The Naughty List

Tonight she asked if I could snuggle in bed with her.

She wanted me up close and holding her hand...that's rare these days, so I went with it.

She didn't say much.

But the quiet wasn't comforting.

It was heavy and it made the room seem extra dark.

All of a sudden, out came the question...

"Do you think I'm on The Naughty List?"

Shit.

Let me set something straight right now.

I'm not a fan of the Naughty List.

I don't use it...or talk about it...or even mention it.
And she hadn't done one thing that would be even close to earning The Naughty List distinction and yet, here it was.

I'm not a fan of doing good because you are guilted into it.

I know that must seem ironic since I am most definitely Catholic and we are good at guilt.

I'm all about doing good, being good, acting good 

because it's the right thing to do...

because that's who you are...

because you know what's important and you value it.

So the tiny voice asking about The Naughty List sunk me.

I had to snuggle in bed and take a deep breath and think about things...

I got close to her soft sweet cheek and whispered to her the only comfort I could bring.

"I know for sure you're not on The Naughty List.

For sure.

No doubt about it."

"Remember, I'm friends with Santa...good friends...I know."

Her body softened ever so slightly and I held her hand in the dark.

I inwardly cussed out whoever created that crappy old story we dish out to poor unsuspecting kids.

We know when we blow it.

We don't need The Naughty List adding another layer to our Big Mistake.

I tried to explain about the process of living and the idea that mistakes are just part of the deal.

I tried to assure her that the normal, day in day out, stuff of life was just that.

Santa understood.

But it's a tough gray zone.

We make mistakes...does that make us "bad"?

Are we only as good as our last mistake?

How do we ever make up for our mistakes?

Do you ever get off The Naughty List?

*****

In the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling her familiar little hand, smelling her sweet Caroline scent I remembered another mother on another December night fighting for her life.

She died on December 23rd. of breast cancer. leaving behind a 4th grader and a 2nd grader when Jack and Mary Kate were in 3rd and 1st.

There was a time, long ago, when every mommy moment of mine was suffused with all of the mommy moments she had never had...that her boys never knew.

In my kids' teen years, when it was hard, I held close the privilege it was to be right there in the center of the ugly.

Even when it was extra hard I thought of her...and her white chocolate and cranberry scones.

But I admit, I hadn't thought of her for a long while.

Years.

Until tonight...when my December 22nd sliding into December 23rd reminded me...

of how lucky we are to be right there for the hard-ness, the bad-ness, the I-can't-believe-this-is-my life-and-not-some-really-bad-movie ugliness.

Life is hard.

Really it is.

Why add The Naughty List?

Tonight, as of this very minute, it's gone.

Santa has no list.

He doesn't need one.

Dude, you are good...so good...and if you're not...well, we'll deal.

You don't need no list to tell you a thing.

Trust your gut.

Know yourself.

Own your actions.
Fix your mistakes.

Make it better.

Move on.

Tonight I'm grateful for late night snuggles and quiet questions in the dark.

That's the good stuff.

The Naughty List, on the other hand, well, that can hit the road.

*****

And Mary Lou, we still miss you.

Still don't understand.

Still wish it weren't so.

December 23rd is hard.every time.

I Know She Can Do It...But, Why Do I Have To?

courtesy of Katie Daisy Art

One day after I came home from dropping her back off at college to begin her sophomore year,
I steeled myself for the pain of the fridge.

Like the ice bucket challenge, I knew it was going to take my breath away, make me cringe, force me to do something I really didn't want to do at all.
I was going to have to deal with the ingredients...
her ingredients.

You see, my little chickadee likes to bake.
She bakes when she's bored.
She bakes when she's nervous or stressed-out.
She bakes for no reason...just to get a nice smell in the house.

Someday, she is going to make her own family very very happy.

Now, you understand my thickening middle.
When you next see me, just smile with understanding and kindness...please?

