Dear Santa

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. 

But I make a killer batch of Chocolate Chip Cookies. . .

. . .and I’m really hoping that will earn me enough
bonus points for a new pair of shoes.  


See below for current shoe wish list: 

For fancy. 
(I guess 20-something years later, I'm still a sucker for Mary Jane's.)

For Cas. I like me a pair of Vans slip ons.

Oh, & just in case you forgot. . .

I'm a size 7. 


Thanks.  

XOXO 

Aimee

 


 

Thanksgiving in Retrospect

Okay. Okay. So I know it is almost a week later,
and most of you have already forgotten about Thanksgiving in the
 mad rush to buy, buy, buy on Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and Get-it Tuesday.

(Note: There is not really a Get-it Tuesday. But I bet I you wish there was!)

People are busy thinking about. . .

You’ve probably already swiftly replaced your Fall décor

with the likes of Christmas lights, Christmas trees, and Christmas ornaments.

Oh, and have already starting singing Chrismas carols.

But I’m going to write about Thanksgiving anyway. 

Why?

And I am going to blame my belated Thanksgiving Day post
on tryptophan, carb overload and food comas.

I figured if I threw ‘In Retrospect’ at the end of my title. . . all would be forgiven.
Yes? No?
Ok. Well here it goes anyway.

So, like most holidays, Thanksgiving was jam-packed with family.

  Travis and I visited three households within 4 hours only to come

home and host a Thanksgiving feast of our own for my side of the family.


We went from point A to point B, back to point A to clean, stuff
and put the turkey in the oven, then off to point C, and alas, back to point A again. 

Which, by this diagram, brings us to Point P. OK. Sure. Why not?

Due to the hustle and bustle of the day's events. . . 
. . .we decided to keep dinner simple.

I mean, REAL simple. 

The classic K.I.S.S. method.

I usually go all out. 

Break out the china, fancy flatware and crystal:
the chronic case of hostess syndrome. 

Travis and I have hosted many-a-holiday in our humble abode. . .

. . .and we have become quite the team.

Service with a smile.  I was, mind you, a waitress for 5 years.

  But this time, I admit, I got a little lazy.

We ate off our everyday plates, used our everyday flatware,

and we were even lazy enough to ask everyone to just bring their plates directly

to the pan each dish was cooked in so I could avoid washing more dishes.

Yeah, THAT lazy.

This is what I ate. 

There was a salad, but there was no more room on my plate. 

(Translation: I have priorities.)

Can you tell that my mom’s stuffing is my favorite

part of the classic Thanksgiving Day feast? 

I could go without the turkey,

but don't skimp on my mom's amazing stuffing! 

We served champagne, wine, & beer.

 Oh! And IBC rootbeer for the parentals who were skippin' the booze.

And you know what? 

We all had a blast.  Just like we always do.

Me and my Momma gettin' ready to dig in.

My brother, Sean, just inherited a fancy new camera,

and he was happy to be our photographer for the evening. 

He got some good shots of the dogs.   

Guinness being his usual handsome self.

And Raja being resourceful, yet cute, while checking for scraps under the table.

We even decided to use the tripod and take some family photos.

A rarity.

Here's the fam bam breakdown.

Sean set the timer to take multiple shots at once.

It captured Guinness trying to make out with my Dad.

And me unsuccessfully trying to stop him.

And, well... we got a little silly and thought doing the wave would be fun.

And if you can't tell. 

It was.

But more than anything. . .
. . . it was fun seeing my mom and dad laughing
so hard their mouths gaped wide open.

And seeing my siblings and their sig others delighted to be altogether.

And as exhausted as we were from a day full of cleaning,
visiting family, eating, prepping, eating again, and then cleaning some more. . .
. . . at the end of the day, it's all worth it. 

 Because this is the good stuff.  
The stuffing of the night, so-to-speak.  

Halloween: Then and Now

When I was a kid, Halloween meant pulling out the costume box 

from our attic, brushing off the smell of dust, and digging through

the handmade costumes my mom had sewn years earlier.

The Mc Kids. 1983.

I was excited to be a ballerina. My older sister, a clown. 
And my brothers were happily masked and caped as Batman and Superman. 

My mom would paint our faces the best she knew how,
which, sorry Mom, was not the best. 

My mom, sister and I. Halloween 1982.

It meant dressing up like those we aspired to be.


Mary Beth, Brian, Sean and I at the L.A. Children's Museum. 1986.


Halloween meant pumpkin patches, 

pumpkin carving, 

and pumpkin pie. 

It meant staying out after dark, flashlights in hand,

and our mother trailing closely behind as we went from door to door for treats,

and the occasional trick. 

And as my siblings entered the neighborhood haunted houses,
I would stay behind clinging to my mother’s leg.

I was always a chicken.

And eh-hem. . . still am.

Halloween meant pillowcases filled to the brim with candies,

and the disappointment of the intermittent
toothbrush and dental floss from the neighborhood dentist.

It meant being hyped up on candy for a week straight,

until my mom finally took it away,

figuring we had enough sugar in seven days to thoroughly rot our teeth for life.

Halloween meant costume contests at school,

and my friend JoAnna winning every year. 

JoAnna and I. 1991.

When I got older, Halloween meant Halloween parties. 
Less candy.  More beer. 

My brother, King Sean and I, dressed as Geisha. 2005.

It meant staying out late after dark, but this time with no flashlights. . .

. . .and no mother trailing behind.  

As I’ve gotten a little older, graduated college. . .
. . .and the party scene. 

Halloween means laying pretty low.
It means dressing up in simple costumes appropriate for work.

 Me as a 20s girl. 2011.

 It means enjoying a scary movie on the couch with Travis. . .

Yikes!  (I told you, I’m a scaredy cat!)

. . .while eating popcorn and maybe a snack size Snickers or two.  Or three.

OK, but that's it!

  It means answering the door for trick-or-treaters…

. . .and Oooing and Awwing at the neighborhood princesses, ladybugs, and batmen. . .
. . .as our pups nuzzle their noses into their little baby hands,
and want so badly to follow those superheroes to the next doorstep.