Contradictions

My mother was determined for my birthday present this year that I should get shoes. She wanted to take me shopping while we were in Tucson, and I mentioned I needed some casual black shoes, so that became her mission.

SuperNana was foiled by Charlie the Incredible Clinging Baby, however, and we never did go shopping.

However. I noticed that the ankle boots my mother was wearing were very nice. I liked them so much, in fact, that I told her I would just get those.

Yeah, I wear the same shoes as my mom. I'm okay with it; she's quite chic.

ANYWAY.

That particular brand and style were no longer to be had at the local stores in Tucson, however. Internet to the rescue! I ordered them, they arrived last weekend, and then they sat in my closet because mine is not a life in which I can wear my nice shoes on a whim. No. This requires planning.

Actually, what it requires is leaving the house, because there's no sense putting down good money for nice shoes and them ruining them entirely with mud. And sheep shit. And road salt. And more mud.

So I had to wait until I went somewhere, and then there also couldn't be six inches of snow on the ground.

But today was the inaugural voyage of the booties! Hooray! I had to take Cubby to preschool this morning and there was only miserable rain, not snow, so I wore them. I even fashionably cuffed up my jeans* so the stylish shoes were visible.

I'm sure the other preschool parents were very impressed. (Also, it is very hard to take pictures of one's own feet. Alsoalso, this picture is mostly for my mother, so she can see that I am very much enjoying my birthday present.)

As I was driving home in my adorable new booties, I made a mental list of the things I wanted to do when I got home. That list included hacking up and cooking another of the enormous blue squashes so I can make some more fake-pumpkin almond bread, and rendering some lard.

I have the shallow interests of a celebutante combined with the hobbies of a homesteader. This amused me.

When I got home, I traded out my fashionable footwear for my manky old slippers and got down to it.

This photo is also for my mother, who once asked how I even manage to prepare a squash that large. Here is the answer: cleaver; wooden mallet; large, dangerous knife; and berserker rage.

THIS photo is for my father, who loves nothing more than the sight of squishy animal fat. (J/K! My dad is a former vegan who still does not so much dig animal bits. You're welcome, Dad. Love you!)

And, uh, that's it. My morning thus far: new shoes, squash, and lard. That pretty much covers it.

* No, they were not skinny jeans, because I'm not THAT fashionable. Or delusional about my own non-skinniness. And okay, I mostly cuffed them so the hems of my jeans wouldn't get soaked with muddy water, but let's just pretend I'm fashionable, okay?