Is there any such thing as too many boots?

This is the time of year that I start wearing my snow boots and winter coat inside the house, all day long.  I get so cold every day when we are trying to do our school work. I turn up the heat, I drink hot drinks, but nothing seems to help. My feet are still cold!

I have tried every combination of thick socks and house slippers, but nothing seems to work. My feet still get freezing cold unless I have that nice thick rubber sole separating me from the cold floor. I try my best to survive, sliding around in three layers of socks. But finally, I give in and put on my winter boots.

I know this is horrible. Even though I make sure my boots are CLEAN, I'm still concerned all day long that I'm spreading boot germs all over the carpet and the hardwood floor. But the alternative is even worse. When mama is cold, everyone feels the chill!

So, I'm hoping I've found the key to save me from six months of freezing feet and to save my house from being trampled. Here is is. The indoor house shoe boot:



This thing could save my life. Not only does it look very warm. It's cute! I think it's going to look awesome with my "home schooling outfits." Only a slightly crazy home school/work-at-home mom would worry about finding a house shoe that will go with her jeggings, but I think this one is perfect. =]

I've already sent my husband the link to the Old Navy web site where I found these and begged for them for our anniversary, which is this week. I would secretly like them in every color combination.



And while we are on this very important topic, can I just say this:

I really thought there was no possibility I could need a new pair of boots this winter... But they come in black, too.



Oiy.

The hazards of getting dressed for work when you stay at home

This week, I am celebrating my 11-year anniversary as a stay-at-home mom. This has been the best job I could ever have hoped for. However, to commemorate this momentous occasion, I also want to point out one of the perils of going to work at home.

When I first started staying home more than a decade ago, it was difficult to motivate myself to get up and get ready in the morning when I had no where to go. Many times, I wouldn't even take a shower until right before my husband came home from work.

I have come full circle since then. Now, I know that I will feel better about myself if I get up and put on clothes that I like even if I don't have any plans to leave the house. I even complete my daily outfit with accessories, such as a necklace or a scarf.

But this can also lead to some significant dangers on the job. 

Take for example, the long necklace. Now, we all know it's stylish to wear a long necklace. But look what can happen when you attempt to cook dinner! There is nothing worse — nothing! — than raw chicken on your long necklace!

Then, there is the fashion scarf. It is cute. It's stylish. But it is not a practical look for cleaning any part of the house that involves bleach. Just imagine what can happen when the long scarf meets cleaning the toilet. (It gives me shivers just to think about it.)

Finally, there's the cape. I love my comfy cape with the long, dangly fringe. But I cannot even tell you how many times I have nearly burst into flames trying to bake while wearing the cape. Just imagine the danger of pulling a pan of cookies out of the oven while wearing the long cape!

So, I admit, it is crazy to subject myself to this kind of danger on a daily basis. But I have to say it's worth it. When I lounge around in my PJs all day, I get grumpy. It's better to get up, get dressed, go to work and just try my best to survive the accessories!

What about you? Do you like to lounge around if you are going to work at home? Or do you prefer to get dressed for the day?

I'm wearing red on the inside

A couple of years ago, it was Cubs-White Sox night at Awana. Since I'm the one who buys clothes for everyone in this house, the kids didn't have a stitch of sports-related clothing in their closets.

I called my husband from a last-minute clothing search at Wal-Mart a couple of hours before it was time to go: "Honey, are we for the Cubs or the White Sox?"

"The Cardinals," he replied.

You see, my husband and I are both born and raised in southern Illinois. Down there, if you talk about baseball, you are either for the Cardinals or the Cubs. If you choose the Cubs, everyone hates you, but at least you do have that as a choice.

So, I have been a Cardinals fan as long as I can remember. Well, that's a Cardinals fan in my own little, "I don't care about baseball and could you please turn the radio station to some music" type of way.

Even though St. Louis proper is just past the border of Illinois, I think people in southern Illinois feel more like they can relate to that city than what's happening in big ol' Chi-ca-go, a million miles away. To us, even though St. Louis was a two-hour drive, it was one of the closest shopping malls to my home. My whole family would pile in the station wagon and drive over there for an entire day of shopping and dinner out at The Spaghetti Factory.

This might not make sense to some of my suburban readers who think that when I'm talking about southern Illinois I mean Joliet or DeKalb or Rock Island. Those are very much in the northern part of the state. And, I regret to inform you that even Peoria, Champaign and Bloomington still don't make it past the halfway point of our long state. I am actually talking about places and events that happen in SOUTHERN Illinois.

It's there. Trust me.

Anyway... Back to baseball.

My husband has always been a huge Cardinals fan, but up here, you kind of have to practice your allegiance in private since you are so surrounded by St. Louis haters. There just aren't a lot of people who want to come over to watch a Cardinals game on TV. And I do believe he has been boo-ed a time or two for wearing his redbird hat out in public.

But during the last couple of years, we have become good friends with a family from St. Louis. They have three boys who are great friends with our boys. So, our two families have developed a bond around our love for the Cardinals.

When it became apparent the Cardinals were on their way to the World Series, I couldn't look away any longer. I decided to join in on the fun. I had to stop thinking about my iPhone and necklaces and Photoshop tricks for a while and focus my brain on sports.

I have to tell you there have been some DRAMATIC changes in my lifestyle during the last few weeks. For example:

• Last week, my husband was not home, and for the first time in my life, I willingly turned on the TV to watch a sporting event.
• On another day, I missed the game. The first thing I did the next morning was check the score. (I can't believe I just said, "I checked the score.") hee hee hee.
• I have learned to recognize the players. I can now match up their names to their faces and the positions they play on the field.
• I even know some facts about the players and have been known to spout them off while we're watching a game.
• But the most amazing feat yet came during Game 6. My husband got discourage after the 5th inning and went to bed. I stayed up until midnight, watching that unbelievable 11-inning game! I even posted about it on Facebook like real sports fans do! (You have to know how much sleep I require on a nightly basis to fully grasp the magnitude of this last statement.)

