Dear Kid,

It is a weekend full of holidays. Tomorrow is Labor Day. And today is Wiggle Your Toes Day.

I did not make that up. Somebody did, but amazingly it wasn’t me.

Wiggle Your Toes Day seems to me to be one of the greatest holidays ever invented. It involves toes and wiggling and bare feet and not having to send cards and pretty much the world doesn’t get any better than that.

It will also make my physical therapists happy to know that I am wiggling my toes. I’m sure they’d be even happier if they thought I was wiggling the way they showed me, but anything that gets my feet muscles moving falls into the “good” category as far as they are concerned.

Toe wiggling is fun. It’s even more fun if you can wiggle them in mud, sea, sand, or dirt. But since my last Venture Into the Wild ended on such an itchy note, I’m going to settle for wiggling in mid-air. Inside air. Non-poisoned inside air.

What’s your favorite place for toe wiggling?

There is something entirely carefree about toe wiggling. There is no end-purpose to toe wiggling. There are no toe wiggling competitions (at least none that I’m aware of). It’s just one of those things that’s fun just for being fun.

Hope you’re having a great weekend and that you find some carefree time to wiggle your toes.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

My scale and I are back on speaking terms.

You didn’t know we’d had a falling out? Let me tell you about my scale.

Regular scales wait until someone steps on them, then the scale calculates their weight. No personality, no taking liberties with facts, no diabolical plans.

Not so with my scale.

My scale is alive. It can’t move by itself, but it definitely has a mind of its own.

And it’s stubborn.

It can’t be coaxed into showing the weight I want to be. Which isn’t surprising, since most scales stick with reality rather than sharing my view of the world.

But my scale isn’t really interested in reality as much as it’s interested in messing with me.

My scale makes a daily decision before I get near it. During the night, the scale sits quietly thinking of ways to inflict its own personalized torture. Then it picks a number.

Not an entirely random number. It has never suggested I weigh 7,000 lbs. nor has it ever guessed 6 lbs. Pretty much everything in between is fair game.

Some days, it shows numbers relative close to what I expect to see. Other days, not so much. Let me tell you what happened two days ago.

I got on the scale and yelped. What? I gained 7 lbs. overnight? No way. Then I realized I was still holding a book. Ah. I put it down, reset the scale, and stepped back on. Same number.

Are. You. Kidding. Me?

That book weighed about 17 lbs. It was enormous. It was practically dictionary sized (remind me to explain what a dictionary is). It was the weight of the first 5 volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica (I’ll explain that one too).

The scale smirked ‘That’s your number for today.’

I stepped off the scale, walked down the hall, snuck back in (changing my cadence so the scale wouldn’t know it was me), and stepped on. Same number.

‘Told you.’

See what I mean?

I decided to snub my scale. I turned my back and walked out. The scale smiled. It knew it had won.

Fortunately, today it shows I’ve lost half a pound, so we’re back on speaking terms.

You have suggestions. I know. I can hear you thinking them.

Your first suggestion is that I get another scale. Not going to happen right now. I know how this scale thinks; I don’t really want to train a new scale. The scale you know is better and all that.

Your second suggestion is that I refrain from weighing myself every day. You might as well suggest I wear ugly shoes every day. Not going to happen in this decade. In fact, the reason I like my current diet is because it requires me to weigh myself every day.

The big problem (yes, I know it’s a big problem) is that my scale has control over me. It’s true, it’s unhealthy, and I have no plans to change my attitude or belief system. (Anyone who wants to tell me not to judge myself by my scale needn’t bother. I don’t judge myself by the scale. I judge my weight by my scale and I believe my weight is important. Without weight, gravity would have nothing to hold on to. I would just like gravity to have a little less to hold on to.)

Love, Mom

P.S. Please don’t try to explain that gravity causes weight. This is a blog about my scale and for purposes of this discussion, Oreos cause weight, not gravity.

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Dear Kid,

I’m wearing KT tape. I’d take a photo and include it, but the tape the PTs used is just about the same color as my skin so all you’d see is a close up of mom-ankle. I thought you’d be pleased that I passed on the photo op.

The reason for this application of KT tape is that the Physical Therapists (you remember them) are hoping it will help encourage the bones in my foot (you remember them) to stay where they are supposed to stay rather than where they seem to want to migrate to. This is all somewhat incidental as the PTs (there’s a gaggle of them) have now concluded that the Big Issue is the tightness in the side of shin and the lack of cooperation from the nerves near my knee. Which led to dry needling (another topic for another day).

