boots: acquired!

ZOMG, so after yesterday’s abortive boot-shopping expedition, I managed to find not only the Franco Sarto boots in my size (which, unfortunately, were somewhat more toe-crunching than I had anticipated so I’m especially glad I didn’t just buy them on the internet like the voices in my head were telling me to) but a pair of the cutest, comfiest, most flattering boots EVER at Nordstrom, for – get this – $69. Seriously. Not on sale or anything.

bp mattie

I got a pair, my sister got a pair. We rocked the matching boots. It was glorious.

It’s funny, too, because we totally weren’t going to go into Nordstrom. We’d gone to the downtown Nordstrom last night and found absolutely nothing of any import (except a snotty saleslady who informed me loftily they she didn’t even need to check to know they wouldn’t have anything in my size, while trying to woo my obviously wealthier sister into buying some Josef Seibels that she totally got later that night on eBay) so why bother going into the one at Lloyd Center, right? But we’d exhausted all our other boot possibilities, and I was already feeling grumpy and fatalistic since the one pair I’d been keen on at Macy’s (not the Franco Sartos, but a very riding-bootish pair from Bandolino) would have to be special-ordered and therefore would not qualify for the sale price OR give me anything resembling instant gratification. And really, if I wanted to order boots, wouldn’t I have done so from the comfort of my own home? Would I really have bothered to make my way through a crowded mall?

But we went, and behold! A whole juniors shoe section! Which apparently involved all the shoes that were both cute and affordable! Who would have guessed? We emerged, bootified and victorious, and met up with the boys for a round of ice skating.

As far as days go, this was pretty good.

boots: denied


I’ve had my eye on this pair of Franco Sarto boots from Macy’s since before my trip. They’re incredibly cute, what with the little retro heels and the buttons up the side, and totally impractical, what with the little retro heels and the buttons up the side. But did I mention the cute? Cute totally trumps practical, especially when you’ve been drowning in practical and only just managed to actually paint your nails again, after 3 years of not bothering.

So they’re on sale at Macy’s, the boots are, and they have been since before my trip, but I’ve been so ridiculously busy (and/or enfeebled by migraine) that I haven’t made it out there until today. And today I sat in the Macy’s chair and waited for the incredibly lackadaisical Macy’s employee to bring me a pair so that I could try them on, be dazzled by their cuteness, and purchase them, using my hard-earned dollars. That was my plan, and it was a pretty good one, I though.

Except for one tiny detail: they were sold out of my size. And the size below. The closest size left, I was informed, was an 8.5. Yes. The size my feet USED to be, before I got pregnant.

It’s totally a sign. I will be wearing Danskos and Uggs until I die.

threadless loves me, and you should too

ETA: Aaaw, I didn’t make it past the first round…but thank to everyone who voted for me! I’ll just have to come up with something fabulous for next time…

I have a design in the running on Threadless! If it gets picked, it’ll be a Threadless tee, and I will achieve infamy and fortune. Or at least infamy.

My Submission

Vote for me, won’t you? And tell all your friends. And your friends’ friends. And your friends’ friends’ friends…

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refine this

In Slightly Less Unhealthy news, I’ve once again decided to go on a fresh food/less sugar kick. The reasons are similar to last time (moodiness exacerbated by sugar, extreme crankiness, general sense of malaise) but with one added bit: low sugar diets can help with migraines.

Studies show that when a migraine person eats refined sugar, their blood sugar level goes up very high, then quickly comes down again. […] Natural sugars, such as fruit, completely unprocessed sugar cane juice, etc. do not cause this effect.

Natural Migraine Treatment FAQ

Since I am disinclined to argue with such an authority as Teh Interwebs, I figure I ought to try and cut out as much refined sugar as I can. This is somewhat challenging, since I like refined sugar. It’s so…refined. So crystalline and white, like wee little diamonds that you can eat. And such delicious things are made from it, such as chocolate, and things made out of chocolate.

Do I like it enough to have one or two migraines every month? Accompanied by mood swings and bitchiness?

Can I get back to you on that?

