My Left Foot

I should be in bed.  But that's largely the case every night if you check the time at which I choose to write these things.  I have no defense.  Except that insomnia, to varying degrees, runs in my immediate family of mother and close siblings.  Might as well make the very best of a trying situation.

Back in November of last year, I cut my hair from long to a mid-length.  A significant change for a woman's coiffure.  Especially as the years advance and things like hair and nails tend to regenerate at a slower pace -- unless the hair is found in the nose and ears and the nail is a hangnail! 

Well, then restlessness seemingly kicked in this past month and I found myself once again in the black chair in front of the mirror with Vickie, my hair gal, leaning over me with spray bottle and thinning scissors.  Though I narrowly averted bald (been there, done that at 30), I did walk away looking more like Julia Roberts in 'Hook' than Julia Roberts in 'Steel Magnolias.'  (Really, our narrow doppelganger issue has resolved itself in the last decade as we've steered our bodily ships in opposite directions.)

What you may not know is the REAL reason behind the cut.  Drum roll-l-l . . . I had to sell the danged tresses to afford new shoes for this growing lug of a boy we affectionately call our son!  I mean come on, folks!  His Christmas tennies are pushing against his toes because the 9 1/2 length which knocked me off the Ski Foot Podium (finally!) in December has transmogrified into near 11's this month!  Even my super-sized left foot is a distant second to my 14 year-old's suddenly unchecked growth spurt.

After three stores and growing drama over the merits of 10 1/2 versus 11 (while the larger size will crease the leather toebox over time, the smaller size guarantees we'll be back in a month for more!), we selected a matte black leather pair of Nike something-special-or-anothers for $69.00 before the 20% coupon.  He put up $35 of his own lawn mowing earnings toward the investment.  We thanked the guy who added his own 2 cents per the pros and cons of fitting and style and such.  And, we headed home in amazement that it hadn't taken longer or cost more or created a significant rift between parent and child.

My two girls went through a phase where they desperately wished their feet would grow and outstrip my planks.  Fortunately, their prayers went unanswered.  As Garth Brooks said, one of God's greatest gifts -- especially in this instance.  I promise you my boy wishes his tootsies would stop inching forward as surely as my checkbook protests the constant ka-ching! that coincides with the ominous phrase, "Uh, mom? Come feel my toe in these shoes?" which seems to occur every other payday!  "Didn't we just GET you these a month ago?" I invariably groan as I realize he's not just conning me or trying to wrangle a cooler pair of Nikes out of us.  One of the very few times I wish he was lying to me.  Grrr.

I think my mother put it best tonight when she posted this comment on my Facebook status per all this fancy footwork:  Growing waits for NO wallet.  The truth really hurts.  And by the way, I need new shoes.