Orange Espadrilles

There's a traumatic experience story behind the shoes I'm wearing here that I wanted to share.

We left for Rome early the morning after we arrived in Italy so jet lag was in full swing for Ava especially. Her sleep schedule was completely off so she happened to be asleep by the time the rest of the family was ready for dinner. This meant Alex and I were stuck in the hotel room with her, left to fend for ourselves. We were planning to order room service but it wasn't available so I went out to find some type of food I could bring back (even though outside food was strictly not allowed... shhh).

I went all over looking for any kind of takeout option (which is apparently practically unheard of there). Wandering alone through the dark streets of a foreign city gave me flashbacks of my crazy escapades almost ten years earlier. I even came across an underground bakery that very well could have been the same one where I befriended the baker at 5am and ended up with a lifetime supply of the most delectable cookies in existence which granted me celebrity status in the eyes of a plump Belgian kid who became my sidekick for the rest of the night early morning. (I knew he only wanted me for my cookies but having a groupie was much more fun than binging alone.) My former self would have gone in to find out (those cookies would have been well worth the risk; I have yet to taste anything even remotely comparable) but being a wife and mother kept me focused on my task at hand -- hunting for food to bring back to my pack. So I kept going and finally found a restaurant that agreed to let me take a couple pizzas to go.

On the way back, I realized that in my daydreaming of my past life in Rome I had completely lost track of where I was. I headed in the direction I felt made the most sense (I usually have a strong sense of direction) when all of a sudden I took a step and the strap on my sandal snapped. So I limped along the dark streets, not completely sure I was on the right track, my sandal flapping under each careful step, awkwardly balancing two pizza boxes, and avoiding eye contact with strange shadows lurking in the alleys. Thankfully I was only a few blocks away and made it back to the hotel. I was hoping to discreetly slip back up to the hotel room with my prohibited cargo, but that was no longer an option. The desk clerk must have felt bad for me being such a spectacle so he didn't say anything.

A few hours later Ava was wide awake and screaming at a pitch we'd never heard from her before to the point that her whole body was literally shaking. We were so concerned that we decided to take her to the emergency room. By the time we were on our way out the door (me in my slippers since I didn't bring any other shoes to Rome) she started to calm down. (We can only assume the poor little angel was having a rough time adjusting to the new sleep schedule and the milk that must not have agreed with her stomach.)

I borrowed my MIL's shoes the rest of the weekend (it really is a miracle we wear the same size) and splurged (for eight whole Euros!) on these hot orange espadrilles at the marketplace in Florence in desperation just before we boarded the train for our trip to the beach. They're pretty much the perfect walking shoes. I ended up wearing them almost every day in Europe after.

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