Sssssh. My girls are still sleeping.
Our plan for this morning, after much begging, whining, stomping, threatening, crying, doors slamming, and teeth knashing (ok, no teeth knashing, but only because I don't know what that means), which all took place yesterday between the hours of 11am and midnight, and most of which ill behavior was conducted by me, is to take them shopping for shoes.
Shoes they don't need, per se, but do want, per se, for their first day back to school.
Shoes that have a certain label as opposed to, say, any pair of lace ups from a thrift store.
Shoes that they have promised to use their own allowance money to purchase because they will be entering 7th grade and need to set a fashion plate example. No longer the wide-eyed, newbie 6th graders, after all.
Because me? I'm no longer into labels. I don't care what the little rubber tag says on the heel or the little fabric tag sewn into the side seam. All I care about is whether the shoes are comfortable and look to be in reasonable style from the past two decades. Because no, I will not wear saddle shoes or penny loafers or these
But then, I never would wear Jellies. Even at the height of their fashion, whenever that was, exactly. Seems to me like they would make my feet sweat. But I wouldn't have worn them even with cute little white bobby socks, Japanese wooden sandal style. I don't want to wear a shoe named after something sticky that gets smeared on breakfast toast. And because, as you may remember, shoes matter.
My girls promised me they would get up really early to beat the heat. It's now 10:30 am and by my way of thinking, they have already missed the window of shopping opportunity.
What I am trying to avoid is
spending money coming out of a department store in the middle of the kind of heat we're having, entering a car that could now be substituted for a crematorium.
Hey, now there's business plan: cheap cremations in your cherished vehicle in the parking lot of your choice. Might fund my idea of retirement. Because you just know there are a ton of
men people who would love nothing better than to spend their last flesh and bone moments sitting upright in their vehicle, as opposed to, say, reclining in a hammock, next to their loved one, watching a beautiful sunset, sipping Merlot, holding hands. I don't know how a cremation could be arranged in such a romantic scenario, but it's worth considering.
But back to the incinerator in the asphalt parking lot where you turn on the AC and feel like a blast furnace is smelting your earrings into a silver plated tattoo onto the side of your neck.
And your hair. No matter how much spray you use to keep your baby fine hair up in thirty clips of varying sizes and colors, you will look in the rearview mirror only to find this looking back at you
So, the question is, do I wake up my slumbering daughters and try to get as early a start as possible?
Do I leave them be and hope they sleep until the stores are closed?
Do I take the hard line, Nope. Sorry. I agreed to take you shopping only if we left the house before the temperature reached 96 degrees. You are now three degrees too late.
Do I cave in
like I always do, forget about the sweaty hair, thighs sticking to the car seat, bottled water hot as a cup of tea and embrace the Bikram-esque shopping experience?
Because in two days time my daughters will be right back at it, having forgotten all about my Herculean effort and my maternal caving, because they just have to have another particular fashion item that every 8th grader is wearing and why are you always so mean?!
What is your vote, reader? Generous, forgiving, hot shopping mom or lounging on sofa under ceiling fan watching Netflix freebies mom?