However, there has been one thing I have not been able to bring myself to do to support My Cardinals. I simply can't wear red.

I'm sorry, redbirds.

I don't look good in red. When I wear red, people always ask me if I'm feeling OK. Before I diagnosed myself with a red-wearing disorder, I was known to have to go home in the middle of the day and change clothes because I wasn't feeling "quite right."

I don't even like to stand in a red room or next to a red wall. With my pale, splotchy skin, I look like a corpse with chicken pox.

I'm not able to get all dressed up in my Cardinals gear today to support the World Series Champs. I'll have to do that in a cute, comfy sweater in a neutral tone and possibly a coordinating scarf. But believe me, people, I'm Cardinals through and through. I'm wearing red on the inside.

When all else fails, try a necklace

For those of you who know me well, you will probably find this hard to believe. In fact, I find it hard to believe myself, but it's true. Here goes.

Back in my 20s, I had an unnatural obsession with the turtleneck. From November to March, my wardrobe consisted mainly of every type of turtleneck: turtleneck sweaters, mock turtlenecks and just plain old turtlenecks. During this time in my life, I was having a contest with myself to see how thin I could become. The natural result of this effort was that I was always freezing cold.

I realized that I wasn't quite normal one day when I actually wore two turtlenecks to work. In case you found that last sentence confusing, I mean that I wore one turtleneck and then wore another one right on top of it. I am not kidding.

Like any addiction, my love for turtlenecks started out gradually. I don't think I even realized how serious my problem had become until one day when I was in my early 30s. I was watching the TV show, "What Not to Wear." I remember so clearly the moment when the host of the show said these words to the poor, unsuspecting person who had been nominated for the show: "You are addicted to turtlenecks."

Those words hit me right between the eyes like one of those suction cup bullets my kids shoot from their Nerf guns. To say that moment was life changing would be an understatement. My eyes were opened for the first time to the fact my love for turtlenecks was not normal. Oh sure, it started with an attempt to stay on top of a fashion trend in the 1990s.

But it had grown beyond that. What I always saw as a natural way to keep myself as warm as possible by wearing a shirt that covered my neck had grown into a decade-long addiction. I couldn't stand to go out of the house with my long, pale neck exposed to the cold air. I was obsessed with keeping it covered.

That moment began for me what was a long and difficult process of ridding my wardrobe of turtlenecks. I would be lying if I told you that breaking this cycle of addiction was easy. I tried little by little to choose something other than a turtleneck on a cold winter day. It probably took me at least a year to reduce my weekly turtleneck consumption to only a few a week, rather than one — or more! — a day.

But once I finally got myself to a place where my neck was bare on a regular basis, I think my friends noticed something was missing. I believe it was the Christmas of 2004, when my friends had to do what only good friends are willing to do. They bought me a necklace for Christmas.

It was a simple silver pendant on a thick silver chain. Up until that point, the only time I wore a necklace was to a formal dance, as a bridesmaid in a wedding and, of course, on my wedding day. I don't think I even owned a gold chain, a string of pearls or anything else to wrap around my neck.

I wore that silver chain nearly every day. I loved how it filled up that blank space between my collar bones.

It wasn't long until I was so at home in my silver chain that I purchased another necklace. Now, I actually had a choice of which necklace to wear. One necklace led to another. And the necklaces themselves grew larger and bolder. For those of you who know me now, you know that my necklace collection has gone completely overboard.

I love necklaces! I rarely leave the house without one. Some are cute and simple. Others are obnoxiously large. I feel naked if I don't have some type of colorful pendant dangling around my neck.

Only recently have I actually expanded my array of neckware to include the scarf. This was tricky at first. I had to watch a YouTube video to figure out what to even do with the scarf. I also had to accept the fact that I couldn't wear a necklace AND a scarf at the same time. The necklaces would have to stay home for a day and relax while I ventured out of the house with a large, long colorful cloth poofed up around my neck.

All of this leads me to a simple question. What is your signature accessory? Do you have one accessory that you can't leave the house without? Maybe it's ear rings or a bracelet? Could be a necklace? Or are you into scarves?

Or is it possible that you need to confess right now that you have are having a love affair with a turtleneck? I'm here to tell you that there IS hope. I'm living proof.

Although, I must warn you. If you give up your turtlenecks, there's always another accessory waiting to wrap its pretty little self around your neck.

The great sale...

I'm about to make a confession that could be a bit shocking to the two of you. If I happen to have three readers today, then, I'm sure it will be a shock to all three of you.

But for some reason, I feel like I have to come clean. Maybe at least one third of you can relate (which would be one of you), and then I will at least feel better.

A few months ago, I was shopping at New York & Company. (Shocker!) This is where I buy about 90 percent of my clothes, and I do so for a few reasons. Their clothes seem to fit my style, and they fit me. Most importantly, I understand how to work their coupons.

Anyway, they had some dresses on clearance. And I really didn't need any dresses. But the dresses were cute, and they were 50 percent off the sale price. Plus, I had a 30 percent off coupon. So, basically, I bought a dress for $16.

A few months later, I wanted to wear the dress. But I needed a little sweater to go over the top. I didn't want a big bulky sweater. I really just wanted a shrug. A girl knows when she needs a sweater and when she needs a shrug.

Well, at this point, stores were replacing all of the summer clothes with fall clothes, and, as you both know, the shrug isn't really a fall sweater. But MIRACULOUSLY, I found a shrug in You Know Where and it was the right color.

