Greetings from Morag’s feet. We’re rather particular.  Morag has flat feet but high insteps, and after 16 years of ballet and 6 years en pointe, well, we won’t even discuss it. But suffice it to say that we, Morag’s feet, are lesbians. We only tolerate comfortable shoes.

Flats are right out. Ow.

Heels are nice but not to low in the toe because then it cuts across that pesky instep.

Our favorites are the Dansko clogs, which are comfortable beyond belief. We wore them through two pregnancies and three jobs. But while they’re lovely, they aren’t the most flattering or professional.

Today, however, we are wearing these shoes: the Dansko, with heels. And oh, my stars, they are maaaaaahvelous. After weeks of saving up to buy them (because let’s be honest, they are holy crap expensive) we are so so pleased. And since we’ve worn the clogs for at least five years, we hope these will last just as long.

That doesn’t meant we’re not shopping for the next pair. We like these, but we also like these. Oh, and these

Leona Lewis sounds like Toni Braxton to me. In fact, I thought Toni Braxton had a new album out every time I heard a snippet of Lewis’ voice in a store or something.

I find shopping in any store 400% more irritating when there’s nonstop Christmas music playing. It makes me loathe the holiday season like damn. But I am kind of looking forward to having an afternoon of shopping online to get my gift giving in line.

Why is it the minute I pick up the phone to do something, fourteen things I’ve been waiting for arrive at once? WTF?

Hired a baby sitter for Friday afternoon. Hubby can get lawn work done, and I’ll be hiding in my office editing the book.

Hooray! 

1. I have so many neat ideals flying around in my head, and not enough ours in the day to make them all reality. I need to figure out a way such that my body needs less sleep.

2. I do have the greatest husband in all the land, though, because if he could create hours out of thin air, he totally would.

3. Think anyone would miss me if I didn’t actually show up at the table on Thanksgiving, and instead hid somewhere? And did work? Yeah? Hm. Next option....

Two nights ago, I had a mellow, perfect evening with the boys. Both were happy to be home, ate their dinner, went to bed quietly, and were very peaceful and friendly. I was so pleased and so relaxed by the time they were both in bed.

Last night? Not so much. I’m guessing that Freebird didn’t have a nap, because the minute I arrived he was in melt-down mode, and didn’t stop having a tantrum until we got home. Holy shit. And when he finally went to bed? He was asleep within minutes.

If he’s about to drop a nap, only to suffer for it at the end of the day, I want to talk to whomever decided this developmental milestone was a good idea. No nap dropping. Period. 

I finally updated Freebird’s birthday ticker to show me in mathematically astonishing ways that my children are growing up. I remember when Freebird’s ticker read “three days old.” I remember when I did Baba’s and it said one day old (thank heavens for free wireless in the hospital).

Now Freebird is heading to four years old, and Baba is working on #2 (no, saying that never gets old).

On one hand, the day by day measure seems so slow. On the other hand, what?! THREE?! ONE!?! What the....?