Last week, on the phone with the lovely and talented Charlene, our frantic conversation ran from working out to injuries to crafts to WHEN ARE YOU COMING TO CHICAGO?! to WHY CAN'T YOU BE IN SAN FRANCISCO THIS WEEKEND?! Finally, we landed, as we do, upon pretty, girly things that the men/boys in our homes don't get.
Or so other people might think. We talked jewelry (J. Crew, why so spendy?) and dresses (sleeveless? cleavage?) and shoes (like the to-die pink peeps she wore to communion and now proudly displays on her dresser like the art that they are).
All that giggling and hair-braiding and pillow-fighting led the conversation to those boys who really do seem to understand our girly ways. In fact, they may even share some of those loves.
They may even want to feel the delicate arch of a ridiculously high heel or the distinct shake of the backside that all that elevation causes. They might just like the click-click-click that they associate with fancy mamas like Charlene and me. They might be curious. They might be naive. They might just be boy enough to put down the light sabers and baseball cards and whatever sticky stuff they found in their pocket and are rolling between their fingers and the wall in their bedroom and step in our fabulous, fabulous shoes. For just a moment.
Char shared her story and I shared mine. I promised that if she posted her picture of her small boy in her heels, I'd post mine.
I also promised myself, God, and the future all-grown-up Lil E that I would not post the whole shot of him, which is of him wearing only these metallic snakeskin heels, five new necklaces from Forever 21, a t-shirt and a big grin (please note this in my Mother of the Year application, so hard to resist).
Please peek at Char's kept promise right after you peek at mine.