In that fridge, I found ricotta.
(For the record, never, in my adult life have I purchased ricotta.
Mary Kate has purchased more in her teen life than most non-Italians have in their whole life.)
For Ina Garten's Ricotta Orange Pound Cake...or maybe that's Giada's recipe?
I found chocolate frosting...left over from Patrick's Heart Day cake.
I found a whole tray of Lonna's insane pumpkin bars only partially eaten.

We are human after all -- our stomachs are finite.

What's a mom to do?

I lingered over the ingredients but knew they needed to go.

She's not going to be back until Thanksgiving...and by then it will just be gross.
Better to dive in right now, peel off the band-aid and face the truth.
She's gone -- for awhile.

Four plates at our table, not five.
No more blaring country music when I start my car.
No more moments of friction for dirty dishes, underwear lounging in places it shouldn't or endless TV marathons.

Dang it.

I know.  I know.
It's what you want and hope and pray for.
This is a very good problem to have.
She's happy.
She's found her spot.

It's just that I'm not in it.

My girlie and I go round and round.
Ours is not the companionable, mellow, obedient, docile relationship that some mothers and daughters seem (from the outside) to have.
Mary Kate and I have contentious, fractious moments.
But she trusts me with her confidences.
She shares herself.
She makes room for me...and if that isn't the biggest gift ever for a mom,
well then I can't think what it could be.

We just want a tiny, little bit of room.
A text.
A funny phone call.
A silly facebook inbox.
A tweet.
A shout out.
An Instagram shot, tagged with a hilarious hashtag.
Any tiny morsel.

Cause you know why?
You've got the whole kit and caboodle from us over here.
You have our whole heart.
Our full attention.
Our breath inhales and exhales with thoughts of you.
All the time.
Even when you think we aren't looking...
we are.

So baby girl, while I know you are flying high.
Send a feather or two to your ground crew.
We already miss you and it's been two days.

Dang it.

Be careful.
Be safe.
Be noble.
Be great.
Be smart.
Be funny -- that's a for sure.
Be honest.
Be gentle -- to others AND yourself.

But don't forget to just be.

Just sit in that wonderful quiet and know yourself.

You're pretty great.

Go show the world.

Your fan club awaits.

Come Home For Love

You've probably figured this out by now...but, I'm a writer-downer.

Like a photographer, I love to memorize the moment but I use words instead.

I try to freeze the frame.

Save the scent.

Hold the moment close...because whooooosh --

it's gone.

This week-end, I couldn't write it down.

It was too magical.

Too indelible.

Too important.

My journal lay empty...like a neglected best friend I couldn't even look at it.

I had to tuck it away.

I have no time for you, little book...only her.

This week-end I got to spend with just my big girl, away at her college, submerged in her world, if only for a moment.

I loved every second!

I felt a bit like a runaway as I kissed my little guys good-bye and relied on the kindess of my sister to watch them after school and the awesomeness of my husband to hang with them all week-end as I boarded a plane.

I tried to mix in with the business travelers...

can you say rookie?

It was obvious I didn't have practice at this...but who cares?

I checked into an adorable little hotel right near campus and texted my love bug.

She was done with class for the day and so I set about running errands and crossing off things on the to-do list with her...

step 1: cut the kryptonite lock on her bike since her key was lost

step 2: get a new bike lock

step 3: get ready for dinner at her sorority

step 4: relax with the girlie :)

We found a super nice locksmith who after a few key questions decided we weren't criminals and was willing to break the bike free.

We meandered and found a bike store and found our lock.

We hung out in her dorm room, meeting people from her floor and listening to the various options for Friday night fun in Eugene...turns out there's quite a few.

We had dinner at her house and got the official tour.

Her sorority house has a laundry-chute and sleeping porches and a real house mom who is way older than me named Char.  

Such a dear, dear lady -- oh the stories she could tell!

And then, in a blink, it was all over and Mary Kate had places to go and I needed to get cozy with my book and I planned to meet her in the morning for (of all things) Zumba!

We had plans to meet in front of the recreation center on campus at 10am.  I show up a few minutes early since I'm not at all sure how Zumba works and was hoping for a cheat sheet.