The only problem was that the shrug was not on sale. It was $29. That is $29 for a little piece of knitted fabric designed to cover my shoulders. So, of course I did not buy the $29 shrug to wear with the $16 dress.

Until two days later.

That's when I gave up on finding a shrug that was cheaper than the dress and gave in to the fact that if I was ever going to wear the $16 dress, I would have to buy the $29 shrug. That is a simple mathematical equation, but one that is not always easy to solve the first time.

At this point, I had a coupon to save $30 off my purchase of $70. I needed some new jeans and all of the jeans were buy one, get one half off. So, basically, I could get a good deal on jeans and get the shrug for free. Right?

So, I carefully calculated my order to make sure I didn't go too much beyond $70. But alas, when I went to check out, I had actually spent $80. There was a second offer attached to my first coupon, and this one was to get $70 off my purchase of $150. When the cashier pointed this out to me, I quickly refused. I WILL NOT BUY ANYTHING ELSE! I know their tricks.

But then, I did the math. And I realized that if  I purchased $150 worth of clothes, I would only spend $80, which was the same amount I was spending anyway.

I reluctantly wandered around the store trying to find another $70 worth of stuff so I could get it for free. I added two shirts and a scarf to my pile and headed back to the check out.

Now I was good to go. I had my $16 dress, plus the shrug I needed to wear it, along with two pairs of jeans, two shirts and a scarf. I was set.

However, I realized I needed a new female undergarment, which shall remain nameless because I already attract enough spam to my blog, and I don't want more. I headed to Kohls (without a coupon, I will add) and spent way too much on the undergarment. And I will not admit here, because it would sound ridiculous, that there was a long, short-sleeved sweater that is absolutely perfect for early fall that would look great with those new jeans I just bought, and I might or might not have purchased that, too.

I was totally ready now. I had the $16 dress, the shrug, two pairs of jeans, two shirts, a scarf, an undergarment and, maybe, a sweater.

Thankfully, I already had shoes.

The only thing I could possibly need now would be a necklace. So, I headed to my favorite jewelry store, Charming Charlie. I walked straight to the color-coded section required for my particular dress without looking to the right or left at anything else. OK. I can't lie. I did try on a sweater in there, as well, but I PROMISE I did not buy this one, even though it was long and the exact color... OK, nevermind.

I found a necklace. It was only $12. (That is LESS than the dress, I might add.) But I wasn't sure how the necklace was going to look with the dress. And there was another necklace that might be the perfect one. And it was only $12. And what if I got the wrong one, drove all the way home, and realized I had not purchased the correct necklace. So, of course, I had to get both. And it's a good thing because the one I wasn't going to buy was actually the right one.

Now, I was good.

I had the dress. The shrug. Two pairs of jeans. Two shirts. A scarf. An undergarment. A sweater. And two necklaces.

I was ready to wear that $16 dress.

And I know this has never happened to anyone else but me. So, if you leave me a comment and try to tell me that you can sympathize or relate, I will know it's only to make me feel better.

And please remind me that if I EVER see a dress on sale for $16 to RUN!

Comfort AND fashion? Really?

I think you all know by now how I feel about comfort and fashion.

I am perfectly fine with the fact that sometimes fashion hurts. It is not easy to be stylish. It takes work. Commitment. Dedication. And often, sore toes.

I have no problem admitting that when a fashion item describes itself as "comfortable," I usually run the other direction. This mostly happens with shoes. You know the ones. (I was going to name names, but then I remembered what happened when I brought up the U-G-Gs. So, don't worry S-A-S, you are safe. THIS TIME.)

I have accepted the fact that fashionable footwear can even be dangerous. It's worth it to me to walk perilously on icy sidewalks in high heels. I have been known to trip over sidewalk cracks in my platform flip flops. And yes, my toes have been frozen for a good month straight now because of my determination to wear open-toed shoes in this so-called spring weather.

So, that is why I think it is not only blog-worthy, but somewhat earth-shattering news to report the following: I BOUGHT A PAIR OF COMFORTABLE SHOES. And. They are cute. (I hope.)

I found this experience so strange and out of the ordinary that I stood staring in the mirror at the shoe store for about 20 minutes, trying to be sure that the shoe on my foot really was stylish. Could it be? I could feel the padded comfort under my foot. And yet, as far as I could tell, the toe sticking out from under my jeans really. was. cute.

My suspicion was confirmed when another shoe shopper stopped in her tracks, looked at my feet and said, "Those are cute!" Then she added with a puzzled tone, "Are they comfortable?"

And for pretty much the first time in my life, I answered, "Yes! They are!"

(I later spied the same woman putting down a box of white pumps and checking out the same shoes I was trying on. I wanted to ask her to be my best friend, but, wisely, I resisted the urge.)

OK... So, please tell me if you think these shoes are not totally cute? (Or, have I officially hit middle age and I have lost all fashion sense?)

But I actually did not get the blue suede, even though that was my favorite.

Or the pewter... even though those are cool.

Instead, I was much in need of some type of shoe to wear in what is becoming a dreadfully long season between the two main seasons of the year: "Boots" and "Flip flops." So, I went with the clog. And can I tell you that my toes are so warm I can barely stand it?

I'm still in amazement. And I will confess that when I wake up in the morning, feeling groggy and dreading the start of the day, I think about putting on my comfy shoes, and I jump out of bed.

How about you? Do you have a favorite fashion item that is both comfy AND cute? Please share.

The Coupon

I had to run some errands this afternoon, and I decided to make a quick stop at my favorite clothing store.

