When I was somewhere between the ages of 9 and 11, my parents were invited to have dinner at the home of some acquaintances. I never met the couple, but knew where they lived, as my walk home from school passed near their home.

I’ve never forgotten this; it sticks out in my memory to this day. When my parents returned home, my father told me how the couple gave my parents a tour of their house. That, in itself was not unusual. Most people like to show their homes to new visitors. What was weird, my dad said, was how the guy opened his closet in the bedroom to show them how many pairs of shoes they had. There were, reportedly, dozens.

How many pairs of shoes do you have?

My best friend claims only three; one pair sneakers, one pair of church shoes and one pair of sandals.

While I have a few more than that (and two, almost identical pairs of sneakers, one almost worn to pieces, the other brand new) I find myself wearing only two pairs; sneakers and clogs, part of the work at home wardrobe.

Due to some recent troubling foot pain, I’m starting to seriously consider smarter shoes like Rockport or Danskos. My online shoe source, and the best I’ve found to date, is Zappos.

Working at Home
I’ve taken up birdwatching, apparently. I looked out my office window and saw one of these yesterday. Of course, I didn’t know what it was, at first and had to look around to identify it. Sure enough, when it took off, spreading unbelieveably wide, blue wings; that was the clincher.

It’s strange to live in an area that’s mostly suburbia, with smatterings of wildlife preserve in between.

Homework
We’ve been briefly back to normal, with both kids in the house, work, homework and housework occupying all waking moments. My son is chipping away at a poetry assignment that is worthy of the semester-long assignments doled out by my poetry teacher in college. Right now he’s trying to eek out a limerick. Under pressure, it takes all the fun out of it.

He leaves tomorrow for an NYC band trip; hence the pressure and last minute poetry crunch. He’s also sorely disappointed, as we’ve put the kibosh on his flying to STL for 24 hours to go to prom. We just couldn’t wrap our heads around it. Who sends a 16 year old 800 miles to rent a tux and go to a dance? Who spends that kind of money on a 24 hour trip? Not us.

It’s not even so much about the money; we want him to be able to go and spend a week visiting all his friends this summer. Prom, with all the attendant expectations and pressures, is a bit much when you’re 800 miles away from your parents, and only in 10th grade. I feel badly (as the “softie” parent, I’m usually the wish granter, the smoother of paths) but know that this is the right way to go. My husband, in attempt to calm the angst, offered up the consolation prize of concert tickets. Since our son still hasn’t forgiven us for moving, he can just add this to the pile of things about which to be angry.

It may help the poetry.

I have the Worst Haircut Ever. It’s times like these that I truly appreciate the fact that I do not need to leave home and, therefore, encounter other sentient life forms unrelated to me and who might point and stare at the Worst Haircut Ever.

I thought it would be better than the mall bangs I was starting to sport just before the WHE, but a very chatty stylist got aggressive with the scissors and here I sit in my home office with some kind of modified mullet.

Is it too late to ask for a refund?

Shhhh! The sound of one child vacationing
Do you hear that? NO, of course not! It’s completely quiet because our youngest is on vacation with the G’parents. At a time when otherwise we’d hear the pounding of feet, loud laughter, bad piano, door slamming, dog barking, whining and other ploys for attention, there is only silence.

Gosh, I miss her.

I’ve had several “we’re not in Missouri anymore” moments in the last week. That crack in the wall of reality opened just a bit wider lately and I’ve been slipping through it often.

Seen at Harris Teeter
For those of you outside the southeast, Harris Teeter is an upscale grocery chain. Keep your jokes to yourself. I’ve written about the strange items people choose to wear when shopping (stretch pants anywhere, on almost anyone, low-rise pants with VT (visible thong), pajamas) but this one made me do a double take. I noticed the odd, short tapered pants out of the corner of my eye and had to take a full look before I realized the woman picking out breakfast cereal next to me was wearing a riding outfit. Welcome to Charlottesville!

The Janitor at the Talent Show
Our daughter performed with her Brownie troop at the school talent show last night. Where we come from, we had no talent shows that mostly featured kids lip synching or throwing themselves about the stage for the extended dance versions of popular songs. The most memorable talent show past featured a special guest, the school janitor performing Nickelback’s How You Remind Me. Disturbing beyond belief.

Last night, however, we witnessed actual talent! Kids playing piano, cello, violin; kids singing (sometimes in German!) and dancing actual choreographed numbers; kids demonstrating Tae Kwon Do and telling jokes that were funny! And, thankfully, no janitors.

The Band Competition
Our son told us on Wednesday that he needed a tux shirt, bow tie (red), cuff links and black pants for Saturday’s band competition.

Um, yeah.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but this is not a normal world. Our son has a wingspan of 6′8″, a waist of 34″ and an inseam of 38″. So we did our best — Dad took him to the big guys store, I took him to the formal wear store and together we got him outfitted in time for the concert where the band sounded as good as many professional bands we’ve heard, and the school took top honors.

So what if his sleeves were 3/4 length?