Today was Nora’s first day back at kindergarten.
She decided to do her hair herself:
Which led to some tricky negotiations and a compromise:
And four-year-olds aren’t always happy with compromise, which led to this joyous back-to-school pic:
Sigh.
Style
Vicarious Healing
When I was around five or six, I begged and badgered my mother to buy me a pair of red leather clogs. They had wooden heels and a strap across the arch. I was obsessed with them. Though I suspect they were beyond our budget, my mother relented.
I remember prancing and stomping around the kitchen in them the first night I got them. I begged my mom to let me wear them to bed. This she would not abide. So I carefully laid them out where I could see them first thing in the morning and went to bed dreaming of being Dutch.
When I awoke, I ran to the place where I had placed my shoes, but they were not there. I discovered them, shredded and sodden, on the living room sofa.
While I stomped through tulips fields and past windmills in my slumber, our Norwegian elkhound puppy was happily gnawing on his new chew toys.
I wept and wailed in disbelief. I begged for new clogs, but it was not to be.
On Saturday, Nora and I set out on a mission to find some practical boots for the wet autumn to come. We came home with these…
I wanted her to get a gray suede set with appliqué flowers. But they were declared insufficiently fancy.
Then she spotted these boots, in all their red patent leather glory. And I saw that she loved them with a clog-like passion. So I bought them. And the prancing and stomping has not ceased since.
The Pin
I love this pin. Not only was it given to me by a dear friend, it represents my style perfectly: vintage, in shades of brown and gold. It looks fantastic on my brown coat.
With this pin on my lapel, everyone thinks I am put together. They don’t know I have a whole in my pocket that’s been there for two years. They don’t notice my dirty hair, or the dog hair on my pants. Or that I’m wearing house shoes. People on the elevator, in the street and at the grocery store say things like, “My, what a beautiful pin!” and “That’s a great pin, is it vintage?” and “Where’d you get that gorgeous pin?”
And this is why Ben hates it. Because every woman, from twenty something hipsters to Grandmas in teddy bear sweaters comments on it. And if there’s one thing Ben doesn’t appreciate, it’s the attention of total strangers.
But I love it, because it means I can wear slippers to the grocery store.