I had one child at home sick, two watching a movie with him, and the baby was napping. My husband was working from home, which allowed me to leave for an hour. However, it had to be a quick trip because this kind of peaceful atmosphere might not last for long.

Before I left, I made sure I had The Coupon.

Yes. I had scored. It was for 30 percent off my entire purchase. That means I didn't have to worry about spending X amount so I could get X percent off. Doing all of that math in the dressing room makes me sweat.

Usually when I go shopping for clothes, I need a particular item and have to struggle to find just what I'm looking for. This time, I walked in and found about 10 things I didn't need, but absolutely loved! And with The Coupon in my purse, I was about to score some great deals.

At the top of my pile sat a couple of super cute sweaters. They weren't the total spring sweaters. But they weren't the heavy, woolen, 10-pounders I've been wearing lately to survive the 5 degree tundra around here. A really cute sweater would go a long way toward making me feel like I can make it through the rest of the winter. A really cute sweater might even make all of the runny noses and fevers in this house bearable.

I got ready to check out and gave The Coupon one more close look to make sure it was the one I needed. It was good until Feb. 4.

But it didn't start until... Jan. 27.

WHAT?!

I found a salesperson and made sure she saw my pile of potential purchases.

"It looks like I grabbed the wrong coupon when I left the house," I said, hoping she would offer me the coupon I know she had stashed in her drawer for wonderful customers such as myself. "Could you hold these items while I drive all the way home and get The Coupon."

"Sure."

Another salesperson asked about my pile to which I added another pair of jeans, just for good measure. I told her my sad situation with The Coupon.

"No problem," she said. "We will hold your items for you."

"Great."

"Thanks."

"A lot."

Now, what to do? There was no way I would have time to get back across town on Thursday when the coupon took effect. By then, my cute sweaters in my perfect size might be gone, anyway. But I wasn't possibly going to pay full price when I knew I had to have a coupon SOMEWHERE at home. Heck! One probably showed up in the mail today!

I know what the salespeople were probably thinking. I was kind of dressed up. I looked like I might even have one of those jobs people go to during the day. I probably looked like I had all the time in the world to go clothing shopping in the middle of the day.

Would it have helped if I explained that I NEVER get to leave the house in the middle of the day? That I homeschool? That I usually wear a sweatsuit all day and carry a baby on my hip? That it was so rare for me to so easily find these articles of clothing in my size that I love? That I'm in a state of depression from the BITTER COLD AND THE ONLY THING THAT WILL SAVE ME IS THAT CUTE SWEATER?!? THAT I LIVE 20 MINUTES AWAY AND MY HUSBAND IS GOING TO DIE IF I TELL HIM I HAVE TO DRIVE BACK TO THE MALL TO USE THE COUPON?!?!?

So, I drove home. I found The Coupon.

It expired yesterday.

I had one dumb coupon that doesn't start for two days and another that expired yesterday. HOW could I possibly have let this happen? Maybe I should start programming The Coupons into my iCal?!

With some quick thinking, I went online and signed up to receive discounts by mail. I begged my e-mail to ding with the signal my 40 percent off coupon had arrived. But the best I got was an introductory coupon to save $25 off a $75 purchase. (My pile was a bit taller than that, I'm sorry to admit.)

Good enough. Movie still playing. Baby still sleeping. Sick child not puking.

Back I went.

The salesperson looked shocked that I actually returned. I showed her the meager coupon and explained that USUALLY the store sends ME the BEST coupons, not this lousy one for $25.

"OK, I've got a 40 percent off you can have," she said.

"NOW you tell me."

But, I must say. That sweater is cute. And think I can survive February now.

I need to know... I really do!

This question is for the both of you... as in ALL of my blog readers. I really need to know what you think.

A friend the other day said she was debating between asking her husband for one of these two Christmas gifts:

1. a Keurig coffee maker or

2. a pair of Ugg boots.

This was a tough one. Well, it was tough for her, but quite obvious to me.

Despite my love for all things boot, I just don't get the Ugg. I think it's the name. I'm sure that Ugg means "beautiful foot" in Scandinavian or Swedish or whatever far off land where the boot is manufactured. But in English, I feel that Ugg is a good description of the boot or house shoe or whatever the heck that thing is.

However, my friend has amazingly good taste in clothing so I know I must be totally clueless about this foot fashion with the horrible name that is worth more than $100. Worth the price of the wonderful, life-changing Keurig hot-beverage brewing machine. The machine that turns itself on and begins heating your hot water and is ready at a moment's notice to serve any hot beverage you would like at the perfect temperature. Absolutely perfect temperature. Not one degree too hot or cold.

So, I would love it if all of you would enlighten me on the Ugg. I have several friends who are saving all the pennies in their piggy bank to get a pair of these, so I know it has to be ME who is out of touch.

I do have two other very important questions.

If you were going somewhere and wearing open-toed shoes and you were running late, but you had not eaten breakfast yet and you realized that your toe nails were NOT painted, would you:

a. paint your toe nails and skip breakfast?

b. eat breakfast and go out with naked toe nails?

And finally, if you were choosing a football team to support throughout your life and your support of this team required you to attend games, dress in team sweatshirts and possibly even paint your face, would you:

1. choose the team based on the college you attended, team standings or your love for a certain state?

2. choose the team based on the team colors that best match your complexion and would fit in best with the majority of sweaters in your wardrobe?

I'm sure you have no idea what my answers to these questions would be. However, I thought this would be a really nice bonding experience if the three of us could share on this topic.

Oh, and does anyone know of a football team with jerseys in a nice olive green and brown? Something that would go with tall brown boots?

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All in the name of fashion

I didn't want to say anything. But deep down inside, I knew this day would come eventually.

