Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Schwartz's vs Red Shoes

Chris and I had a wonderful weekend and I've sat down a few times to write about it but I just don't really know how to do so.  I don't really write about myself a whole lot on this blog (I don't think).  I try to focus on the kids and the family as a whole unit.  So the thought of writing some shallow self absorbed post terrifies me, which is weird because I'm a pretty self centered person so you'd think I'd love to talk about myself on this blog.  The thing is, I got some red shoes and I just don't know how to talk about them.  Do I just do a weekend wrap up and show you the cute pictures from the things we did this weekend?

We went to the zoo.
My amazing and wonderful mother drove 3 hours just to come to town to baby sit for us so we could go to a wedding.  I repaid her by making her kiss a giraffe.

(It's become a zoo tradition.)

Sarah heard me goading Grandma into a kissing the giraffe so she did it too.  She didn't quite understand what was going on so she just walked up and kissed it.

I had my first paying gig making cake balls.  The groom's cake for the wedding we were invited to was to look like the Alabama football field so they had me make footballs to go with it.  They took me 3 days and an excessive amount of stress but they turned out good.  I probably should have taken a picture of them at the wedding when they were displayed in a cute manner.  Oh well.
Red Velvet on the inside.  Yum!

Or should I just suck it up and talk about these dumb red shoes?  You see, I have started and deleted many posts because I like to keep this blog nice and tidy.  (Minus all the blaring typos that I just don't seem to care about.)  And by nice and tidy I mean edited for crazy.  I have a lot of crazy.  It makes me cute and lovable to my friends.  I have a handful of R-E-A-L-L-Y good friends who know my crazy and love me in-spite of it.  In fact I think they only really keep me around because of my crazy.  It, at times, can be quite entertaining.  And honestly I don't care if strangers know about my crazy.  I mean really, I'll never meet you.  But there is a small subset of people who may or may not read this blog and it is from them that I have worked diligently for years to hide my crazy from because I just don't want to give them more fodder for discussing me and my apparent and abundant shortcomings.  And so, if I want to talk about these red shoes, I have to let a little of my crazy out.  Because a lot of my crazy came out in the process of getting these blasted red shoes.  In fact the thought of even really discussing the shoes and letting everyone know about my crazy will drive me to tears.  Which is really nuts (see I'm crazy) because they are just shoes.  Maybe it's because I'm just remembering how painful they are.  Yeah, let's go with that.  Or maybe it's because they remind me of my failures.  My shortcomings.  My half assed attempts to be someone I'm not.  

I had a hard time buying these dumb red shoes because physically and mentally they tortured me.  I sometimes keep my crazy divided up among my friends so that not everyone knows the depths of the crazy pool I swim in.  But I've been discussing with one of my other mom friends quite often how I just don't put myself together.  I never really cared to do it as a teen.  I didn't date in college so I wasn't forced to do it then either.  Chris met me without make up on and fell in love with me that way and he really hasn't seen much of anything different.  I get my hair cut in a way that I literally just flip my head upside down and blow dry it because I'm just too stupid to figure out anything else.  I don't use curling irons; they scare me.  I'm too uncoordinated to blow dry and brush at the same time so I don't use a round brush.  And about a year ago I finally bought a flat iron and had to have a friend come over and teach me how to use it.  When it comes to looking pretty and presentable I just can't do it.  And I fight about it with myself because it's stupid and cosmetic.  And clearly something I could change if I wanted to.  But it's all just so overwhelming that I give up because obviously I just don't care enough.  I wear a tshirt and jeans pretty much every day.  I can say, "hey at least I'm not the mom walking around in sweat pants" but really...what's the difference.  One woman's sweat pants is another's jeans.  And my jeans don't even fit.  They are at least 1 or 2 sizes too big but I'm too lazy to go and buy another pair because I hate shopping for clothes.  Please, oh please, don't get me started on how much I HATE shopping for clothes.  If I thought trying to learn how to do make up and hair was stressful trying to figure out what looks cute together and then on me--kill me now!  And shopping for pants now a days is impossible.  My hips have spread but (thankfully) my waist is small so if I want to get them over my thighs I need a larger size, but once I get them over my thighs my butt crack shows because my waist can't hold them up.   