So far the diet change has been a piece of cake, and by cake I mean angel food. We had a lovely dessert of angel food cake, fresh berries, and a little bit of unsweetened heavy cream whipped with mascarpone cheese, and – wow. Not completely sugar-free, since there’s sugar in the cake, but certainly not on a par with anything made by Hostess. Which leads me to believe that I can totally do this, as long as we eat just like that for the rest of my life.

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…so look out for those beauties, oh yeah

I got a bike.

I got a bike.

As someone who hasn’t ridden a bicycle since 1997, I find the fact that I have a brand-new Trek Lime – purchased from an actual bike shop! – highly unlikely, as well as somewhat amusing. But there you go. I have a bike.

I took it for its maiden voyage this afternoon. I’d gamely tried it out right after I purchased it, but the unfamiliar sensation of being so high up and on two wheels caused me to wobble uncontrollably. Taking it out today involved me walking the bike on the sidewalk the entire 9 blocks to the park and then gingerly hopping astride, hoping against hope that I had some sort of muscle memory that would keep me from cracking my head open in the first five minutes. And behold! My head, it is whole!

And man, riding a bike is a blast. I’d forgotten how much fun it is. And fast! Walking seems unbearably slow now.

We’ve got a Wee Ride for the Wee Child, and we’ll see which bike it goes on. If it’s mine, I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of riding in my near future.

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crafty mamas

milagros-1.jpgHad a lovely time at the Crafty Mamas Bazaar at Milagros this weekend. Maybe I only sold one toy. I admit nothing. Possibly I gave away more than I sold. But that’s the best part about making stuff! I totally don’t buy into the whole time=money thing. Time=love. Love=money? (Yay, prostitution!) (Ha. I kid. I have watched enough Julia Roberts in my life to know that prostitutes do not kiss on the mouth.)

Speaking of…what were we speaking of? Oh yes, money, and time, and love, which brings us (naturally) to Ikea. We took a family trip to Ikea today, totally spur of the moment, and realized when we emerged, slightly shaken and confused, that we had been there for four hours. Now, I am all about the Ikea love, but four hours? Seriously? Still, we managed to get a truly unlikely number of housewares for a mere $40, and that’s a win by any standard. And meatballs. There are few things on this earth better than Ikea meatballs. My mouth is watering just thinking about them.

we have sleep

It’s 9:15 pm, and the baby? The baby is sleeping.

sleeping kid This is unusual enough to prompt a whole blog entry, as is the fact that I’m typing merrily away on a laptop which actually connects with the internet (it belongs to Not So, but still). So, yes. 9:15 pm. Baby sleeping. Me online. Me online and not working. Has the world gone mad?

The secret to getting my kid to sleep at a reasonable hour is twofold, apparently: put him to bed early, and put him to bed with mama. The first part is something all the sleep books insisted upon and which, at first, I brushed off. My kid? Night owl. I couldn’t possibly put him to bed at 7:30! Which…I still can’t, but if we get him to bed at 8:30 he’s out like a light at 9. Whereas, you know, if we put him to bed at 9, he’s bouncing off the walls at 11:45 and mama is losing what little mind she has left. Because, oh my god, woe betide anyone besides me who thinks they can lure the child into slumber. Not So attempted to put his son to bed tonight, and it was only after listening to an excruciating 15 minutes of hysterical screaming that I came in…and the kid calmed right down. It was like flipping a switch. And then, you know, there was sleep, and can I argue with sleep? No, I can not.

It’s weird, though, having him sleep so early and so seamlessly. I feel like I should be Doing Something. Celebrating, perhaps?

unexpected goodness

Frog’s legs are, actually, very good. They do taste quite a bit like chicken, which is reassuring when confronted with a food that used to be covered in a slick reptile skin. I was afraid that they would come like that, covered in frog skin, and I was certain I would not be able to consume anything covered in frog skin. They were deep-fried, though, battered, and only resembled the extended, leaping legs of a frog in shape.

My week was a lot like that: unexpected goodness in unexpected places. I was surprised on Thursday by an e-mail from the Portland Picks folks, saying they love my Cranky Pals and are featuring them in (last) Friday’s newsletter. Squee! The Crankies, they are all about the love. (I accidentally typed “lobe” there, the Crankies, all about the lobe, and then spent a period of time contemplating what sort of lobe the Crankies might be all about and where in the brain it was located. Although perhaps the ear. It is hard to say.)