You see. I've tried to ignore it. I've turned the other way when the straight-leg jean started making its appearance in stores. I averted my eyes from the dreaded skinny jean. I ignored the leggings, knowing there was no hope that I would ever be able to wear them anyway.

But I'm a slave to fashion. And I can't ignore its evil, cyclical ways forever. I saw it coming a few years ago when they brought back the goucho. We were headed down a very bad path that could only lead us straight back to the one fashion decade I sword I would never revisit: the 80s.

I knew I wouldn't be able to hold my ground forever. And in this case, it was really about the boots.

You know how I love the boots. The high-heeled boots. The fur-lined boots. The cowboy boots. Even the shoots.

And my closet full of boots was starting to seem kind of pointless when they were always hidden underneath my boot-cut jeans. Tucking the wide stretches of fabric into the boot was pointless. It couldn't be done.

Unless, of course, I had...

You know...

Dare I say it...

Some... a-hem... stirrup pants.

It's true. And with a long sweater and some tall boots, I wouldn't look THAT fat, would I? I mean you can only really see the pants for about 12 inches between the top of the boots and the bottom of the sweater.

And yes. I know I do look a little like an English woman getting ready to mount her horse. I just need one of those equestrian sticks. What on earth do they call those things?

I have a very firm belief that I hold tight in the depths of my being: Most women look their best in a wide-leg trouser. No one looks good in a tapered leg. Not even a supermodel. And the only thing worse than a tapered leg is stirrup pants.

But it had to be done. Fashion was calling, and I had to answer. They are mine. The pant with the removable stirrup. Just feeling that stretch of elastic under my foot makes me want to break out into a Boy George song. "Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cr-y-y-y?"

Now, all I can do is hope and pray that no one in the fashion industry gets the bright idea to bring back the knickers.

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Earth-shattering updates

I realized over the weekend that I have left a lot of unfinished business on the blog lately. I bring up topics, but then I never provide an update on the outcome.

Well, on Saturday afternoon after several days of battling a cough and runny nose and taking about five naps a day, I got a sudden burst of energy. In fact, I started feeling like the old Emily I have been missing so much!

It was time to complete some unfinished business.

You might remember back in May when I wrote about the devastating news that my hair stylist Shea was no longer allowed to cut my hair at the swanky salon where she now works. You might also recall that I broke down crying right in the middle of the salon over the news that she was hired as a colorist only and would have to hang up her scissors.

I have continued to visit her for my color, but another stylist has been cutting my hair. It's been OK. But considering I drive about 40 minutes and spend a small fortune at this salon every SIX WEEKS to get my hair cut and colored, I haven't been ecstatic. I wouldn't mind to go to all the trouble for Shea, but my new stylist isn't Shea.

Then about a month ago, you might remember I took my daughter to Super Cuts and she walked away with this super cute haircut. I've been wondering ever since if maybe Jenna, my daughter's new stylist, could cut my hair.

But this would require me to go to Super Cuts. You know, S-U-P-E-R C-U-T-S where you don't even need an appointment and where they can cut your hair in about five minutes and where tons of people come and go on their way to Target and Kohl's. You know Super Cuts where they don't offer you a shoulder massage or a cup of tea? THAT Super Cuts?

I have had so many bad haircuts in my life that it took me two weeks to work up my nerve to even call.

Oh, but it was worth it.

Jenna did a great job cutting my hair, plus she did my color AND highlights for about the same price I would have paid for a hair cut ONLY at the other place. I am so excited that I can now get my hair cut for $13, and if I start cutting coupons, I might even be able to get a hair cut for $8. I don't think I've had a hair cut that cheap since I was about 5 years old.

And I don't have to tip the guy who washes my hair, AND the colorist AND the stylist. Heck, I probably paid less for my services at Super Cuts than I paid for my tip at the other place!

I was so excited about socking it to my high-priced salon with my discovery of Jenna that I was suddenly ready to take on the world.

You might remember that I mentioned over the summer I have been on a cleaning rampage to try to locate an extra room in our three bedroom home. I think I did it! Sort of.

I cleaned out the master closet in our bedroom and decided this will be baby's "bedroom" for at least the first few months of her life. We talked about putting her in my daughter's room or putting the crib next to our bed. I'm thinking we all are going to need the ability to close the door.

I filled three large storage containers with all of the clothes that I won't be wearing for a while. See ya, size 4 and 6 pants. I hope we can be reunited someday, my dear old friends.

I got rid of about 15 pairs of shoes. Then came the fun. It was time to empty out the contents of 10 purses and bags, which I haven't used in a while. I found about 42 ballpoint pens, six tubes of lipstick, 100 business cards and at least $2.65!

On the way to drop off all of my old shoes, I decided to make a determination once and for all in the Great Pumpkin Custard Debate that has been raging in my head. You might remember that I've been having a little issue with pumpkin lately.

Well, Andy's Frozen Custard has been advertising it's pumpkin pie concrete. It's a big cup of custard with a full slice of pumpkin pie mixed in.

I have been avoiding the taunting billboard and the e-mail advertisement from Andy's and instead have made several trips to Culver's for their pumpkin shake. I'm thinking the creamy shake has to be lower in calories than a solid cup of custard. Right?

Finally, after not eating much more than chicken noodle soup the past few days, I was hungry. It was time to give Andy's a try.

You will be happy to know that after much deliberation and a careful cost analysis, I have determined that the Culver's pumpkin shake is more flavorful and a better deal than the Andy's concrete. However, the people who work at Andy's are extremely nice and helpful, so please ignore this recommendation if you were thinking of going to Andy's.

All the time I spent rummaging through old shoes and eating pumpkin-flavored custard got me thinking about one thing: the gift card to DSW Shoes I have been carrying around since my 40th birthday.

