Life at the Chicken Coop

Firmly Planted

With the temperatures dropping into the single digits here in Cleveland, it was high time I got some "Mommy boots." You know, the kind to slosh around in the sometimes-treacherous walk out to the car, then to the preschool drop-off and pick-up, then to the grocery store, maybe to the post office, you know the drill. I thought alot about the kind of boot I wanted to purchase. I don't buy cheap shoes, unless they're really trendy and I know I'll be sick of them within a year. I like to buy good shoes and then wear them out (I bought my Dansko's in 2002 and have been wearing them practically non-stop since then). I spent some time sorting through the features of this mythical Mommy boot. In-style, but not dressy. Casual, but not too rustic. Comfortable and easy-to-slip-on (how do you top the ease of slipping into a Dansko?), but not (gasp) an Ugg. I know, everyone loves Uggs, but I personally think you pay for the name and they make people look like flat-footed Eskimos. (Sorry if that offended some of you.) So, anyways, the point of this post is to show how gratifying I felt buying (in my mind) the perfect pair of boots. Unlike the disciplining of children and staying calm through tantrums, which have long-term pay-offs, the buying of boots is instantaneous. I try them on, I choose, I offer a plastic card for payment and I'm off. I put on my old Danskos and walked around the mall after buying my boots. I don't know why, but when I thought no one was looking, I sat on a bench, took out my new boots and laid my beloved old clogs in the massive boot box. I walked with a little more lilt in my step, perusing the store window displays. I felt somehow more grounded, more validated, like someone had just dipped their pen in a golden ink well and wrote, "You are correct," on my life's report card. It was empowering, in a small, but very personal way. And I hope I feel that way every time I wear them for at least the next seven years.