Get Yourself to Nordstrom Before I Buy Up The Whole Dern Store

Well, here I am, totally neglecting my self-appointment as Nordstrom's Ambassador to Tulsa:  I am telling you two days late that now it is Triple Point time!  I've been so busy analyzing offerings, checking my own wardrobe, assessing childrens' needs, buying attire for my new gym rat career (more on THAT to come) and tinkering with my own shopping cart, that I didn't even BOTHER to tell you all to hop online - and fast - because lots of stuff is disappearing.  In fact, some criminally adorable shoes I had went poof from my cart, since I hadn't yet hit "checkout." 

In a bizarre bit of Twilight Zone, both PVT and I were on our laptops last night, dropping things into my shopping cart.  This morning, with my shopping cart bursting full of new tops to revive my postpartum wardrobe, night creams to brighten my tired face, dark circle correcting eye cream, and other various sundries finally crept over four figures, I decided to stop (but don't worry, PVT!  You know most of that I'll try on and then return, in the meantime making you nauseous trying to track my Nordstrom statement!).

My shopping excursion coincided with a dramatic shift in my shopping habits:  I have decided I am done with effing Gymboree.  Yes, you can buy a lot of stuff; yes, it looks so cute in the store - but the way I treat laundry (very, very badly; if my loads were prisoners of war, I would have been locked up long ago for unspeakable crimes), Gymboree clothes just seem to disintegrate into crappy looking rags within a few wearings.  I rarely, if ever, am able to hand anything from Gymboree down.  Maybe if you were my sister Tarzhay Miss, who has one kid of each, and follows up wining and dining her laundry with a hot stone massage.  But I just don't think Gymboree is made for families like mine.   But Nordstrom stuff?  Yes, it's more expensive, but it lasts kid after kid after kid!

So darling frocks like this will last through three girls - and not everyone in Tulsa will have the same thing (except you, dear readers, since you're in the know).

Shop on, comrades.

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Little Miss Colette had her first soccer game this weekend, overseen, of course, by Coach Dada:

 



 

She hustled around quite well, but neither she nor her teammates seemed to really want to get near their hulking opponents who had played together since they were ten months old and who were intent on steamrolling Colette's team and scoring goals.  Alas, Colette's Pink Unicorns just wanted to prance around and giggle, and they were squashed something like 342-0.  While I hope her team at least scores this season, it would hardly be a terrible thing if at least ONE of my children does not have a great affinity for soccer.

Our Colette is suddenly very busy:  ballet and tap class, preschool, soccer, church school - I am wondering if she is a little overwhelmed.  Yesterday she conned me into believing she was sick, and stayed home from school; she mentioned some girls had told her they didn't like her (Nordstrom-bought, spunky light up Sketchers) shoes.  What, you little Okie princess?  You want to take on Colette's mama, queen of shoes, immigrant from the land of Nordstrom?

I didn't think so.