Thursday, March 11, 2010

The (s)HO(e)LY Crusades

I should have known better than to leave town. Lydia says to me, "I'll take care of everything. You go have a good time. Don't even worry about checking in."

Because she is a dear, sweet, kind friend who understands a fellow mother's need for some rest and relaxion? Oh, girl please. She was planning a coup. A CLOG coup.
Let me interrupt myself here. If you're new to MommyLand, YEA! Welcome. We totally love you already...but you may want the History of Lydia and Kate's Shoe War. Take your time. We'll totally wait...
I realize I might have had it coming. Probably right about the time when I sent her this:

And then I got this back: "I feel like that picture was you trying to get me to call you a smelly pirate whore." [And let's be clear here. That is the *best* insult in the history of ever.]

And then she went all mutinous and cloggy and sent me pictures of her heinous footwear.
What's a Kate to do?

Oh, I'm just gonna put on a big white tunic with a red shoe painted on it. Why? Because I'm a crusader.

And steel mesh armor underneath, because, need I remind you, she's from Jersey. And she probably won't be so appreciative of my Crusade. My Shoely Crusade.

Let's rewind, shall we?


I'm over at Lydia's. Plotting. So, the usual. Thumbelina comes home from school and comes bouncing up the stairs, trailing butterflies, as always. She's in this adorable pink striped dress, tights, and pink suede boots. Ah. Dor. Ah. Bul. She flits over to me and before I can get a hug or anything, she gushes, "Oh, I just looooooove your boots."

I look over at Lydia with a smile reserved for Montgomery Burns wearing his gorilla chest vest.

And then point out to Thumbelina that the boots aren't black, as she suggested, but purple, to which she yanks up the hem of my jeans to get a closer look. She spent the next ten minutes flitting erratically around her mother and praising the amazingness of purple boots. Lydia spent those ten minutes TYPING AS LOUDLY AS POSSIBLE ON THE COMPUTER. THE "K" KEY IS NOW EMBEDDED IN HER DINING ROOM TABLE.

Lydia and the LTSs come over to conspire. Us, on topics; them - apparently - against us.

McGee and Thumbelina come downstairs, and Lydia - to my shock! - asks Thumbelina if she wants to see My Closet. [The answer to this question is always, always yes.] She walks in the room and promptly pretends to faint on the floor. The girls spend the next two hours dressing up.

Then we hear this:

Thumbelina: Ooh, I love these ones.

McGee: Those are Dior.

Thumbelina: What's Dior?

McGee: *gasps* He's a guy who makes these shoes. He's one of the Christians.

Thumbelina: Who are the Christians?

McGee: *gasps again* Dior, Louboutin and the cool guy from Project Runway. [yells to me] Right, mom?!

Me: Siriano, baby. And don't forget Lacroix.

McGee: Oh yeah. Lacroix. And then *TA-DAA!* there's Jimmy [opens box] These ones.

Thumbelina: OOOH. I love them. My mom's shoes don't have names.

McGee: Uh-huh. Crocs.

Thumbelina: [laughs]

Lydia: [glares at Kate]

Kate: [singing] See my vest, see my vest...made of real gorilla chest...

Then the modeling begins. Thumbelina glides out in one of McGee's dresses, an Hermes scarf and the jeweled Stuart Weitzman shoes I wore when I got married.

Lydia cringed.

I cheered. Loudly.

I call Lydia. Again. [Editor's note: I call so often that the Cap'n -- and now Thumbelina -- holler my last name through the house to let Lydia know I'm on the phone. - Kate]

Thumbelina answers.

Me: Hi sweetie.

Thumbelina: Hi. Thank you for letting me play in your closet. I just love it.

Me: Anytime sweetie. Just one promise, OK

Thumbelina: OK

Me: No Crocs.

Thumbelina: [laughs] OK!

Me: And no clogs.

Thumbelina: OK!

Me: Now go find mommy. Tell her I said you can play in My Closet anytime. Do you remember all our friends' names?

Thumbelina: Jimmy and the Christians!

Me: That's my girl! Now go get mommy.

When she finds Lydia, I overhear this on the phone: "Mommy. It's Kate. She said I can come play in her closet with Jimmy and the Christians.
Lydia: "Fancy! I'm gonna throw one of my big, shiny, black clogs at your head! What is this? The Crusades?"

[I laugh.]

Lydia: "I'm gonna convert McGee."

Me: "To crocs? Good luck, Clogs. She's in My Closet. Right Now. With the boys."

Lydia: "Please tell me they're playing War."

Me: "Nope. Project Runway."

Lydia: "I'm so gonna throw a shoe at your head."

Hey, don't blame me. Blame the Christians. Oh, and the smelly pirate whores.

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  1. I am giving you a pass on the clogs Lydia, but if you start sporting those fugly shape up your butt tennis shoes, I will be forced to come over and burn them myself!

  2. I gotta admit... my shoes don't have names either. Except Target and sometimes "Oooh DSW." I want to play in Kate's closet, too....

  3. (insert sound of soft sobbing) I have dream of closets like that. Christian(s)! Stuart! Jimmy! The vast cavern of my empty checking account is all that keeps us apart! Someday, my pretties, someday...

  4. I hate to take sides because you know I love you both but.....I have to agree with Kate, it is important for little girls to learn these important names in shoe nirvana early, this way they know what to expect as gifts from adoring boy's.

  5. OK, so I support Lydia's fashion choices 100%. 1st- because we have been friends for a long time. 2nd- because she is an amazingly smart, funny & hot chick...even with her clogs on. C'mon, the Cap'n might have a thing for 'em. I have also accidentally fallen into the closet and come out wearing a pair of Merrells a time or two hundred. That being said, I am also a devoted follower of all things Bryant Park and wanted to put Christian Siriano in my pocket the first time I laid eyes on him. He is fierceness personified. If I had more than one child I would consider trading one for a pair of Louboutin Lady Lynch. I do have a special shelf in my closest for my sexy old friends and I even take them out for a spin every now and then. Then I come home, put them back in the box and slip into my Merrells.

  6. I teach Kindergarten & there's a little girl in my class whose wardrobe I can only describe as fierce. Leggings of every colors, awesome tutu-esque skirts (think opening sequence of SATC, minus Sarah Jessica's leotard). She's been rocking a silver-sequined vest for the past four days. I told her today I was jealous of her dress. She paused, looked my very boring blue Old Navy dress over & said, "Yeah. Thanks." I felt judged. She'll known the Christians in two years.




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