) Finally, on the third offer to sleep in the big bed with momma she acquiesced and passed out from sheer exhaustion.
I feared the worst…Night Terrors! Yes, as described by other parents they are the demon spawn that creep into your home and stealthily leave with your beautiful baby that slept through the night and replace it with a party animal night owl toddler.
So on Wednesday morning momma whined to her other mommy friends about the evil that lurks in the 2nd bedroom upstairs. Momma complained that she should just buy her own Dunn Bros and pay for the staff because it would be cheaper than buying it by the gallon. Momma whined to the therapist that she was an inadequate parent that couldn't comfort her child.
Then momma learned on Wednesday evening that daddy had let the little monster eat a whole canister of baby cheesy puffs before bed on Tuesday. Momma realized she is married to the demon spawn that robs her of her beauty rest. Momma made that demon support her caffeine addiction this morning.

Drowning in Exhaust Fumes

I’m exhausted. I have yet to pin down whether it is physically, mentally, or both. I’m sure the physical is an absolute. Chasing after an 18 month old monkey for a week straight is enough to put anyone into a constant state of exhaustion. To all you stay at home mommies out there…Kudos…I have no freaking idea how you do it. Even with the constant flow of coffee and espresso coursing through my veins I barely kept up with the two foot monster.
It got to the point I insisted on writing her a check for all the personal training. We swam, we walked, we ran up stairs with the 30 pound monkey clinging to the front of me; we down ran stairs with the 30 pound monkey on my shoulders pulling my hair as though it was a bridle and reins; we ran stairs with the 30 pound monkey shrieking in my ears that she needed a banana fix now dammit. And you know what really pisses me off…that I still managed to gain weight on vacation. All of the delicious food on the cruise found a new home on my hips. Why hello dessert, you’ll do just fine over here on the right buttock…Welcome!
As for the mental exhaustion…yeah, I’m certain there’s that too. Have you ever entertained a toddler on a plane for 3.5 hours? I have, with help, and I still thought about jumping. Planning flights around nap time doesn’t work either. OH Momma...I’m too excited to sleep!!! Instead I’ll bounce off your lap, to Dada’s to Gamma’s and back again. Snack. Snack. SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!! Book. Book. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK! Mom, mom, momma, momma, MOMMA, MOOOOOOMA!!! Aaaaaaand FIN.