But I wanted a pair of red shoes dadgumit to wear to this wedding.  I own 1 "fancy" dress.  One really nice dress that hangs in plastic and only gets worn for special occasions.  I bought it 5 or 6 years ago when I was graduating with my Masters.  I think that was the last time I wore it.  It's a size 4.  I am NOT a size 4.  I should have bought it in a size 6.  But they didn't have any and I really, REALLY wanted it.  So I bought it and with a fair amount of sucking in I wore it through the entire CBU graduation ceremony and out to dinner that evening.  And then I took it off and put it back in it's plastic and there it has hung for 5 years.  No special occasions.  No reason to get it out and look at it.  But I knew this wedding was coming so back in August I got it out again.  I looked at it.  I cringed.  It has an empire waist line.  Those can be very forgiving.  It's easier for me to wear smaller things when they don't hug my giant thighs and child birthing hips.  I stepped into and zipped it up.  It was a little snug, but I had a little time so I was proud of myself and decided that if I kept training for this half and doing what I was supposed to do I was going to buy myself some sexy red shoes.  

Those dumb red shoes.  I wear flip flops and sneakers.  That's it.  That's pretty much all I own.  I have 2 pairs of church shoes, 1 in black and that same pair in brown.  I bought them 4 years ago.  I wear them every Sunday.  They aren't cute.  They aren't fantastic.  They are shoes.  This summer I realized I am not very cool in the shoes department.  And I got a little self conscious about that.  I guess that's part of why this red shoe obsession happened.  In an effort to make me cooler, Cam bought me some Toms for my birthday.  A trendy name brand shoe.  I felt a little cooler.  Then Chris bought me some Sperrys, another name brand shoe that I can imagine the cool kids are wearing (are cool kids wearing them?).  I generally feel like a poser (do people still say that) when I wear either of those shoes.  I'm not cool.  I'm not trendy.  So I still almost every day wear flip flops and sneakers. 

 But by golly, I wanted some sexy red shoes for this wedding.  So I set out one evening alone to buy some shoes.  I went to the first store and the only ones they had looked like hooker shoes.  I didn't bother to try them on.  I went to the second store, same thing, only hooker shoes.  But I tried a pair on that the heel didn't look too high.  I wear an 8.5 in sneakers and flip flops.  (Except my nice running shoes, those are a 9--fun fact you should buy a half size up in running shoes.)  I tried on the 8.5 and my heel kept walking out and I looked stupid because with each step I was fighting to get my heel back in the shoe.  I tried on the 8 and they were too tight and my toes were screaming.  I flipped back and forth between those two sizes, 8.5 too big unless shoes are supposed to work like that.  8, too small can't fit.  I left.  I sat in my car and I cried.  Because just like everything else about me, my feet just can't fit in.  My feet just aren't good enough to wear a pair of cute shoes.  My feet will never be pretty or sexy so they just need to go find a comfy pair of flip flops and settle in.  Nobody notices or cares what my feet look like either, regardless of the amount of energy and effort I put into it, so why bother.

As I headed to the scrapbook store (where I was supposed to be anyway) I saw there was a shoe store next door.  I called Cam as I sat outside the store and lamented to her what was going on.  She told me I was probably an 8 wide.  I didn't know that existed.  But I definitely don't want to be told another part of me is wide.  At the 3rd store there were 2 pairs of red shoes that I did not deem hooker shoes and found acceptable.  One very flirty fun pair and a another lower heel more conservative pair.  Neither of them came in an 8 wide.  I don't think stores know that an 8 wide is supposed to exist.  I flipped and flopped between both sizes and both pairs.  And once again left in tears because my feet were never going to fit in.  