No one was there.

Doors locked.

Zumba on hold.

Turns out that the rec center is pretty much as slow to open on a Saturday morning as the early morning work out crew is.

These are college students after all and weekends are sleep-in zones.

At 10:05am, a million sorority chicks with their moms show up and here comes my girl too.

We head into this amazing place for exercise and fun and we meet the most adorable Zumba teacher in the world.  She teaches us some steps and holds our hand but mostly she gets us going...

dancing and living the words of these Top 40 songs.

Getting older, I've noticed I'm way more sentimental...does this happen to you?

Seeing all of these girls in their work out gear, their pony tails, their bright shiny smiles standing next to their moms tears sprang to my eyes.

Watching this giant group dance and bounce and move to music made me so teary-eyed I had to go into full 

talk-myself-off-the-ledge mode:

You can do this, Beth.

Stop it.

Mary Kate will not understand why you're crying.

Stop it.

Get it under control.

Dance...enjoy this...hold it close...this is one of a kind.

And so I let that music right into my body.

There were at least 100 other people dancing and moving so I didn't mind if my moves were a bit off.

I danced for all of the moms who aren't healthy enough to dance.

I bounced for all of the daughters who couldn't be there.

I thought of the many many mothers who wished they could dance with their daughters and because of a poisonous relationship or a trauma or a distance they just couldn't.

I thought of my friends without daughters...

and my friends without moms.

While I danced I cried.

And sang.

And rocked it out.

I sent out into the universe praise and love for the moms who were working so hard to be a part of this with their daughters.

I hoped their daughters noticed.

I admired the uber-fit moms but knew I wasn't part of their tribe.

I thanked my body for every single step.

I cajoled my heart...and vowed to be more cardiovascular focused in my exercise routines.

But mostly, I couldn't stop smiling...

watching this daughter of mine dancing and singing and getting down with her bad self.

I thought of the many times she danced around our house, singing it out all in the shower...the Top 40 hits blasting from out of her room and in my car when she was home.

How did it go so fast??

The tears of time passing and recognizing just how brief this all is also came to visit.

Deep breaths, Beth.

Time is up, Beth.

Slow clap it in...you made it though Zumba!

After Zumba and a delicious breakfast we ran to the mall, got some printer ink, and went to a drug store for those essential items that no student wants to spend their precious money on.

After that, it was more hanging out in the dorm.

Full fly-on-the-wall status.

It was so comfy listening to these girls talk and tease and make plans...plans for that night and plans for the next quarter and even plans for next year...all in the space of an hour or two.

So many plans...so much to do...so many dreams to chase.

I could have hung around all night...

but they had plans and people to meet and moments to squeeze tight.

Just like that it was time to head home...kiss good-bye...remind myself that it will only be a few more weeks until she's home, dancing under my roof one more time.

In Eugene, I found a cloth bag with the graphic that's on the top of this page.

It stopped me in my tracks:

"See the world, come home for LOVE."

Yep, that's your job, Mary Kate.

Get out there and see the world.

You're doing an awesome job of just that...

but please remember the second half:

Come home for LOVE.

Love is always here.

Always waiting.

Missing you and loving you.

And so very proud of the adventure you're living.

Carpe Diem, Baby Girl.

Seventh Heaven

Little girls in a nutshell.

Giggle and laugh...got it down pat.


I've been hearing some new sounds around my house.
She whistles now.  Loud and clear.  Can even carry a tune.
I'll hear her whistling to herself...singing a song too.
It's breath-taking in its lack of self-consciousness.

She's seven.

And I don't care what people tell you about five, or six or even eight.
Seven rocks.

She is itching to play games.
She's an Old Maid card shark, that one.
I'd teach her poker but I'm pretty sure I'd lose my shirt.
She loves board games and counting up her money, saving up her get-out-of-jail free card and rounding the bend.

She's creative and sassy and funny and full of joy...bubbling, oozing, crazy joy.
She's tapped into that divine source, effortlessly, and I try to stand right by her just to rub shoulders with the source...
sometimes it works.

