the male mind

Charlie was off from work today because it is President's Day. This was an awesome gift for me, because I didn't know until yesterday that he was getting today off from work.

So while he stayed at home playing with William, Elizabeth and the baby, I took Carolyn shopping. The goal of the outing was to pick Henry up some new pajamas because the 12-month sleepers that I bought him over Christmas are already too small. Since we would be in close proximity to REI, I was also planning to swing by and see if I could find Jessica a pair of Keen's in a size 10 because she said she'd love a pair of sandles.

And I love shopping at REI.

Even for people I've never met that live on the other side of the country.

Walking in to REI, I found that they had Keen sandles in a size 10. They were normally priced $90.00 and they had been marked down to $59.83, but then they were 50% off that price. As I was walking out with the $29.00 shoes in hand, I noticed that they also had a pair of Keen's in a size 10.5.

So I stopped and started thinking.

In the past five years, I've gone up an entire shoe size. Before I had children, I was comfortably a size 7. But the pair of Keen's that I bought for myself on Saturday were a 8.5 and they fit perfectly. After standing all day, my foot swells and it feels great to have a shoe with a little more room. Jessica is also a mom to a gaggle of small children, so I bet she spends a good amount of time on her feet, too. And if she is anything like me, her foot is expanding with age.

Besides, if Jessica - who lives in Virginia - ever wants to wear her sandles with a pair of wool socks, she can do that and her toes won't feel cramped.

There's nothing worse than having cramped feet.

And if the shoes are a little big, they have elastic laces that can be cinched down.

After torturing myself for a solid 20 minutes over which size shoes to buy, I settled on the size 10.5 and picking up only one other thing on my way to the register - (a snow cabin playhouse toy for the children that was marked from $35.00 down to $9.50) - made my way out of the store.

From REI, we went out to lunch at Panera. Standing in line, I couldn't decide if I wanted a sourdough bowl of broccoli cheese soup, or if I wanted the salad. Or, maybe the honey roasted turkey breast sandwich with fresh roma tomatoes. I asked Carolyn if she wanted the roast beef or grilled cheese. She responded grilled cheese, but when I queried her again as I was about to place the order, she wanted peanut butter and jelly.

Considering I changed my own order twice after placing the original order, I found it rather amusing that my three-year-old couldn't make her mind up, either.

While I ate my french onion soup and Carolyn ate her loaded peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I regretted our menu choices. My daughter was coated in peanut butter and jelly across her face from ear to ear and throughout her hair, and when I went to peel off a hunk of sourdough bowl, the whole dang thing flipped over and sloshed me in beef-broth-based soup.

I called Charlie from the car and told him about my shoe sizing predicament. He asked "What size did she say she was?" And when I replied "10" he said, "Well, then, I would have bought her the 10."

Yes. But. But. But.

"What if her foot swells like mine does? What if she wants to wear wool socks?"

"Did she tell you that her foot swells or that she likes to wear wool socks?"

"No. But...I'm speculating that it might or she'd like to."

"Jen, she said she's a size 10. That's pretty easy if you ask me."

Although I understand what he is saying and I agree with his logic, I appear to have a fundamental problem with following simple directions. If I drive my husband half as crazy as I drive myself, I seriously don't know how he can stand it.

Lucky for him, I'm such a savvy shopper.