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Taking your kids shoe shopping is worth a diamond tennis bracelet as a reward.

I’m feeling under the weather. My throat is a little gluey. My head hurts. My body is tired and a little achy. I started on my 8 week work out plan for Hawaii this week. I got one day down, and then I already skipped working out yesterday because I didn’t feel well. Blech.

Before the kids went to school, I promised them a trip to the mall after school. Why in THEE hell did I do that??

I tried coaxing them with cookies and movies to stay home, but it was fruitless. They wanted to go to the blessed damned mall and nothing was going to change their mind.

So I pulled myself up from my bra straps and brushed the crumpet crumbs off my pajama jeans and slapped some mascara on and brushed my hair. I threw on a sweatshirt- oh this chick was pulling out all the stops- I mean, pajama jeans AND a Target sweatshirt? It’s like Kate Middleton at Ascot. PFFT. I was sick dammit.

So we check out a couple stores the kids wanted to look at. Got some frozen yogurt. Do you know they have cake batter flavored frozen yogurt? I didn’t get any because of the no-dairy thing, but I had a taste of theirs. Holy crap, it tastes like CAKE BATTER! Minus the risk of salmonella.

We head to Nordstrom to see if there’s any shoes for them. Owen is in desperate need of some. He’s gone through the bottoms of his Nikes he wears every day and the cheapo Payless Shoes have already started to tear at the rubber parts, even though he got them 3 weeks ago.

It took over an hour to sit there and have them pick out what style and size they needed. Both kids are uber foot sensitive when it comes to shoes and socks. Only certain socks will do. Only certain shoes will do. So the sales gal brought a half dozen pairs out at a time and they took turns running around the shoe department. You know, to really test them out. Honestly, I didn’t even care at this point how much they cost. It’s not like we were in Burberry or Gucci, or something, I wasn’t too worried. The goal was to get shoes they could wear every day and not complain. Or end up with bunions in their teen years.

So I’m sitting there on the couch and I look over at these two adorable kids. No, not mine. These OTHER two adorable kids. I’m guessing around ages 3 and 6. The little girl was older, long blond hair, glittery TOMS flats, and a cowlneck, sweater tunic (Oh, it’s 50 degrees here and raining, we’re all freezing while the rest of the world is enjoying summer, so that wasn’t strange to me at all.) Her little brother was also in TOMS and some little denim jacket and twill pants and little shirt- we are talking styling. Not the ripped jeans and Old Navy t-shirts my kids were wearing. And then the mom. She was tall, about 5’10” or so, THIN, size 2 maybe, heels, skinny jeans, cute little top, perfectly coiffed hair, make up, nice hand bag. I was staring. Yeah, me in my pajama jeans and sweatshirt. I’m just staring at this mom and her two kids browse the shoe department. How the fuck do they look so perfect? This woman better have some secret addiction to eating her toenail clippings or drinking nail polish. Because just looking at her was irritating as hell.

There I sat, like a lumpy, dumpy ass. Ugh, then I saw my reflection in the mirrored column and THAT didn’t help. Cuz that’s when I remembered I didn’t put on any makeup, minus the mascara I slapped on. I look at Emma and raise my eyebrows in a signal like, ‘look over there’. She does and picks up on my cues. She mouths to me, ‘YOU LOOK FINE’.

GOOD LORD– she knew what I was thinking! Clearly she saw it too. Not feeling well didn’t help either.

And this isn’t about always knowing that I need to look red carpet worthy. I KNOW it’s what’s on the inside that counts. And that I can whip my way through party conversation and reenact skits of Saturday Night Live that has my girlfriend’s peeing in their yoga pants. That my worth is more than my jean’s size.  But this woman’s appearance on that day and that time caught me at a weak point. And I hated it.

We wrapped up our shopping excursion. And I was exhausted and starving. So we did what any self deprecating mom does. Ordered Mexican for take out and went home to stuff my face with guacamole. I only ate half, just so you know.

In the car, Owen says, “Thanks mom for the shoes and taking us shopping. And thanks for being our mom.” Then Emma says, “yeah, thanks for the shoes, and for birthing us. You know- out your butt and all.” Then they laugh and high-five each other. And I start laughing too.

Take that, Skinny Jeans Nordstrom Size 2 Mom.

Namaste.

How I felt I looked like at the mall.

How the other mom looked at the mall.