Date Night

I am showered and shaved with my hair done, make-up on, perfect outfit picked out (including the Mojo Boots) and jewelry chosen. I am more put together, arranged and polished than I have been in months. Why you ask? Because I have a raucous mama’s night out planned? With dancing and cocktails and fancy food? Not so much.

I have a date night with my husband planned. Since I’m home for a few days sans the children we figured we should try to make the most of the time we have. Typically our “dates” consist of sneaking out for a movie at about 11am then hurrying back to the house. They are hurried, low in the conversation department, in the blinding daylight kind of affairs. Neither of us try all that hard to elevate our appearances beyond the effort we put in on a day to day basis.

But tonight is different. Tonight I am going all out. Why you ask? Because I can. And because I deserve to look pretty and my husband deserves the effort. I actually kind of like getting all gussied up. I know I look like a totally different person with makeup and my hair really done. And the transforming power of the Mojo Boots has been well documented already. I like to wear gorgeous, huge earrings which show off my neck because I have short hair. I like the confidence that the extra effort lends; that due to the effort I can walk across a parking lot with my head held high, not caring what size my clothes are or what how old I am. Plus, I like to give my husband something nice to look at every once in a while. Not to mention the fact that he does a little mental happy dance every time I take the time to shave my legs.

So we’re off to dinner at a local BBQ joint that just relocated to downtown and has burnt ends and fried okra to die for. And then to see Up in the Air.

It should be a lovely, slow paced evening and I cannot wait to just spend some quality time with my husband.

Proof of Power

Becoming a mother was a top to bottom change of state for me. Pretty much everything I thought was true changed the moment I got knocked up. Most of it for the better, some of it I lost myself to, and although the road back has been long I’m still not sure it wasn’t worth it.

Even on my most frustrated, at the end of my rope, want to duct tape the children’s mouths shut and put them in the closet days, being a mother resonates in a very deep part of my soul. Even when I’m not at all sure that my mothering techniques are up to snuff, I always have complete confidence in being a mother.

But one of the most tangible parts of becoming a mother for me has been getting comfortable in my own skin again. I have always been at war with my body image. Even when I was thin and healthy and gorgeous, I just couldn’t see myself very clearly. Since the stretch marks have marathoned across the length of my stomach and my hips (and feet) have widened and my boobs have gravitated towards my belly button in an attempt to commune with the depths that reside there, I’ve mostly just tried to ignore my body image. And my body. It serves its purpose well and I’m grateful for that, but I’d rather just pretend that I’m always wearing an invisibility cloak.

The journey undertaken this past year however has brought some much needed perspective when it comes to my appearance (thanks to the Mojo Boots for bringing me back my sass). And even though it makes me sick (in the best possible way) when all of my friends look as if they’ve never been pregnant 2.7 minutes after birthing their children, there is a part of me that has become deeply grateful for the fact that there is physical evidence of having my two babies.

I’d gladly trade my jeans for a new pair a few sizes smaller any day of the week, but I wouldn’t ever hand over the tangible corroboration of what my body is capable of. That’s empowerment that Mojo Boots just can’t touch.

In Search of Sassy Sandals

So here’s the thing about my Mojo Boots. I can’t wear them in the summer. Ack!!! I’ve been finding myself wishing for rainy or chilly days so that I can still wear them. But we are in full swing spring here, so their days are limited.

One would think that this would be just the excuse I need to go shoe shopping. But there are two problems with that. The first is that while I typically love to go shoe shopping, I really detest shopping for sandals. Like so much else about my body that has changed since having babies, my feet have widened. So it’s almost impossible for me to find cute, sassy, strappy sandals that are even remotely comfortable. And even though I’m willing to wear shoes for a short time that aren’t Birkenstock level of comfort, I do need to be able to actually stand up and walk in them without crying.

The second problem is that I’m actually pretty sure that I won’t be able to find any sandals that will measure up to the Mojo Boots. Because sandals just carry a different kind of attitude with them. An open, sexier kind of feel. And that’s not necessarily something I’m entirely comfortable with as of yet.

