I am so weird.

In a good way, of course!

Incidentally, I am supposed to be packing and getting ready to head out to mom's memorial service! Why be responsible, when you can blog? The internet is a daunting obstacle to my ADD-daydreamy mind.

I digress.

Since having Isaac, I have developed a life-long love of long, fancy, patterned knee socks. Here are my latest acquisitions:



It started when I was about to give birth to Isaac. I must be the only woman in the world who wanted to wear a long sleeve shirt and thigh-high socks. I did not want all my private parts flapping about in the wind, and I wished to cover myself with a modicum of modesty and civility.

And I wanted to have a sheet hanging between my dear husband who was holding my hand and the live-action, Sigourney Weaver-esque Alien emergence. I did not want to scar my husband for life. I wanted civility and order. I wanted to keep the romance and the home fires burning. I was afraid that the blood and gore would be too much. I love 1950s movies. What can I say?

It slipped my mind that guys think gore-y, disgusting things are COOL.

So--anyway, I got shot down with my fashion plans. The only things the hospital would allow me to wear was their ghastly and dreary hospital gown and they said I could have socks if I wanted. All the time warning me that they would get trashed.

So--I was excited. I purchased pink and white striped with magenta seahorse patterns running up and down the left and right sides. They became my power socks. My theory was that I can do this, as long as I have David there and my socks.

David was afraid of my power socks. He said they looked like pantomime socks. He didn't understand the comfort and serenity I derived from them. I didn't care.

There is something empowering to me about bizarre and random socks. They have become my new love. A way to complete an outfit with verve and cache. I mini celebration every time I see them.

So, now, he's equally horrified at my latest acquisitions. And, I, cavalierly casual, like or as a dandy, flaunt them anyway.

And my power-pink-pantomime-seahorse patterned socks emerged from the birth unscathed. {I wish I could say the same for my parts-is-parts.}

{Oh, and all my dreams of being covered and shielding Dave from the alien all vanished in a sea of contractions, nurses, and poo in the amniotic fluid. I really lost control of directing the experience, and surrendered to the professionals I hired. Funny how my early 20s bohemian notions of a home water birth wisped away as I realized the potential risks inherent to the situation.}

OK--OFF TO PACKING. Kisses and hugs!

:)