Do We Call This a Shove or a Shock?

Earlier today I saw a woman wearing an odd shoe/glove/sock/wetsuit hybrid on her feet. I didn't want to stare, but I was equal parts horrified and baffled.

To be fair to the woman in question, her pair was a dark purply blue color, perhaps just the tiniest bit more feminine than this off-putting shade of gray.

The set above looks like someone took a cement cast of his feet, then decide to market it to the general public.

My question for you: What are these shoes and why, why, WHY would anyone wear them?

Do they cure some chronic ailment? I really can't imagine why else someone would pay to wear them in public.

Help me solve this mystery!

Ten Months: My Toothless Tornado

On August 5th, our Mac turned ten months old.

I've been telling Bradley for some time that we were turning a corner, that Mac's baby days were numbered and our whole world was going to be turned upside down. I think that time has come.

Our toothless ten-month-old is a baby no more. (Cue a constantly teary me.) He's talking up a storm, recognizing more and more of what we say, moving constantly and surprising us every day.

In his tenth month Mac started giving me kisses when I pick him up from his crib each morning. He doesn't do it daily, but every now and then my little man covers my cheek with an open-mouthed, drooly kiss. It's heavenly.

He still doesn't say "mama." This last month has been the Mac and Daddy show. It's "dada" all the time - even when he wants his mama to hold him, he wants to see and talk to his daddy. It's clear he knows who is mama is, though, so I'm not taking it personally.

Mac pulls up, crawls, rolls, scoots, stands (with a hand on something) and just plain gets around - all in an attempt to do himself great harm. Seriously. The boy is fearless, drawn like an otherworldly force to anything that could hurt him - particularly cords, outlets, air vents and door stops.

He keeps me on my toes - physically and mentally. (How many synonyms can a mom find for "No, Mac!" anyway?) He can move at lightning speed or stop, back up and just settle into my lap for a moment. I never know what to expect but I love our time together.

Macky loves his books. Until recently, he only wanted to chew on them, but now he slams them shut and giggles at the "clap!" it makes . He also "reads" them aloud to me, narrating and babbling, one of the few times he'll sit still these days. I can tell he really means something when he talks.

Our big boy is still as ticklish as they come. Just seeing a wiggling finger come his way can give him a laugh. I love that wherever you squeeze him, you're bound to get a smile. What a happy bean he is!

All in all, our Mac is a whirling dervish of curiosity, excitement, hunger (oh, the food he's putting away!) and joy. His tenth month was our best yet and, while I'm sad to see my "baby" disappearing, I couldn't be prouder to be this little boy's mom.

I love you, my little tornado! And I won't let your daddy cut off that sweet little curl you get from time to time.... I'm not ready for you to be that big a boy yet.

August is the New January

There's something about August that makes me want to turn over a new leaf. I've never been big on New Year's resolutions, but I feel a spark each fall that pushes me to set goals and start anew.

It has to tie into my excitement for the start of school every year. A new wardrobe, fresh notebooks (Lisa Frank, perhaps?), a monogrammed backpack full of untouched pencils and pens.... If that doesn't say, "You can be anything you want!" - nothing does.

Each August I would lay out my clothes for the first day, pack and repack my bookbag, pull out my daytimer and excitedly tell myself, "This is the year." For what, you might ask? I never really knew.

Sometimes it was the year of trying to be trendier or more "on top of things" or more outgoing (is that possible?) or less afraid.

Most years, unintentionally, it became the year of being insanely type A. Recording my outfits in my daytimer so I wouldn't repeat ensembles too often. (Those Express and Limited Too patterns were quite recognizable.) Rewriting a page of notes instead of scratching something out. Keeping notebooks so neat it would make the Citadel proud.

It's been more than five years since I packed a bag for class (unless you count yoga or calligraphy), but I feel the same "back to school" buzz in the air, the chance for a new beginning.

Instead of questioning it, I'm putting this instinct to good use. I have a several professional goals and more than a few personal ones.

*This "year" (I can still measure life by school years, right?) I'm going to take better care of myself, drinking enough water to float a small yacht and feeding myself as healthfully as I do Mac (more on this later). In short, I'm going to live like I did when I was pregnant: totally aware of what I'm doing and how it affects my health.

*I'm going to put a purpose behind my haphazard workouts and start recording them in my MomAgenda. Nothing motivates this girl like check marks, gold stars and being able to run farther than last week.

*I'm going to keep a written budget for my spending. (Somewhere, Dave Ramsey is cackling.)

*I'm going to do something that scares me every week. Maybe it'll be attempting a new class at the gym, pitching a project that will stretch my skills or just taking Mac to Sam's to stock up on paper towels. We'll see.

*I'm going to be intentional about reaching out to other people. As delightful as our family of three is, it's crucial that we continue to build relationships with other people who don't share our DNA. B and I take advantage of occasional evenings out on our own, but lately we've enjoyed a little time with friends - and it's been wonderful. I want to make sure this continues to happen. (Who smells a tailgate??)

*I'm going to prioritize my daily activities (especially morning quiet times) to make sure that I'm doing what's most important, not just what's right in front of me.

