This year I got an office for my birthday. OK, so it wasn’t actually for my birthday, but the day before my birthday the IT guy came over and moved my computer and phone, gave me a bigger monitor and a keyboard with one shift key that only works if you punch the hell out of it, and I had to gather up my piles of paper and my drawer of shoes (how does that keep happening?) and moved into my own private space. Now I have a door and can shut it for conference calls, or so I can eat lunch in private. Now I can hang my coat on the back of the door instead of in the community coat closet where it comes out smelling of other people’s perfumes, cigarettes and other general odors. This would be a great picture if someone wasn't crying and everyone would look at the camera. Now I have four white walls staring at me, reminding me that I’m a crappy mom who can’t get her shit together and get some damn photos of her kids for her office. I have a phone that is bursting with pho
Shoes, fashion, kids, work and snark.