Right after Lil E requested some kind of preschool version of a pro-wrestler photo shoot

To be fair, the shirt was doused in whole milk and the kid absolutely CANNOT have a drop of wetness on him without whining to change his clothes. I know that's hard to believe when you check out the muscley toughness this kid exudes.

I like to say he's one 3T ribbed t-shirt away from being a metrosexual. But the truth is, it's more like four apple juice and plum lavender yogurt-dripped 3T ribbed t-shirts away from threaded eyebrows and a pedicure special punch card. Just please don't tell him he's that close to fancy. Or at least don't tell him until this photo shoot is wrapped.

In between PB&J and apple slices and t-ball practice, he whipped off his whole milked shirt and launched into a series of flex poses. He could have asked for a spray tan touch up and some extra deadlift weights. But no, he asked me to take some pictures.

I obliged. I'm just that kind of responsive mama. That, and I could totally egg him on from behind the lens. These photos are what transpired. [After the jump, of course.]

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This is not a shoe blog: I can't believe I am going to say this

I saw these red (red!) Jessica Simpson heels marked $29 ($29!) and I am pretty sure I fell back a few steps. A flash of images (OK, outfits) raced through my mind.These shoes with my good ass jeans, these shoes with my favorite little black summer wear-to-weddings dress, tthese shoes with...oh hell, who are we kidding here? Yoga pants, pajamas, that little velcro-ey towel thing you must have when you want to emulate the Real Housewives of anywhere.

Even better, they were my size (no layers of inserts!) and they fit like a glove and felt like butter oozing around my foot. They were perfect.

Except for one thing. They were too high (too high!).

Killer price, killer fabric, killer style, killer size, killer heel. No, really. My chances of dying while simply walking from my front door to the car in these shoes is extremely high.

I say this as a person who is more uncomfortable in kitten heels than gigantic Frankenstein-height whore heels. As a person whose arches ache when I wear flats too many days in a row. As a person who will gut out a stiletto without flinching.

But these babies were just too high for me.

I think I shed a tear as I placed them tenderly back on the shelf, knowing they'd be oozing their buttery goodness on someone else's foot within minutes.

Jessica Simpson, with your heels so fatal and beautiful, why do you hate me so? Why?

And shoes, if you happen to still be waiting out there for me on that desperate clearance shelf, can you please come with an invitation to some kind of sit-down dinner? Please?

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The real truth is Mother's Day

First, a picture from the first few days I was a mother. That's not talent as much as it's ginormously engorged ta-tas and complete bliss balancing that little bug of a baby. And that's not a spiritually tagging orb or mark of the devil on my hand, it's the flash of my camera since I did this all low-tech-like and took a photo of a photo (sneaky). You may not recognize me with no (no!) make-up and dark (gasp! real!) hair. Now on to this year.

Mother's Day was low-key and sweet: Church and a nice little lunch out with my mom, then naps and a crazy, running, chasing time at the park.

Lil E was so excited about when and how to give me the gift he made and the gift he picked out, he asked every day last week, "Is the next day Mother's Day?!" He just couldn't wait for me to finally say, "Tomorrow is Mother's Day!" and when I did, he hid them around the house for me to find.

We played "hotter/colder" as I moved slowly from room to room and when I got close, he put his leggy little body against me and nudged me in the right direction.

The first was a Beanie Baby black and white tiger (pictures soon, at his insistence), which he has asked me to carry everywhere like he does with his babies. There were also chocolates -- his favorite mint meltaways -- that he knew we'd love to share. I loved it. He's usually a jewelry guy, thinking carefully and choosing on his own a bracelet or ring he is sure is just right. It made me smile that this time he made this connection between the things he loves and what he wanted to share with me and I swooned at the sheer 4-year-old-ness of it all.

The second was a painting he did in school, watercolors and marker with a popsicle stick frame. He wrote a poem about me, to me on the back. He told me proudly, "Look, Mommy! You have purple nails and orange hair in the picture!" His little round figure has sunglasses and stray hair. He got it just right.

It was also a very nice gift to feel the love in this Mother's Day post on SingleMommyhood. I am honored to be listed with so many amazing single mama bloggers, many of whom I read religiously, some of whom have become real life friends, and all of whom I insist you add to your blog readers immediately!

And thank you, Amy, for this very kind mention. xoxo

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