Seven.

A reader.
A thinker.
A curious cat.

Asking questions.
Yesterday's: "Mom, when you go on your walk with Buddy, can you pick up that litter?
Me: Huh?
"I want to have this...and she points to a sticker that says "pick of the litter"."
(Our world is so confusing.  How do I explain that this litter is good and that the "pick of the litter" is the best of the bunch, regardless of the word's proximity to trash?)

I smile at her and try not to snicker.
"Oh baby, you definitely have the pick of the litter.  Buddy's the best."
Careful, trusting acknowledgement.  She knows.

On Sunday, we had a few minutes together with no one else around.
I asked her if she wanted to go out to lunch...but the enthusiasm was lackluster.
Pause.
How about a tea party?

Eyes B.I.G.
Instant hug.

*Jackpot*

Houston, tea party it is.

So we made our egg salad sandwiches but improvised with tortillas -- we had run out of our delicious sourdough bread -- California problems.
We steeped our ginger peach tea.
We peeled baby oranges.
And found ourselves pausing and resting and truly being leisurely with our tea.

Must.do.this.more.

Seven.

It's a little slice of heaven.

So tonight I'm grateful for the dancing, singing, twirling little girl that graces my days.

Grateful for her exuberant love of living in our amazing world...

where shoes can get tied, mouths can whistle and little girls finally learn 

how to flatten the gum just right to blow a bubble.

There are so many tricks to know.  So many games to play.

May we always stop to dance and sing.

Spinning, laughing dancing to

her favorite song...

Eyes wide open

Always hoping for the sun

And she'll sing her song to anyone

that comes along.

Fragile as a leaf in autumn

Just fallin' to the ground

Without a sound

Crooked little smile on her face

Tells a tale of grace

That's all her own

Spinning, laughing dancing to 

her favorite song...

Seven Years -- Norah Jones

Blessings

"A blessing is a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen."    -- John O'Donohue

Tonight we schlepped our way through 4th of July traffic and the 105 degree heat to a nun's house.

To be honest, I didn't really even know that nuns or sisters or women religious just live in regular old houses on regular old streets. Turns out they do.

 (I think I'd love to have a house full of sisters in my neighborhood...but that's for another day.)

We walked in late and sweaty and hassled.  We found a group of young women, including Mary Kate, getting ready to go on a trip.  We had parents and siblings there to support them.  Teachers and some women who had gone last year were there to share in this moment.  We had the wonderful teacher who founded the non-profit foundation that is the vehicle to our girls' journey to helping others and
we had Sister Maria.

She opened up her home.

She blessed our girls.

Well, actually, she provided the thoughts, prayers and beauty behind the ceremony that became The Blessing.  She gave the parents the privilege of actually blessing our daughters.

First she reminded us of our many blessings of living in a first world country.

70% of the world lives without electricity, running water, healthcare and most of the time not enough food to eat.
70% -- that alone is a stunning number.

Then she went through the difficulties parents in the third world face.  The lack of time to love and care for their children because parents are working so hard to meet the basic needs of survival.  The lack of opportunity...not to mention the shorter life span...
just by having the misfortune to live in their country instead of ours.

Yeah, made the 105 temp not seem like such a biggie...or the traffic...or the hassle of juggling jobs and kids to get to the place...

Then Sister Maria handed us a piece of paper with some prayers and some blessings.

The girls stood in a circle facing out toward their parents.
We faced them.

Seeing my daughter staring at me with an embarrassed smile and a "hurry up" vibe made me, like a small child, want to do the opposite.

I wanted to linger over her eyes and ears as I dipped my fingers in water and blessed her clarity of vision and her ability to hear the truth.

Using a cotton ball dipped in oil, I rubbed her forehead and palms, blessing her thoughts, asking her to be filled with wisdom, and then blessing the work of her hands...asking that they become healing and compassionate.