I have been saving that gift card for a weekend just like this one.

I'm feeling ginormous. I only have a few clothes that fit. And I had a significant void in my black shoe selection. I had no black shoes for occasions that fell between my black Skechers and my long high-heeled boots. And that had been creating a serious problem.

But the gift card had been given to me by my highly-fashionable, shoe-loving friends Michele and Debbie for my 40th birthday. So, I was feeling a lot of pressure to use it wisely.

I knew what I wanted. Black suede. Something with a boot-like look, but without the boot. And a heel that is dressy without endangering my life, now that I'm a little off-balance.

And I found it. I have been searching the Internet for a picture, but I can't seem to find one. We'll just call it the Shoot, since it's a shoe that looks like a boot with your pants covering the top. Or we could call it the Bhoe. Whatever works for you.

I also fell in love with this more casual shoe, but I wasn't willing to spend $60, even if it was with a gift card.

So, I went to Kohl's and found this similar, but not-as-cute model on sale for $22.

And by the time I was done with all of that, my runny nose had returned, and it was time to go back into hiding, away from all of the germs lurking about our city.

And that my friends, should answer all of the burning questions that needed to be resolved for a while. I'm sure you'll sleep better tonight. I know I will.

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the cowboy boot salesman

One of our favorite memories of our recent trip to the Smoky Mountains was the evening we were resting on a bench in downtown Gatlinburg when a group of teenagers walked up and started setting up to perform a free bluegrass concert.

The five band members were all between the ages of 15 and 17. But their musical ability was incredible. As I watched the 15-year-old red-headed Abby play the fiddle, I wondered what it would be like to be so talented at such a young age. Was she born into the world a musical prodigy or was it just the outpouring of 10 years of practice and hard work?

I started daydreaming again about my secret desire to be a rock star (or at least a bluegrass singer) when my eyes started focusing on the girls' footwear. I think my chances of becoming a famous banjo player are a little limited at this point in life, but hey, I could at least think about buying some cowboy boots.

A few hours later, we were walking down the strip when we spied the huge cowboy boot store across the street.

"Let's go look around, just for fun," my husband and I both agreed.

As soon as I saw the pricetags I was determined that we were only window-shopping. This was not my typical $29.99 shoe binge at Kohl's.

Maybe we were just giddy with the joy of not having our children hanging on our hips begging for their own cowboy boots, but soon both my husband and I were searching the shelves for a size 8 for me to try. The minute I plopped down on the bench to try on a pair of cowboy boots "just for fun" I heard his voice.

"There's a pair of socks right there beside ya," said the smiling middle-aged man. "You're gonna need those!"

Right. Right. Well, I guess you have to have socks even if you are only trying on the boots for kicks.

I think I mumbled something about how "I'm just looking" and attempted to give him the ol' Midwestern cold shoulder.

But soon this friendly creature with the laughing face was running around the store searching for styles and sizes that would work for me.

I have enough experience in sales to know exactly what he was doing. He was treating me like someone who was going to buy a pair of cowboy boots. And if he had any doubts, he wasn't letting them show.

Despite all my efforts at staying mentally focused, his confidence was starting to wear off on me. Now, I was starting to see myself as someone who was going to buy a pair of cowboy boots.

A little later, as I was checking my reflection with a light brown suede boot on the right foot and a darker boot on the left, another customer walked up to see my selection.

"Those both look good," he said. "That is going to be a tough decision."

Huh? Now I look good in cowboy boots? Maybe it was my general lack of self-esteem in my expanding prego body. Or maybe it was the fact that it was very humid and it was a horrible hair day. But I floated across the store on his words.

I'm not only a person who is going to buy a pair of cowboy boots, I'm a person who looks good in a pair of cowboy boots.

Finally, I was starting to accept my new identity. My smiling salesman had handed and sorted and run up and down stairs to find boots for me to try, when he offered to leave us alone to talk about it. He left me in the capable hands of his two female assistants. And they offered the one last straw that he had not given me.

I was debating between two pairs. One was about a third more expensive than the other. It was also clearly more comfortable. More durable. Higher quality.

"But you don't understand," I tried to explain. "I live in Chicago. This is purely a fashion statement for me. I don't need the best brand you sell."

The saleswoman did not miss a beat. "It doesn't matter if you live in Chicago or Tennessee. You need boots that are going to be comfortable. You can wear these boots for 10 hours straight and they are going to feel great. And see that tread on the bottom? If you wear these other boots, you are going to step out on the icy sidewalk and fall on your butt. See these? You will be able to walk in any weather."

She gave me just what I wanted deep inside: She told me what to do. She gave me a reason to spend more money.

Now, I was not only a person who was going to buy a pair of cowboy boots and a person who looked good in cowboy boots, I was a person who deserved boots that are comfortable and won't make me fall down on the icy sidewalk.

Well, of course I'm going to get the more expensive pair. Who do I look like? Some city slicker from Chicago?

My boot-buying experience reminded me of a lesson that is not only important in sales, but in life. People will act the way they are treated.

In many cases, people will actually become the person they have been told they are.

I can think of so many instances in which someone has treated me in a negative way and I have reacted by being a negative person. I have actually started thinking of myself as unlovable or untalented or stupid, because that is how someone had treated me. I'm sure I've done the same thing to someone else.

On the other hand, I can think of people who gained self-confidence and ability because I treated them like the person they should be rather than the person they were at the moment. I believed in them before they believed in themselves.

I've been having a bit of buyer's remorse over the cowboy boots that now sit in my closet with no where to go this summer. But I'm grateful for the experience. When I look at those boots, I hope they will always remind me to treat people with love and respect and to assume the best of them.

