Shoes Again, It is a Sickness.

The school shopping has begun.
I love, savor and thoroughly enjoy school clothes shopping. I get all kinds of warm fuzzy feelings when I hand over the plastic to pay for clothes that testify that my children will eventually be going back to school. I just want to sing.
I like to shop. I like to buy cute things. But I like it even more when they are things that we need. Because otherwise, I feel guilty. Like I am living beyond my means. Like I am supporting child labor in Asia. Like I am contributing to over-full landfills. Like I am personally responsible for global warming, underfunded public schools, empty food banks, famine, pestilence, endangered and extinct species, the war in Iraq and the high price of oil.
But putting clothes on the bodies of my children is necessary. Mandatory even, because I would not like to have to justify their nudity to Child Welfare Services. So, I have less guilt about the purchases, and if those purchases are on sale, then I am radiating a glow of contentment and peace for days.
The warm fuzzy feelings come from the memories I had shopping for school clothes as a kid with my sisters, mom and grandma (it was always a family affair). Every July we'd plan a day trip and shop for hours.
I've been trying to share the joy of the hunt with Seth and Alice, but they don't get it. They don't understand the significance of 30% off. They don't even understand the significance of 70% off. All they know is that they wear clothes. Come on guys, work with me here.

Alice did get excited about these shoes I got for her at the Anniversary Sale, but when I told her that they were too big, they wouldn't fit until school started, she got a little perturbed. She wants to wear them right now. I guess I can see why, I mean look at them, they will go perfectly with a princess dress.
And they are only the coolest shoes in the history of the world. Gosh, I wish I was four years old, because I would look so great in those.

Instead, I got these for myself in black. Nice, sensible shoes. Darn me! When did I get so sensible?

Caution: Guts Being Hated Ahead

I hate insurance. I hate insurance companies . . . particularly their guts. This is harsh, but it is making me feel a little better. I am beginning to believe that the CEO of our company is actually Gargamel. Or maybe Prince Humperdinck. Sombody diobolical.

I'd like to make our insurance company stand in line for three hours in the Gobi Desert to wait for water and then when it got to the front of the line I'd say "Sorry Insurance Company, you have the wrong ID number." And when it got the right ID number and waited three more hours in the desert, I'd say "Sorry Insurance Company, but you have to get pre-approval to drink water."
And then I would laugh maniacally.

It might make me feel better to go to the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. Shopping is probably cheaper than therapy anyway, especially since the odds of the insurance company covering therapy are slim to none.

Or trying these on might make take me to a happy place.

Or these.

And yes, mom. Alice birthday pictures are forthcoming. As soon as Michael comes home with the camera (which may be tonight, or three days from now. You never know.)