Untimely Performance: Reminded Again That I am Not 21.

11:04: SHIT! I look at the clock and notice that my son’s end of the year musical performance started four minutes ago.

What the hell am I doing??? Drying my hair, completely mesmerized by the sound of the blow dryer, thinking (or not) that I have enough time.

Last time I looked at the clock it was 10:30. Fifteen minutes to dry my hair is completely enough, five-ish minutes to drive to school and have enough time to set up the video camera before the show starts. THAT went out the window!

Hair dryer and brush are thrown into the drawer and I run out of the bathroom – thankfully, I already got dressed. Into the closet for shoes…the only thought going into this one? Flats. I will have to run and luckily my brain is functioning just enough to pick the shoes that match the dress that I am wearing.

One foot in front of the other, I run down the stairs; my feet thump down the stairs like a herd of cattle rushing in the front door. Our staircase takes the shape of an “L”, if we did not have a landing halfway down, I would have taken the banister for a ride. The dog starts barking at me for making all this ruckus as I run into the kitchen.

Car keys, dog barking, purse, camera, dog barking, video camera – check. Out the door.

My heart is racing and my hands are shaking as I’m thinking, “let the Kindergartners go first, let the Kindergartners go first” (he is in a K-2 school, so I was hoping they would save his grade for last). I tap the garage door opener on the wall, hop in the car and start the engine. I jolt forward a bit as I tap the gas (a little harder than I expected) in my rush to get to his school. I zoom up the driveway and glance behind me to make sure that I closed the garage door – I did.

11:08: I am on high alert for dog walkers and landscaping trucks as I cruise through my very suburban neighborhood, making my way to the main road. As I exit the circle, I screech the tires ever so slightly while passing a “20 mph” sign. My next thought, “Most kids are in school – no buses, no morning work traffic… if I go just a little faster, I will make it in time.”

While I am driving, I visualize myself in another situation: “I know I was going a little over the speed limit officer, but I can’t miss my son’s performance. Please, I have to go!” I may have even cried in that scenario and not intentionally.

11:10: I made it. I can see the entrance to his school, but something is wrong; there are no cars lining the street. As I get closer, I notice that the parking lot is not full. At any and every school function or performance, a good parking spot is to be desired.

Now I’m really confused. My son has been reminding me for a few days now that his class is performing on Tuesday (today). As I pull into the parking lot, I say to myself, “did I miss it all together?” No, 80-something kids could not have performed and dispersed in 10 minutes. Although, his school is known to be punctual with their performances, (unlike my performance today), still, No. I parked my car and figured I would just go into his school to see what was up. Rather than carry the arsenal of media that I brought, I grabbed my purse and iPhone because, at least with my phone I can record the performance and take pictures.

Making my way toward the door, I pass by large windows that showcase an empty cafetorium; I need an excuse. Usually I am on top of these events.

I am buzzed in the front door and greeted by the receptionist. “Can I help you?” she says. “Umm, yes, I was just wondering how to check my son’s lunch money balance; I want to make sure he doesn’t owe anything.” This was something I had intended on doing anyway, so it was a good cover.

Once she finished explaining what I needed to do, I chimed in with a little, “oh, and just quickly, today’s musical performance, what time does it start exactly?”

She answers, “1:15.”

“OK, great, I will see you this afternoon, thank you!” I say with complete conviction as I turn and walk out the door, praying that she is not telepathic as I think to myself, “I am a freaking idiot.”

So why, why am I a freaking idiot? Not because I took too long drying my hair, but because I stayed up too late last night and I am exhausted.

Driving back home, much slower now, I thought to myself, “why again did I stay up so late?” It is a bad habit that I have. When I get into a project, I become obsessed with dinishing it and last night I became obsessed with getting some work posted on my personal website. I find it difficult to concentrate on it during the day while other things compete for my time, so once I was in the creative zone, it was 2am before I looked up.

When this morming came, I woke up in time to get my son off to school, but when I returned home from drop off I thought, “OK, I will just rest for another 30 minutes before I get going”, but that 30 minutes turned into an hour because I was shot.

Clinging to thoughts of my college days, I grabbed a Red Bull and hopped in the shower – that always helped and it did this time as well. As I got ready, I must have become totally oblivious to the time I was taking to dry my hair. Or, maybe I just fell asleep while standing sometime around 10:30 and then woke up at 11:04. Who knows.

Once again, I am reminded that I am an adult and even adults need to have a bed time. Gone are my college days where nights turned into days and days became nights and somehow, I still made it to my 8am classes, sometimes still a little hazy from the night before and passed with honors. I am also reminded that while Red Bull may give me wings, it sometimes leaves my brain sleeping on the pillow.

I am now, once again, off to my son’s musical performance…early.

Shoe Nostalgia

“A shoe show? You are going to a fashion show just for shoes?”  my son asked.

As I stood in my closet, he continued to pummel me with questions: “are the people naked except for their shoes? Why would you want to go to a shoe show?”

“Yes, I am going to a fashion show for shoes, no, the people on the runway will not be naked and I want to go because I like to do these girly things once in awhile, the same way that you boys like to go fishing and play baseball,” I said.

And, with a resounding, “whatever,” he turned and walked out the door.

I was headed to a Hello Stiletto fashion show at Copley Square with a friend that I used to work with downtown. I don’t get to see her that much these days; she is still downtown, living up her (new) single life and I now live 45 minutes west of the city in a nice little suburb, perfect for families with children.