The Mojo Boots make me feel powerful and badass. Sandals tend to make me feel a bit more exposed. And I guess that if I can find that perfect pair of sandals that they too will rise to the level of appreciation and acclaim that the Mojo Boots have. I have to give sandals a chance I suppose.

Mostly what this all boils down to is embracing summer. And I’ve always rebelled against summer. Because of the heat and the change in wardrobe and, well, the heat.

Summer means the baring of suntanned skin, the trickle of sweat running down my back. The tank tops and the shorter skirts and capris. Running through the sprinklers or playing in the pool with the kiddos. Embracing summer is a bit of a risk for me. Because it means embracing my own inner sexiness. And it’s time I suppose. Now I just have to find those Sassy Sandals.

The Mojo Boots Strike Again

I learned the other day that Mojo Boots can even make Mormon boys blush. I took The Boy and The Girl out for lunch after school and sitting a few booths away were four Mormon boys with their name tags, ties and innocent smiles. I had to walk past them to get napkins at one point and saw one, the cutest one I might add, blush and look away as I passed.

And it made me giggle. Because even though I am sure he was blushing at thinking about how quickly I’ll be heading straight to hell upon my passing, I chose to take it as a compliment. Because I cannot even tell you how long it’s been since I’ve made anyone blush simply by walking by. And I know I’ve been talking about my Mojo Boots a lot the past few days, but you should see these suckers and what they do to my walk and attitude. It’s worthy of the capitalization and publicity I’ve been lavishing upon them.

I tried to look at myself objectively as the giggles were settling. I probably looked like a relatively hip, youngish (humor me here) mom of two gorgeous and mostly well-behaved kiddos. A woman who made the time to do her hair and who even got up early enough to put on a bit of lipstick. A woman who was pretty put together, had some style and knew it.

I thought about how that image was so radically different from even a couple of months ago. When I was hiding under baseball caps and way too baggy sweaters. When I actually spent time figuring out how to wear my pj’s to the grocery store. When it was just too much.

Now, here I was, pretty confidently taking an unsaid compliment from a boy in a restaurant. And not even really questioning that it was meant for me. I didn’t dissect it. I didn’t try to ignore it on the grounds of someone much prettier was over my shoulder. It just made me giggle. Although, I’m fairly sure that he wouldn’t have been blushing nearly as much if he had known about the hole in my sock.

Mojo Boots

I bought a pair of black ankle boots yesterday. With heels. And pointy toes. I haven’t bought myself a new pair of shoes in a long time, let alone a pair with heels. They were a screaming deal, but mostly when I put them on, they made me feel something I’ve not felt in a long time. Sassy. And beautiful. And tall.

When I was in high school, I used to buy shoes as a stress reliever. I had upwards of 200 pairs of shoes at one point. I was a pretty stressed out teenager. But as I went through college and beyond that number got paired down slowly but surely. When I had The Boy, I had two pairs of shoes. I finally got talked into getting a couple more pair, but they were comfy, able to chase the kids shoes.

But yesterday, for some reason, I went to the mall when I still had some time left before I had to pick up the kids. And I was wandering through stores emblazoned with huge, red clearance signs and I found myself in the shoe section. So I looked around and found these boots. And the minute I had them on my feet I knew they had to be mine. So, on a whim, I bought them.

And ever since then I’ve felt more like me than I have in a very long time. And I cannot even begin to tell you how good that feels. To be able to walk across the parking lot with my head held high, my shoulders pushed back, a flirty smile playing at the edges of my mouth.

I feel alive and real and sexy today. Like I really can do anything and succeed anywhere. Like maybe, just maybe, I really do belong somewhere, if only in my own head. And it gives me hope that my mojo isn’t as far gone as I thought. That maybe it’s been lying just below the surface, waiting for me to get a clue and reveal it once more.

Whatever it is, I’m cherishing it. And if I had known these boots were the answer, I’d have found them years ago.