We took a tiny muffin cup of salt and rubbed her feet.  Reminding her that she is the salt of the earth.  Asking that she walk steadfastly, gently and with reverence upon the earth.  The blessing asked the girls to "never leave a footprint of worry" and to always walk humbly with God.

Finally, the girls were handed a candle of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  We lit their candles and watched the light fill up the room.  I noticed the glow on her face.
I took a deep breath.
The girls were reminded that they are the light of the world.  One does not light a lamp and then put it under a basket.  Rather it is placed on a stand, where it gives light to a house.
In this same way, the girls' light must shine.

Even though they were in a circle, we were each in our own little world...stopping and taking in the beauty of our daughters...

their bright eyes
their keen mind
their big heart
their bright light.

In a little over twenty-four hours we will be sending that big heart off.
Off to Belize.

While she is away, we will light her candle.
We will bless her from afar.
We will hold her close and hold our breaths as she journeys out into this amazing world.

She's been blessed.
We have too.

Sister Maria, for the record, you rock.

Like Oxygen

"Smile, breathe and go slowly." -- Thich Nhat Hanh

My sister, Mary Claire, and my mom, Linda -- December 2012

For the past few days I've been reading about other people's mothers.  They've distilled their mom's wisdom into some bits and pieces.  They were able to list particular traits or sayings that their mother's had that were carefully passed on to them.

I tried to think of personality traits of my mom's.  I tried to see if I could chunk out the wisdom. 

I decided that it was impossible.

The presence of my mother is like oxygen.

I simply know it is there.  I take it for granted.  I never consider what it must be like to have no oxygen. I try to take deep breaths and acknowledge the ever present, life-affirming place that oxygen plays in my world but that's as far as I get.

I don't want to consider gasping or begging for oxygen.

So...for today, again, I'm not going to.

Call me childish.  Call me foolish.  

I accept it.

I need my oxygen.

I will however share here a few things that oxygen has given me.

1) The giggle: if you have enough oxygen, you have enough air in those lungs to giggle.  My mom is the best giggler I know.  You actually CANNOT get her going or she will not stop.  It gets awkward and embarrassing...especially in mass.  We have been the recipients of many evil eyes, trust me.

2) The snack: if you have oxygen, then you will need a snack.  Guaranteed.  If you are out of sorts, you are probably hungry.  If you are going on a trip, however short, you MUST have snacks.  If you are on a road trip and don't bring a cooler full of treats well then you have shirked your God-given duty.

3) The ability to choose the right pen -- it's always about the right pen.  If you have enough oxygen, then you have the ability to consider your pen options.  Color coordinate your written word with your stationery, please.  It's the least you can do.  It really does make an impression.

4) The love note: with oxygen, you can definitely find the time to write a little note on a napkin.  It doesn't have to be fancy.  A little "Isle of View" (say it fast) and you're good to go.

5) The ability to enjoy my freedom: Get out there and do something with that oxygen.  Go see something.  Go visit someone. Cheer for your team.  Make the most of it and get going.

6) The chance to be nice:  if you can breathe, well then, you can be nice.  Simple as that.

7) Constancy: yep...I've never known life without oxygen.  Never struggled for it.  Never knew that you could fight for it and never know it.  

My world is full of my mom's amazing presence.  

She is always there, thinking of me, hoping for me, rooting for me. 

Today, I am grateful for my deep-filled lungs of oxygen...otherwise known as my mother's love.

Ready...breathe.

Inhale gratitude, exhale judgment.

A Letter to My 16 Year Old Daughter

**Note: I went on retreat last week with Mary Kate and we were asked to write a letter to each other.  Of course, I wrote and wrote but my paper and my time were limited...so for a week, I've continued the letter in my head.  It needed to become this.  Thanks for your patience and understanding.**

 "A daughter is a day brightener and a heart warmer." -- Author Unknown

Mary Kate's famous Strawberry Country Cake!

To my sweet, sweet daughter, Mary Kate,

I love you.  Please know that down to your core. Always know I love you, think about you, hope for you and wish for you joy, love and contentment in your life.  