When I received the email from Hello Stiletto about an upcoming fashion show at Copley Place, I could not wait to give her a call. Hello Stiletto is “A free social club for shoe lovers.” They host events that allow you to wear your funkiest, most favorite shoes – the ones that are not made for grocery store runs or carpooling. She and I are both “shoe lovers.” Days in the office where she and I worked often began with, “OK, so which ones are you wearing today?” There was a slight tilt of the ankle for a profile view and a quick description and reason for choosing the particular shoe du jour, only then could work begin.

As I stood there reminiscing about our office catwalk, I glanced over at a pair of Naughty Monkeys. No, not some x-rated toy, but rather a pair of black and white stiletto shoes with a very bold, girly pattern. They were a pair of those; “I don’t care I just have to have them” shoes that just call out to you. Luckily, they were pretty reasonable, maybe even on sale. I don’t know, but I do remember how quickly I fell for them sitting there on the shelf – and how excited I was to walk into work the next day.  With that giddy feeling in my stomach I decided to wear my Naughty Monkeys, it was like they spoke to me all over again.

Momma’s Day

I woke up today to the most delicious bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios hand delivered to me, in bed, by my eight year old son. He woke up early to ensure that he would be the one to deliver me breakfast in bed, made with love of course. With a full belly and some serious snuggling to start my day, I slid my feet into my UGG slippers and made my way down the stairs where I was greeted with flowers, chocolates, cards from the family (including a special one from the dog) and the sound of my boyfriend, laughing on the phone with his Mom. I looked out the sliding doors; it was a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning and we had big plans for a flip-flopping oceanside picnic.

It was a perfect plan for a perfect day, that is, until I stepped outside; I was deceived. The Mother of all Mothers, Mother Nature almost blew me away, literally. The temperature was a blustery 58 degrees and the trees rattled and leaned from what seemed like Gale-force winds. I was duped. As I walked back in, boyfriend, now off the phone said hesitantly, “I don’t think the beach is going to be a good idea for today.” “Dammit!” I thought, but reluctantly agreed and went up to get ready. It is of course, only the beginning of May; my flip flops will wait for me.

What would we do now though? There was no Plan B and time was a-’wasting. I was not really interested in just going out to eat at some fancy, extremely busy-because-it’s-a-holiday restaurant, I just wanted to spend some relaxed, quality time with my boys – not being home with the laundry and the dishes quietly calling my name.

After searching through the “Top 25 Things to do with Mom on Mother’s Day” and realizing that we were either too late or too far away, I closed the computer and conceded my defeat. Frusterated was the LAST thing I wanted to be on my special day. Then, like Curt Schilling in Game two of the 2004 world Series, he came through. “Put your shoes on and let’s go, I have an idea.” I got excited, then thought, “put my shoes on, where were we going”? I was wearing jeans and an off-white sweater – too nice for sneakers, but I wasn’t feeling fancy heels.

I ran up and stood in my closet staring for a moment when finally, someone spoke up, “take the white ones on the top shelf.” I turned to see if Mike was behind me rushing me along, but no one was there.

“We have a name you know.”

I looked under my bed where my son likes to hide, but he wasn’t there either. OK, I was definitely hearing things. “Let’s go!” That voice I knew. “I’m coming!” I yelled back. “OK,” I thought, “back to the shoes.” When I walked back into my closet and glanced at the 26 pairs of shoes neatly sitting on their shelves, my eyes landed on a pair of white Coach flats with gold buckles on the toes.

Hmm, I thought, they will match my sweater, they’re flats so they’re comfortable and they’re pretty – all white and gold. ”Perfect”, I said quietly.

“Of course”, someone replied.

I ignored my mind playing tricks on me, slipped my white flats on and headed out. We drove out to a neighboring town that I knew well, we had just moved from there last year. Driving down Main Street, I got excited and my mouth began to water. With a big smile on my face, I looked over and said, “Sushi?” (he knows it’s my favorite) “Yup”, he said. “I figured that Shanghai Sushi (our favorite little sushi joint) wouldn’t be as busy as busy as the other restaurants are today.” He was right. The three of us sat down and ordered right away. After thorough discussion of what animals we are according to the Chinese horoscope and filling our faces with 56 pieces of Crazy Maki, we headed home.

Driving home I refelcted on how it turned out to be a great day and I didn’t have to do one thing around the house. We did make one stop on the way, but it was one errand I didn’t mind; my shoes were ready to be picked up from the cobbler. About two weeks ago, I dropped off four pairs of shoes to be re-heeled. They had been sitting in a bag in our bedroom for months because I had no idea where to take them, when one day I was dropping off the dry cleaning, I noticed a sign that said, “we take care of shoes too.” It worked out perfectly, I finally found a place to fix my clickety heels, so worn down that I could hear the exposed nail in the heel clicking on the floor.

I ran into the shop, grabbed the two bags of shoes, inspected the craftsmanship of the re-heel job and with satisfaction hopped back in the car to, again, head home, but this time with my stiletto treasures. It had been so long since I had worn these that it was as if I was going home with four brand new pairs of shoes…the icing on the cake of a great Mother’s Day.

Hello world!

Welcome to ThroughMyShoes.com, a little experiment in the art and science of Shoeology (our fascination with shoes and what they say about us) that will serve as a creative outlet for writing and photographing all things life and shoe related.