Who knows? Maybe I can encourage someone else to believe the best about herself.


Yee-haw!

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the perils of a pedicure, the sequel

In today's edition of Fashion Friday, I will be featuring these adorable animal print flip flops. And as an extra special bonus, I am writing The Sequel to the Perils of Paraffin Wax.

This story actually began a few months ago when my friend, A Musing Mom, was celebrating her milestone-reaching, I-am-not-middle-age, and I-don't need-bifocals birthday. Just to make the point, she took us to play laser tag.

I gave A Musing a gift certificate to my favorite day spa, Simply Beautiful. I just casually mentioned that if she would rather not go by herself, I would be willing to make the sacrifice and tag along just to give her a little company. It's not like going to Simply Beautiful is No. 1 on my list of life's most relaxing moments or anything.

This was A Musing's second pedicure in her life, and I typically get about one a year, always as an excuse to get together with friends. So, being the spa experts that we are, we were completely prepared. Not long after we sat down, our nail specialists (is that what you call them?) said, "Were you planning to get your nails painted today."

We're both thinking, "Isn't that what a pedicure IS?!?!"

Then she mentions, "Did you bring any sandals?" Sandals? Well, it is January and the thick socks and boots might just smudge our newly painted nails.

Oh.

Hmm.

So here's what we learned last night about The Perils of a Pedicure.

1. If you plan to get a pedicure, you might have to sit for an hour or more in a massage chair with a hot wrap around your neck while soaking your feet in hot water. At times, someone will massage and scrub your feet leaving them feeling amazing. During this time, you will not be able to walk, so you will have to rely on the the Nail Specialist to bring you hot cups of tea to drink. You don't want to get too dehydrated.

2. You will have to choose from what seems like a hundred slight variations of colors ranging from black to hot pink to put on your toes. I have decided to go with the suggestion of Carrie, the wonderful Nail Specialist. Last time, she chose for me "My Private Jet", and you will just have to click here to find out where that got me. This time, the color she chose was called, "You Don't Know Jacques". I'm really not thinking that is sending quite the same motivational message for the year.

3. If you don't bring along any sandals, you will have to scoot through the parking lot in these paper-thin free flip flops they give you at the spa. Your little toe-sies will be freezing, so just to warm up, you will need to go to a restaurant that serves hot food.

4. When you hobble into the restaurant on your paper flip flops, you will try to act casual, hoping no one will notice. But they will. The very first person you encounter as you walk in the door will glare at your shoes, or lack thereof.

5. But never fear. The wait just might be an hour and a half and since the toes only need an hour to dry, you can put on your boots before being seated.

6. Once your feet are safe inside their nice warm shoes, they will start feeling so pampered, oiled, buffed and happy, that they won't want to walk. Your best bet is to put up your feet and order dessert.

Be careful out there. These spa treatments can be rough and come with many unadvertised hazards. Take your sandals. Pick your color wisely. Go in peace.

burning question

I have a very serious question and I'm wondering if you all will help me out??

I'm not kidding... I really need answers here. So, even if you're usually just a reader here, would you please, just this once, answer this question for me??

I've read a couple of blogs lately that made a statement I thought was kind of shocking. I'm trying to figure out if I have some sort of disease or mental illness or perhaps something went wrong in my genetic makeup.

So, here goes. Several other women have been blogging lately about how they HATE to shop for clothes.

Here's the thing. I would say that one of my top five absolute favorite things to do is to shop for clothes. In fact, I love it so much that I have to restrain myself from doing it too much. I could cause our family some serious financial issues because of my constant and burning desire to shop for clothes.

Just this morning, I was out shopping at Sam's (where, by the way, I spent $271 on groceries!! I hadn't been there in several months. But is THIS normal?!?! Because the check-out guy, Joey, said, WHOA! when he gave me the total). Anyway, I'm going through Sam's and thoughts keep running through my head like, "Just a package of socks... Maybe some new underwear... ANYTHING that is even slightly clothing-like would make me so happy right now!"

Clothes shopping is almost like a sport for me. I buy almost every single article of clothing that I own from one store: New York & Co. I know this isn't that impressive. It's not like Macy's or J. Jill or Ann Taylor. But it works for me.

They say they have the perfect pant and in my opinion, they do. Their clothes don't always last that long, and that's fine. Because after a couple years, I'm tired of them anyway. And their style seems to fit me. I feel somewhat dressed up, but not too dressy. It's gotten to the point I don't even attempt to shop at any other stores except in a pinch when I will run into Kohl's. (I know... again, I'm sounding kind of proletariat.)

The real clincher for NY&Co. is the coupons. They send me coupons almost every week. "Spend $50 and get $25 free" "Save $60 on a purchase of $150 or more." I have a love-hate relationship with these coupons.

I hate them because I totally get their game. They mark up the prices and then make me think I'm getting a great deal. I love it because I enjoy trying to "show" them. That's when I can swoop in at just the right moment and find some great deals and THEN use my coupon. I can usually walk out of there with several nice outfits, some jewelry and maybe even a pair of shoes for $90.

So, every new season, I usually go buy a few new "uniforms". These are my two or three new outfits that I wear to my Discovery Toys parties, church, school functions and any social events.

Finally, the dressing room. I love trying on clothing. I could try on clothing for hours! This is like therapy for me.

I'm really not proud of this obsession. I don't think it's a good thing. But it's a constant battle for me to restrain myself from buying new clothing! And that's why I think its so interesting and amazing that other women actually HATE to shop for clothes!

If you are like me, will you tell me so I don't feel so alone out here??

I'm also very curious why other women don't like clothes shopping? Is it because things don't fit right? Is it hard to find something that fits your style? Or is it just not something you want to spend money on?