There is nothing that can happen that will diminish my love and joy in you. You do not need to earn it, prove your worthiness or show how great you are, or how accomplished or successful.  I love you simply because you are you.

I loved you the moment I met you (at your least accomplished, most vulnerable, most needy moment) and my love has only grown stronger so please trust me when I say this: you are loved exactly as you are in this moment.

I credit you for teaching me one of life's most important lessons...when I was only a mother to Jack, I wondered if it was possible to love any other child with the depth and intensity and ferociousness that I felt for him.  I couldn't imagine it. But when you were born my world got a little bit brighter, my heart cracked open a bit more and my point-of-view shifted dramatically.

How childish of me to think of love as a pie -- with only a few slices in it that could possibly be all used up.  How juvenile to think of love as finite and limited! It took your presence in my life to show me the wisdom that love is limitless, infinite and well beyond our narrow understanding.  

Love is no pie.

Rather, it is a bubbling spring with a never-ending source.  It is the closest we get to God.  It has no end and our ability to love deeply, ferociously, intensely has no constraints or boundaries...we can do it over and over and over again.  It is miraculous.

I am so grateful for you, Mary Kate.  You are amazing and one-of-a-kind.  You are hilarious, passionate, filled with a strong sense of right and wrong and very caring.  

You are also way too hard on yourself.

I want you to carefully listen to what your mind tells you.  If it tells you that you don't measure up, that you aren't good enough or that you are blowing it --  it is lying to you.  Listen a little deeper...blow away the harsh words and listen for the acceptance and love that is in there.  Offer it to everyone but offer it to yourself first. Remind yourself that you can do anything.  You are strong and powerful and incredible.  Know it...really know it.

My hope for you is that you will trust the world and live with your arms wide open.  I hope you let yourself open up to others, put yourself out of your comfort zone and let yourself feel deeply.  Even if you get hurt or rejected, it is worth it...every friendship and relationship helps you to become the person you are supposed to be.  And even though it might hurt, that is what life is all about.

Beautiful Mary Kate...cherish your body.  Look at it and know beauty, health and strength.  When you look in the mirror, be grateful for your vision...notice the sun-kissed freckles of so many happy outdoor memories. When you hear someone call your name, feel the strength of the multitude of amazing women named Mary that are part of your family; hold within you the grace of Mary, the mother of all saints, and smile at that little bit extra we added to it: Katherine.  Your name holds faith and family and fun all within it. It's the first gift we gave to you.  We cloaked you in those three important threads of life hoping they would take root in your heart and be a guide.

Being a woman is a gift.  You are blessed by your feminine side...a sensitivity to the outsider, to the isolated, to the lonely.  You are a nurturer. You have a softness and a tenderness but it is shielded by an outward strength.  Be aware and generous in letting others know that soft and tender core.

One of your greatest attributes is your ability to "go for it".  You put on the tap shoes, pick up the lacrosse stick, belt out a song at an audition, bake an apple crustata and seize the day. I cannot tell you how much that humbles me...over and over again.  You do not hold back when you think there is an opportunity or something that intrigues you.  Transfer that uuumph to people too.  There are so many fantastic people that will cross your path and influence you if only you let them.  Give them a chance.

Give second chances.  Forgive people's mistakes or oversights.  Forgive your own.  We all blow it...almost every day.  That's my favorite part about going to sleep -- the gift of a new day.  We get to start over.  Every, single day.  Cherish the fresh start, the blank page and the new chapter.

Enjoy today.  Don't live for the future and don't steep in past mistakes.  All you have is today.  All that matters is now.  Whoever crosses your path today is who matters.  Stop and notice. Don't bank on seeing the person tomorrow. We never know. That is both the blessing and the curse of life. Enjoy today.