Chris didn't really know how to handle the situation.  He's pretty aware that his wife is bat-crap-crazy.  But for some reason still after 8 years that man does not know what to do when this cycle of crazy starts-a-spinnin'.  I've told him before what's the best way to handle it.  But that generally just leads to a fight.  So I don't bother any more.  In fact, I usually try to keep this side of my crazy only visible to 2 friends who I feel can empathize with my crazy and he's not on that list.  He sees this crazy when it boils over and can't be contained or when Cam can't answer her phone.   

But these shoes were torturing me, so the crazy boiled over and he saw it in all it's superficial glory.  He didn't say anything.  I bellered that I was just going to figure out something else to wear with my ugly church shoes because it didn't matter anyway.  I stewed for another day over these dumb red shoes.  These fun, flirty, sexy, red shoes.  These shoes I should never own because what will I ever wear them with.  These unpractical red high heeled shoes.  These shoes that like everything else I want to be, just don't fit me.  And these shoes, that honestly Chris will probably never notice.  I thought a lot about these red shoes.  Friday, the day before the wedding, I was supposed to meet my amazing teacher friends for a football game.  I asked Chris to meet me in town so I could look at those stupid red shoes one more time and he could take the kids home from there and I'd head to the game.  Because for whatever reason, I hadn't given up hope.  I really wanted those red shoes. 

Chris came in the store and watched me for 30 minutes waffle back and forth between the sizes and pairs.  He listened to me complain about how they don't fit, and yet I wasn't taking them off.  He heard me debate that the more conservative shoes could be worn again because of the lower heel and closed toe I'd be more likely to wear them to church as I stood there in the flirty, fun pair.  But how really neither shoe would ever be worn again because they just don't fit right.  And that's why I only wear flip flops.  I took the shoes off.  He took them up to the register and bought them.  

(Pre-prom picture courtesy of Mom)   

I spent about 30 minutes on my make up, and an hour on my hair.  I painted my toes and slipped into the size 4 dress with those red shoes.  I told Chris he had to tell me at least 5 times that I looked nice.  He didn't meet the requirement.  Even if he had, I don't think it would have mattered since I had to fish for it.  But I wore those red shoes.  And then I wore them the next day to church (with a different black and white more churchy outfit) where thankfully they were so out of character for me that lots of people told me I had cute shoes.  Now they are back in their tissue, back in the box, tucked in the back of my closet under the dress that hangs in plastic waiting for special occasions.  Today I'm wearing a raggedy pair of khaki shorts, flip flops, and a tshirt.  But somewhere in that closet is a pair of flirty, fun, red shoes. 

5 comments:

  1. Oh my gosh, this is my most favorite post you have ever written. I loved it. I laughed, I almost cried, and I understand EXACTLY where you are coming from. You are beautiful and I love you, your baggy jeans, and 100% of your crazy. You are an amazing woman.

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  2. I love you. Will email u when I can get to a computer.

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  3. I can SO relate!! My "red shoes" are patent leather taupe five-inch heels. I'll have them bronzed when I get my bunion surgery. I'm sure your girlfriends and husband agree you fit in perfectly right where you are.

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  4. Agree - this is a FABULOUS post! My "red shoes" are a pair of paisley Carlos Santana stilleto heels. I wore them to a wedding one time, and they've been in my closet in a box ever since. But they are there, just in case, some day....

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  5. My red shoes are also red--4-inch heels with a Mary Jane strap in patent leather. I wanted to wear them with my wedding dress. Unfortunately, I didn't find them until 5 years after we got married. That might be part of the reason that I occasionally think I might want to go back and get bridal portraits done—I finally got the whole outfit together! But I can't just leave them in their tissue. I have to wear them at least a couple times a year. I really love those shoes. I should have bought 2 pair.

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