End of Week 4 Exhaustion Test

32 pushups in a row. I had to manage at least 31 to progress, so yay.

I can feel that my abdominal wall is a lot stronger. I can also distinctly feel the surgical scars from my gall bladder surgery last year. Weird.

On my way to Week 5.

Fiona and the Do Me boots

I took the girls out on a bunch of errands today. Delia needed a watch, and Fiona needed a book for English class and a new pair of shoes. While we were at Kohl's, I wistfully looked at the boots. I have snow boots, of course (inevitable in Minnesota) but I haven't had fall fashion boots, the sort you wear with tights under dresses to extend your summer wardrobe into fall, for over a decade. And they were on sale. Against my better judgment, I tried on several pairs and found one that fit, that weren't too tall, and looked nice. Did I mention that they were on sale?

"I sort of need new shoes, too," Delia said. "I mean, now that I've added the arch supports to my old shoes, they're getting a little too tight."

I looked at the price tag on the boots I was eyeing and sighed. I need another tank of gas before payday, and I don't know yet how much it will cost to get the jeep fixed--if it can be fixed at all. Regretfully, I put the boots back. "I'll get your shoes with next month's paycheck, okay, honey? I got you the watch today."

Delia winced, but nodded, resigned. "Okay," she sighed.

Unexpectedly, Fiona plonked down on the floor and grabbed another box of another model of boots. "I'm going to try these on."

I stared. The boots I had tried on were a sensible heel height. These were not. She zipped them up and stood up--and my jaw dropped.

Oh. My. God.

My daughter was wearing a pair of Do Me boots and the effect was totally stunning. "Aren't those heels too tall for you?" I asked her weakly.

Fiona shrugged. "I could turn cartwheels in these."

She probably could.

"Fiona, I can't possibly let you wear those. Ever. You'd cause a riot if you showed up at the high school in those."

She gave me a little smile and walked a few steps away, studying her reflection in the mirror. She pivoted in place like a model on the catwalk, and I'm surprised the mirror didn't shatter into a million tiny pieces in response.

I swallowed hard. "I'll get you these shoes," I said, gesturing to the box at her feet. "Better take those boots off; we have to get going."

"Okay," Fiona said, transforming into a little girl again. It was sort of dizzying. She plonked down on the floor again, her limbs going in every direction like a colt, and pulled the boots off again. I took them from her and placed them back into the box and felt a little relieved when I replaced the lid over that dangerous pair.

"Fiona?" I said as we started walking to the cash register.

"Yeah?"

"You must promise me to only use your power for good."

She smiled. "Okay, Mommy. I promise."