Aimee's Treasures: December 2011

All I want for Christmas. . .

. . . is more shoes.

And even though I have roughly over 100 pairs. . .

(I had to count them when Travis and I renovated our master bedroom
so I could be assured I had enough shelf space in our walk-in closet)

. . . I want more.

I think this probably qualifies me as a bit of a shoe addict.

And I sometimes have to remind Travis that when he married me,
he knew what he was getting into.

I realize my Christmas wish for more shoes may seem a little greedy,
but I have at least three pairs of TOMS shoes. . .

. . .which means that there are three children in third-world

countries who have benefited from my gluttany.

My red TOMS, a much anticipated birthday gift from my brother, Sean.

Thanks... I love them. Can you tell?

And that makes me feel a little bit better about my over-indulgence.

Well, I wouldn’t go THAT far!

My love for shoes started at a young age.

I have a vivid memory of a particular visit to my pediatrician’s office where,

while in the waiting room, I physically tried to pry a lady’s heels off her

feet so I could try them on.

I was about three.

And about yay big.

And those heels were tall and shiny and I wanted them.

You can imagine my Mother's embarrassment. . .

. . . but that lady was kind enough to indulge me for a few minutes

and I was a happy girl.

There is something so delightful about being a kid

and trumping around in too-big heels.

When I was in 2^nd grade,

I remember drooling over the black patent
leather Mary Jane's that all my friends had.

I wanted a pair so bad.
But I never got them.

With four kids to clothe, feed, and put through Catholic school, my
parents assured me that my fashion wants were not a high priority.

Note to my 6 year old self.

But I quickly learned to do something about it.

When I was old enough, roughly 10 or 11, I started washing cars
for $5 a piece to raise money for my converse high top collection.

They were $25, and I wanted one pair of each color.

Although this mutli-colored one would’ve saved me a lot time and money.

My clientele started with my parents, and then it
quickly increased to next door neighbors.

My Dad played the role of quality control.

He wanted to ensure our neighbors weren't getting a
shotty job for their money’s worth.

And believe me, there were times I did not pass the twenty-five point

inspection. And I would be sent back for a do-over.

Washing cars to raise money for my shoe collection taught me
discipline, and to take initiative to achieve something I wanted.
And there was pride and satisfaction in that.

But it also taught me . . .

. . . that when you are a kid, your neighbors feel pretty much obligated
to fund your personal goals as long as you ask them with a smile.

So, thanks nice neighbors!

As I’ve grown older, I’ve become less of a planner
& more of an impulse-buyer when it comes to shoes.

Totally.

I admit, I’m a sucker for a good deal. And everyone who knows me, knows this.

My adrenaline starts pumping, a smile ensues with a giggle or two,

. . . & then BAM! I’m at the register.

But even though I may buy a new pair, I do not forget about the old.

I have a 'No Shoe Gets Left Behind' policy.

And with that, I have had many-a-heel replaced, sole resurfaced
or re-glued thanks to my local cobbler.

And each time they come back like brand new,
shiny and ready for those very soles to hit the pavement once again.

Ready to go where I go. One foot at a time.

So Santa, if you are listening, I have been a bad girl.