Most of all, I'm going to work really hard to keep this "new year" level of excitement about all I'm doing.

(Raise your hand if you had one of these!)

It's not going to be as easy as it was when a pink zippered case of sparkly unicorn pencils motivated me, but I know I can do it.

Wordless Wednesday: He Loves His Puffs!

My Desert Island Wardrobe

Every season I aim to pare down truly by cleaning out my closet.

I create three piles with distinct purposes: donate, sell on eBay and, for the just plain worn out pieces, toss. I try to determine what I need and what I have too much of, though both are relative concepts.

Approaching my this task post-baby has been quite different. The number on the scale is the same, but few pieces fit the same way. Clothes are too big where they shouldn't be - they gap, hang oddly or simply aren't flattering.

It's a conundrum. Theoretically I should be doing back handsprings that I'm not wearing maternity clothes anymore, but I'm frustrated that I don't have as much to wear! I feel tied to a few items that fit, not wanting to buy more in case I change again once we're done nursing. Besides, my work/home wardrobe needs have changed as well.

Tired of feeling frustrated, I've put a new spin on things: I'm not clothes-less; I have a clean slate. I have the opportunity to choose a few basic pieces and rotate all of the accessories, scarves and shoes that always fit, pregnant, post-baby or not.

Now I have a clear picture of what I wear most often. Truth be told, while I prefer a lot of options, I stick to the same few outfits over and over. Certain ensembles stay in heavy rotation.

This summer I've been on a white jeans kick. White jeans with a top and a pair of Jack Rogers is my go to outfit. Dreaming of cooler temperatures, I'm approaching fall, football season and boots weather with the same outlook: What is my "desert island" wardrobe?

If I could take (or buy) only a handful of things to start fresh, what would they be?

Jeans. Not the skinny variety.

My favorite Frye boots

Three-quarter length sleeved tees
(I may need a few new ones, as I stretched several out in my "I'm not that pregnant" denial stage.)

A jacket for fall and another for spring

Plus more cardigans in more colors than I care to admit. (Though not this gorgeous purple!) There's not much a cardigan won't fix in my book - and in my closet.

While I love the basics above that I already own, I do want a few more things to fill out my "desert island" suitcase. (Stop rolling your eyes, B!)

I need simple, classic dresses to wear with my much-loved boots. Maybe a wrap dress, a jersey dress and a sweater dress? Have you seen any you love? There's nothing better than a dress that makes you look put together even when you've just thrown it on.


Also on my list are pretty new flats. Everyone adores the Tory Burch Reva and I'd love a pair in gold, silver, deep purple and black.

Considering the fact that I'd like to stay married (and Dave Ramsey has my home address), I'm also looking for less expensive options so I can choose a few different colors. Suggestions?

If you were forced to grab just a handful of pieces to call your "wardrobe," what would you pick?

My Little Mac-in-a-Box

Who knew it could be the highlight of a little boy's day to spend time in a diaper box? After several attempts at getting in on his own, I plopped Mac down in his new favorite spot. Then I watched the fun begin.

Mac found so many ways to enjoy his time here:

He "read" his favorite book.

Then he gave it a nibble. Well, a toothless nibble.

He folded the flaps up and down.

He sampled the delicious cardboard.

He flailed his arms with excitement.

He waved at the dog, who thought we were both nuts.

When it was all done, he paused for a few deep thoughts.

All in all, not a bad afternoon! Who needs actual toys?

Jordan Catalano = Tim Riggins

In 1995, Jordan Catalano was the stuff dreams were made of - in my middle school, at least.

Brooding, blue-eyed and misunderstood, Jordan was the enigma who captivated My So-Called Life's Angela Chase. And every female primetime viewer between the ages of 12 and 22.

The moment Jordan finally held Angela Chase's hand in the hallway was life-changing.

My ears have yet to recover from the estrogen-fueled shrieks emitted by my English class as we watched it. (How we got to watch this during classtime I'll never understand.)

Seeing it at twenty-something is decidedly less momentous, but it's a nostalgic flashback nonetheless. Fifteen years later, you can even buy a t-shirt declaring your love for the erstwhile Jared Leto. (Who has since gotten really weird. RIP, Jordan Catalano.)

Or you could just tune into Friday Night Lights, where Tim Riggins has been sulking and skipping class since 2006. Could he be Jordan Catalano for a new generation?

I'm several years late to the FNL frenzy, but after hearing lots of watercooler buzz, I sat down with B last month to give it a whirl.

Two weeks (and nearly two full seasons) later, I've concluded that Tim Riggins is Jordan Catalano: Popular but still an outsider. Avidly avoids academics. Same hair, same absent parents, same questionable evening activities. Even more heart, athleticism and chivalry, though, so ladies beware.

And if you think about it, Tim Riggins is really just a younger (and less stranded-on-an-island) version of LOST's Sawyer.

Gruff with a heart of gold. Ladies' man with a clever nickname for everyone. No stranger to a bar fight. Hair that always looks like it could use a wash. Endearing smirk and easy to forgive.

I haven't finished FNL yet, so I'm still wary of any trips to Sydney for our favorite Dillon Panther. If he buys a flight on Oceanic 815, I think we know what comes next...