Our little park

So, we're moving to New Orleans in 12 days.

More on that later.

The reason I mention it is because, since we made the decision to leave Florida, every day presents an opportunity for me to get a little choked up about something I'll miss.

Today, it rained. A lot. Aida and I got caught in the storm at our favorite neighborhood waterfront playground. She didn't mind. She loved it.

"Raining!" she said as she darted from the picnic shelter into the downpour, mimicking the joggers passing through. I ran after her and then realized there's no harm in my baby being wet. I let her run.

It's a good thing photos exist. I've taken a lot of them at this park. But I wish I could sear into permanent recall all the memories we have built at this little playground over the last two and a half years.

Variations on a theme

Various photos of Aida in ill-advised footwear:

Empathy

Writing about Aida's shoe obsession last night reminded me of this video.

I filmed it on June 4, right after we discovered a sweet book called "Gossie" at the library. As you will see, Gossie is a gosling who likes to wear red boots.

Yes, boots.

Something Aida can relate to.

Soon after we started reading this book to Aida, we noticed she had the same reaction every time we got to the climax -- the part where Gossie tragically loses her boots.

Of nudists, heel-a-holics and CEOs

(Mostly ignoring how long it's been since I've written...)

A few things to note:

One, I have become a comfortable shoes girl. The heels hanging on the back of our bedroom door these days serve solely as Aida's play toys. It seems her high-heel obsession has grown in inverse proportion to my high-heel disenchantment. I mean, the rockin' red pointy-toed shoes I bought for my Marge Simpson Halloween costume are awesome. And those gold and bronze braided Via Spiga peep-toes I wore to three out-of-town weddings still make me happy to look at. But, these days, I can't even muster courage to slip my feet into those comfy black work pumps. I keep going back to the safe, black Anne Klein Sport flats I bought just before returning to work apres bebe. I never even used to wear flats at all. Ever. Meanwhile, Aida is evolving into a bona fide, get-her-to-the-clinic-now shoe-a-holic. As soon as I come in the door, she points at my feet and demands "Off!" so that she can put my shoes on her own feet. In the mornings as I dress, she digs through my closet to pull out the pink and black Converse high-tops I bought at Marshall's on a whim before Mardi Gras a few years ago. She talks about flip-flops, then starts pulling the pairs of heels out of the cloth shoe holder on the back of the bedroom door. She wobbles as she tries them on her feet. She shuffles out the door as far as she can until one of the shoes tips over. "Dada, see? See, Dada?" she says as she starts out on what is usually an aborted trip to show her shoe-wearing skills to her father because they tip over or her foot comes out and she has to try again. Then, she comes back and impatiently points at another pair. No, not those. No, not those. "Udder one. No, udder one."

Uh-oh what?

This morning I awoke to the sound of Aida partying in her crib. That's not unusual.

But I've begun sticking one stuffed animal in there after she goes to sleep at night so that she wakes up all surprised. "Frog? Frog?! HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE? Nevermind the details. Let's PARTAY!"