As you may or may not know, KT Tape was named by the Department of Redundancy Department Department because KT stands for Kinesio tape.

It was invented by a Japanese chiropractor named Kenzo Kase all the way back in the 1970s which just goes to show that some ideas leap to success (Apple watch) and others take 40 or so years to become popular.

From the company’s website:

KT TAPE is applied along muscles, ligaments, and tendons (soft tissue) to provide a lightweight, external support that helps you remain active while recovering from injuries. KT Tape creates neuromuscular feedback (called proprioception) that inhibits (relaxes) or facilitates stronger firing of muscles and tendons. This feedback creates support elements without the bulk and restriction commonly associated with wraps and heavy bracing. KT Tape gives you confidence to perform your best.

Translation: Better than a Band-Aid and mom kiss for boo-boo.

The reason KT tape works is unclear. And by “unclear” I mean there is more than one authority in the world who poo-poos KT tape’s efficacy entirely. There are more athletes and trainers who are busy ignoring the skeptics because DANG they look good in KT tape, and oh-by-the-way it works.

In my particular case, we are not going for the “confidence to perform at my best.” We are going for “All You Bones and Stuff, Get Back Where You Belong!”

This is not a medically recognized diagnosis.

Then again, more than one PT thinks I’m an alien based on the way my foot responds to treatment.

For the record, skin-colored KT tape is really not a good idea. You completely lose out on the sympathy vote (“Oh, my goodness! What happened to you?!”) and the martyr vote (“I can’t believe she’s able to stand and lecture for that long with her leg like that. Her ankle must be killing her!”). With skin-colored tape, pretty much no one even notices your heroic actions.

On the other hand, if you’re hoping to wear interesting shoes without incurring commentary from everyone and their brother (“Should you really be wearing those?”), flesh tone is the way to go.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I love The Skimm. Love, love, love (and thank you to Auntie C to who introduced us to The Skimm).

But it’s thanks to The Skimm that I now know The World Has Gone Too Far. Khloe Kardashian has a fitness closet.

Not sure I should know anything about Khloe. Not sure I should know she has a fitness closet. But now I do and it has given rise to Some Thoughts.

First of all, how many pairs of fitness shoes can one person have? (Did I really write that?) Even for me, it seems excessive when one individual has more pairs of shoes than DSW. At some point, you just can’t even wear that many in year.

And how many different closets does one person need? What’s more to the point, how do you remember which closet something is in? Hmmm….are my red pants in the red closet or the pants closet?

And how many black sweatshirts does one human need? I counted 18 or so in the picture. Really? Even Pi doesn’t have that many and she seems to have accumulated a ridiculous number of sweatshirts in recent years. Is it possible that Khloe has multiple clothes closets but not one single washing machine? Seems unlikely.

It’s not that I begrudge her excesses (well, not exactly). She can afford it and the sports clothing and closet building industries are grateful for her desire to accumulate and organize. I’m just sort of stunned by it.

I aspire to get to the financial point in life where I have the wherewithal to be able to build and fill such a closet. And I hope that if I ever get to that point I choose to spend my money elsewhere.

Love, Mom

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Dear Kid,

As you are aware, shoes are important.

They protect our feet from Legos left lying around (love that alliteration), they keep our toes warm and dry (sometimes), and they look good.

Looking good is the most important part.

Duh.

Which isn’t to say shoes aren’t allowed to be comfortable, just that comfort is not the most important consideration. At least it’s not in my world.

BUT

If there were a way to combine extreme comfort with extreme good looks…well, it would be silly not to pay attention.

So I got all kinds of excited when I saw an article on Mashable titled The World’s ‘Most Comfortable’ Stiletto Gave Me Foot Sores.

No, I am not hoping for foot sores. I believe my feet are frequently sore enough, thank you.

But “the world’s most comfortable stiletto”? That required investigation. (And by “investigation” I mean “reading the article rather than going to sleep.”)

Turns out the self-described Most Comfortable Stiletto was reasonably comfortable according to the reviewer, but she still had red spots on her feet at the end of the day. I can’t comment on their comfort since I didn’t wear them.

Nor am I likely to since they are not billed as the World’s Most Gorgeous Stilettos. For a reason. (You can judge for yourself World’s Most Comfortable Stiletto .)

More importantly, they are not billed as the World’s Most Affordable Stilettos. For a reason. More like 500 reasons.

For the time being, I am content to wear my heels. Which may not be the World’s Most anything, but they are gorgeous and affordable and not crippling. Which is more or less all I ask of my shoes.

That and to protect me from the occasional stray Lego.

Love, Mom