What if worrying really caused warts? I'd be covered in them. Such a disgusting thought. This morning I'm stressing about having enough house insurance, being prepared for an earthquake (I see the fabulous Italian dishes on the big open shelf in a pile of shards, let alone us starving 'cause we have no food or water stored in the kit they warn you to have!). Then some of the usual stresses like needing a new career, affording private school for two kids, finding/affording a bigger house so the two kids will fit...etc etc. You know the stuff I can't do anything about right now except torture myself by thinking about it over and over IN THE GIANT LOOP TAPE in my mind.

My fabulous little sister is on her way over. I've decided that we are going on a get Max shoes outing. We'll head to the Junior Boot Shop, find a pair that I can get on him and have some lunch. I made both Max and I cry this morning by trying to squeeze his fat baby feet into some shoes that really seem like they should fit. Alma has no trouble getting his feet in there, but I couldn't do it. And poor Max seemed willing to try but my god it was painful and so unsuccessful. I'm dragging these shoes to the store so they can embarrass the crap out of a grown woman as they show me just how simple it is to put his feet in them.

Hours later... For the record Max's feet are a size 6 almost a 6.5 wide and those shoes I tried desperately to cram his feet into are a size 5 narrow, HA! I learned that children's feet grow a size to a size and half every 3-4 months so apparently I'll be heading to the store more than I'd like. Lunch out was a nightmare, but tonight dinner was a breeze.