The kid = still weaned, which is good since my supply is finally (finally!) dwindling. Apparently I am a milking machine. Several third-world countries could be sustained on my milk supply. Unsurprisingly, now that the milk is finally going the way of the dodo, I find myself suddenly deflated. This means none of my bras are even remotely functional. You’d think I’d just start wearing one of my less immense bras, considering that I had a stash of them from my less endowed days. You’d think that, but that would presuppose that I knew where any of them were, and could locate them as needed. I suspect that they are in a box somewhere, like pretty much everything else we own. Being prepared is not one of my strong suits.

Not nursing is pretty great, though. I heartily recommend it.

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settling in

I thought that life without an in-home washer and dryer would be the pits, and I was wrong, mostly. The building we live in has about 20 units, and there is a laundry room on the 4th floor with two washers and two dryers. I’m home on weekdays, and when I go up to do the laundry the room is almost always empty. It’s sort of a pain to have to schlepp up two flights of stairs after a half hour to transfer it to the dryer (and again in an hour to retrieve) but the two machines do save a bit of time in the long run. I miss our lovely front-loader, but this isn’t so bad, really.

We’re slowly settling in to the new place. Every box we unpack makes the muscles in my neck unclench just a bit. We still don’t have internet at home, so my stints at the office have begun to feel increasingly frenetic. I have so much I need to get done, but Happy Fun Baby only tolerates the office for so long. Not So insists that he can be reasonably productive at the office with the baby, but when he took the kid on Monday so that I could have some desperately needed non-baby time, only an hour and a half passed before he called me saying the baby was bored and did I mind coming back soon? No hurry, of course, it’s just that he couldn’t get much work done with Happy Fun Baby all crankified and craving distraction. Which – yes. I SO GET THAT. (Note: Monday = holiday, yet where were we? Working! Don’t you wish you could start your own business too?)

Living downtown, though? Freaking awesome.

Wednesday I took the kid and headed out to Jamison Park so we could splash around in the fountain. Portland’s having a heat wave, so the fountain was absolutely swarming with people. Ellison took off running the minute we got there, splashing delightedly while I let the water run over my feet and tried to keep an eye on him. Afterward we headed home, where I managed to get a spoonful of peanut butter and half a glass of milk into his tummy before he crashed out on the couch for a nap.

This is the kind of life I want, I think. Just with a little more connectivity.

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jogging my memory

I just “ran” a half a mile. I use the word “ran” loosely, since my actual activity resembled nothing so much as a half-block at a time of desperate lumbering followed by a half-block of staggering and wheezing, repeated eight times, all while pushing a jogging stroller containing one very happy toddler. (The baby loves the jogging stroller. He sits in it like a king on a throne, chirping contentedly and waving his arms around while poor mama tries to jog.) I’d blame the wheezing on the fact that I am so very out of shape except for the fact that I am now coughing up some exciting substances that seem to originate in my lung-area. It’s possible that I am a wee bit under the weather. I admit nothing.

my first workout

(You’ve got to love the fact that my workout abruptly drops off at the end, as though I gave up and simply crawled the rest of the way from the sidewalk to the door. Which isn’t so far from the truth.)

The point is, I have actually taken a jog with the Nike+iPod thinger, and it is, in fact, all that. You turn it on and a friendly voice tells you that you’d better start running, fool, because your workout has begun. And off I went, all fit and healthy-like, wishing I had procured a clever armband-type device so that I didn’t have to tuck my Nano into my bra. The Nano, it does not like to hang out in the bra. It was valiantly tolerant, though. Love the lovely Nano.

Back to the Nike+ thinger. It wants to know what my “Power Song” is. My Power Song! I haven’t thought about that since the days of Ally McBeal! (First season, shut up. It was good.) I do not know what my Power Song is, but I am now desperate to find out.

To that end I’m copying my iTunes from my office computer to the home computer using Senuti. I’ve got to say, Senuti kicks ass. I no longer feel like I’m being treated like a criminal for wanting to copy my own music from one iTunes library to another. Awesome. Plus, Power Song! I feel certain there is a Power Song to be had here somewhere.

In the meantime, I’m going to seek out an expectorant. Cheers.

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