And now here is my final pearl on your very long necklace of advice I have beaded for you: attitude is everything.  You cannot change the circumstance.  You cannot change the hardship and trust me, you will have hardship.  Adversity will knock on your door and you will have no choice -- you must answer it.  How you greet that moment will define the path you take.  One of my favorite quotes is this: "Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional." Will you suffer?  Will you sink?  Will you succumb to the heartbreak?  You don't have to.  The choice is entirely up to you.  You decide the direction.  Do you choose hope?  Love?  Kindness?  All of those opportunities are present in any moment of difficulty. Notice the blessings.  Create your reality -- attitude is everything.

I know, I know...you've had enough.  But, I never have!  I could talk to you forever...and who knows, maybe with my blog I will. :)  I love you...

The Perfect Shoe

We've all been there...we need an outfit and we also need the perfect shoe, right now, this minute, time's up.  The universe has graced me with two daughters and they both have opinions about their outfits.  Shopping for the "special outfit", although fun, can turn more into a power broker frenzy than a memorable mother/daughter bonding moment.  Trust me.  When your baby girl is little and in your arms, you dream of finding the breath-taking First Communion dress, the knee socks and chubby stockinged legs with little black patent leather shoes, searching for the stunning prom dress and yes, even finding the perfect shoe.  I imagined a dream-like time where we would walk arm in arm smiling and just full of joy...little did I know it would be an endurance test: a series of negotiations and compromise.  More than anything it was a tangible moment of the daughter seeing herself one way (grown up, stylish, hip) and the mother trying to remind the her that she was after all 15 (youthful, sweet and covered up!).  We have had our nightmare searches...the seemingly endless saga of an appropriate First Reconciliation outfit being the one that remains above all others.  We morphed into mall rats and became familiar with even the underbelly of the mall and still we had no luck.  We settled for a pink poncho and striped skirt with some sort of undergarment purchased from Nordstrom's.  It worked, but like the budget compromises in Washington, nobody was happy.

This week-end we went in search of an outfit that Mary Kate needs to wear for several upcoming occasions.  It had to be dressy and suitable for church, grandparents, high school friends and everyone in between. Believe it or not, we found the dress quickly and easily.  See, miracles do happen! It was the perfect shoes that eluded us.  Mary Kate had a definite vision.  She wanted tall (very tall) and sophisticated.  I thought a wedge was adorable...so did every other mother, grandmother and twenty-something in the shoe department.  Everyone had an opinion and it became a Seinfeld moment when Mary Kate finally looked at me genuinely puzzled and asked,"Why do they care?"

How can you explain that every woman remembers her first amazing pair of shoes and every woman in that store department recognized that it was happening for her right then.  I told her it was the thrill of the hunt.  We all enjoy a little treasure hunt and Mary Kate was clearly on one. She held her dress up, wobbled on stiletto after stiletto toward the mirror and played the imagination game: I'm not in my sweats, I don't have a ponytail, I'm even wearing make up and wearing this...does it feel right? Do I look amazing?  She easily tried on 15 pairs of shoes and for some reason I was not annoyed or hurried -- hence the grace.  I was enjoying the hunt too and I had no skin in the game.  This was her call.  These were going to be her favorites and she was going to own them for a good long while. She finally found them: tall, suede, nude and zippers in the back.  I'm sure someday, she will take a look at these shoes and see just how 2011 they really are but for now they are fabulous.

She came home and immediately tried them on with the outfit and then went on to do the fashion show of all the other outfits that would look ever so amazing all because of these rockin' shoes. She wore them with jeans, skirts, shorts and anything else she could find. She wore them while she was doing homework, petted them while she was reading and placed them in the perfect spot in her closet where they are protected.  They are keepers and I am grateful I got to be part of the search team. Grateful more for my evolution in clothing shopping...no longer a gate-keeper but a team member up to the challenge.

I remember my first pair of amazing shoes but more vividly I remember my smokin' hot skin tight dark jeans from the GAP. Man, how I loved them.  How I wore them for any reason whatsoever and felt fabulous each and every time.  Do you remember your first pair of shoes?  How about your most adored article of clothing when you were a teen? I'd love to hear your story.  March 6th is Mary Kate's day to be decked out...think of her! :)