Would you prefer to shop for cute clothes for your kids, rather than yourself? Or maybe eletronics? Or perhaps you have a hobby that is more tempting? Or do you love shoes, but just not clothes?

Really... I want to know! Will you tell me? Please???

the boot saga continues

EverydayHusband has been getting quite a chuckle out of the reaction to my recent blog about walking around in my high-heeled boots in the ice and snow.

He especially loved the scenario painted by his friend, Wily Hacker, who insinuated that everydayHusband actually used some sort of mind-melding reverse psychology to influence me to wear the boots. Given my independence and self sufficiency, this act then forced me to hold tight onto my husband's arm while I walked along the streets of Chicago.

Well, today another pair of knee-high boots showed up at our home. I think everydayHusband is competing with me to gain some attention for HIS boots.

Here they are:



Of course, his are PERFECT for walking around in any type of winter conditions. In fact, they served him quite well today during several hours he spent in the 18-degree weather hanging Christmas lights on the outside of our house.

I have never been a big proponent of outdoor Christmas lights and, therefore, we have never had any. I might not be practical about shoes, but home decor is another matter. And I know for a fact that what goes up, must come down. I also know that I can be a HUGE procrastinator when it comes to putting things away. I guess I need to create a new section in my planner for taking down Christmas decor.

Anyway, everydayHusband has decided that our children love outdoor Christmas lights so much that we were depriving them of the joy of childhood by not having any on our house. So, he spent the afternoon climbing a ladder hanging lights.

Please understand that it was not just cold today. Not just a little bitter. Frigid isn't even a good word. We are talking: Your nose will freeze solid within minutes and it will snap right off kind of freezing-ba-geezing cold!

For this amazing act of kindness, I hearby nominate everydayHusband, Husband of the Year.

Would you please vote for him? I'm sure you all have some amazing husbands, too. But could you just help me out here and cast your vote?

If the Christmas light story isn't enough... On Friday night when I helped organize the women's Christmas party, he came early and stood out in the death-threatening, arctic-like temps that also included an eye-numbing wind and showed the ladies where to park. THEN, he came back at the end of the night and helped all of the women load all of that blue and white decor BACK in their cars.

The women were all swooning over the kindness of that masked man out in the parking lot, with only his eyes showing through his multiple layers of ski masks. (That's why I called the wind EYE numbing.)

And he did all of this BEFORE he bought the boots.

So, if you STILL don't think he's Husband of the Year material, can you at least help me in MY attempt to get back at him for the covert psychological methods he used to force me to wear those high-heeled boots? There's a really cute pair of furry boots I've been eyeing and I'm hoping to get them for Christmas this year! (Size 8, please.) I think it's obvious that I could use them!

high-heeled boots, icy streets and city lights

Why did I think it would be a good idea to wear my high-heeled boots to my husband's Christmas gathering in downtown Chicago?

The boots seemed perfect when I bought them: The tall black boots with my knee-length skirt. Not too dressy, not too casual.

Of course that was BEFORE the temperature dropped 20 degrees in one day. It was before the snow started and the rain turned to sleet.

But at that point, I wasn't going to change my plan. You see, if a girl has her outfit picked out and ready to go, there's no time to switch plans. A girl has to make a little sacrifice in the name of fashion.

Besides. I had already made one huge concession due to the fact I'm only months away from middle age now. (Yes, I will be mentioning that several times over the next five months.) I tried on two different pairs of boots and one pair was miniscule-y cuter than the other. However, the ever-so-slightly, barely-detectably cuter pair kind of hurt my toes. And for the first time in my LIFE, I actually chose comfort over cute.

But practical over cute? Never! (At least not until I'm 50.)

I mean it was my first time meeting the women from the L.A. office of my husband's company. They actually left their warm, sunny and beautiful surroundings that I can only dream of in December and CHOSE to fly to Chicago during our first winter storm of the season for the company Christmas party. And you KNOW how those L.A. people are??

They are always dressed better than those of us here in the midwest. I was certain none of THEM would abandon their previously-planned high-heeled boots just because of a little snow and ice. Or even a lot of snow and ice.

But no. They arrived in their practical shoes with traction to walk all over Michigan Avenue in the wonderful windy, icy, snowy, blustery, frigid (have I mentioned I DESPISE winter and want nothing more in life than to live in a warm climate???) weather. They wore ever-so-practical long pants as one should when visiting the tundra in the heart of winter. And I would bet money they even had sleek long-underwear on under the pants.

Me? Looking sharp.

Never mind that I have broken each of my arms TWICE. Never mind that I usually break my arms simply by falling down while walking. Never mind that I tried to get the mail earlier in the day but started sliding down the driveway in my boots and had to cling to the minvan and pull myself back up to the garage door so I could get myself off the ski slope in front of our house.

No. Never mind all of that because those boots looked good with that skirt, darn it.

I was honestly thinking that everyone in our group would be shuffling along the sidewalk, as I was, because they had no traction. I thought that if I actually did have to get down on my hands and knees and crawl on the ice that it would be OK because everyone would be in the same boat.

But no.

They all walked along merrily (and quite briskly, I should add), letting out little gasps of delight at the beautiful lights and store windows all decorated for Christmas.

I scooted along, holding on tight to my husband's arm for dear life. I carefully watched the ice forming on the sidewalk and tried to dodge the grates that were yearning to suck up the heels of my boots with one wrong step. I kept my nose to the ground to avoid the whipping wind and ice spitting from the sky.

"Isn't it beautiful?" they would ask, gazing into the windows at Bloomingdales.

"Oh, yes," I thought, not daring to look up. "THEY are beautiful." My beloved new boots.