reddish-brown boots, my like-mother, like-daughter moment, & short Irish music video

These are my brand new boots. Coach and
 I posed on the driveway as the uber arrived
 to take us to the airport.

These boots are made for walking. Armed with the knowledge that Mini fell in the mud in Ireland, I decided in the 11th hour that I should get some waterproof boots. I ordered a pair of Sorrel boots online. Buyers claimed the boots ran small, so I ordered 3 different sizes in a reddish-brown.

The array of sizes arrived the day before we left. I normally wear at 9, but I opted to keep the 9.5. They were snug but SO comfy. I called Mini and described them as I packed. 

**********

Me:  HEY, WHERE'S MY CONVERTER (or whatever you call the plug thing)? 

She and Ed brought our 2 converters with them.

Convert someone to be more responsible, please. 

Mini:  OH, HMM. I DON'T REMEMBER UNPACKING THAT. *me rifling through my old study abroad backpack that she used for her trip.*

Me:  YEAH - IT'S NOT IN THERE. 

Mini:  OK, YEAH. I GUESS I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO IT. SORRY. 

I pointed out that if she'd informed me that it was lost 5 days prior when she came home, I could've ordered another one. Grr. Coach had to stop at Mini's bestie's house on his way home from work the day we were leaving in order to borrow Bestie's converter. At least someone is organized and knew it was right on her desk.

**********

I marched into Curly's room wearing my boots. She told me I looked like a Christmas tree because I had on a green shirt. 

Me:  THE BOOTS AREN'T RED. THEY'RE REDDISH-BROWN. 

Curly:  HA. SURE THEY ARE. 

The more I wore them, the more I realized that they are indeed RED. I still loved them:  'they're so ugly- they're cute'. Honestly I felt like I was walking around in house slippers in Ireland. I'd chosen to pack a second pair of Mary Jane sneakers. They'd go with anything, offer good support, didn't require socks, didn't take up much space in my bag, and were already beat up, so I wouldn't be upset if they got muddy /wet. 

*Delilah stopped by the day before I left and I ran through my pile of what I was packing. It's funny how she didn't really advise me, but I made some key decisions while she allowed me to bounce things off of her. Packing became much clearer with a witnss somehow. As I hemmed and hawed about what other shoes I'd bring, I was like OH, I'LL BRING THESE MARY JANE'S. 

Towards the end of the trip, as I started second-guessing myself for packing a back up pair, until an INCIDENT. 

On Monday, Coach and I drove to Doolin, a very remote, small town on the west coast - not far from the Cliffs of Moher. It's known for traditional Irish music. I booked us in a youth hostel the day before we left Chicago. Last minute, much? When we checked in, Coach looked a little deer in the headlights-ish. It was fine for college kids, but it was a bit stark for adults. 

Rainbow Hostel, Doolin

Me:  We're gonna be in the pub most of the time anyway. It'll be fine. Plus we have our own bathroom.  

*Not sure Coach will ever live down the night in Kilkenny when he requested that he and I go back to the B & B at 7:30 pm. It was NOT our first night, so no excuse. Tank's facial expression screamed:  WHAT NOW? We ended up staying out quite late and it was a great night. 

We stayed at the Doolin pub till the musicians called it quits, in other words:  LATE. You hardly notice you're sleeping in a hostel when you stay out so late. 

Our kids stayed in the same hostel a week prior and they gave it high marks. The music in the pubs was amazing. No surprise, several of the musicians knew Pat and Aunt Leprechaun. That's the way traditional Irish music circles work. 

*Below is a short snippet of the session we watched. The guy in front of me in the Rolling Stones t-shirt is playing the bodhran, Irish drum that Lad plays, but not the best angle to see his instrument.

THE CLIFFS OF MOHER

LET'S HIKE:  The next morning, I voted we hike 5 miles to the Cliffs and then back. We'd stopped to see the Clilffs the evening before when we got into town, since rain was expected the next day. Coach didn't want to hike, but the kids had said it was beautiful and a high point of their trip. He agreed to go part of the way - not the full 5 miles. 

I wore a pair of leggings with my favorite pair of dry fit, outdoorsy pants over them as an added layer, along with several layers of long sleeve shirts and sweatshirts plus my raincoat. I don't believe I owned a raincoat the year I studied in Ireland. Just a winter coat and a windbreaker. Tank marveled at that. Same, Tank. Same. How did I manage? 

As expected, our hike included lots of mud. We were close to the edge of the cliff. The path at times was tough to decipher. Were we walking through a cow pasture or were we still on the trail? We climbed over a barbed wire fence at one point. I threw my raincoat over the barbs so we didn't get stuck. I felt very MacGyver-ish. 

Coach finally called it quits. LET'S GO BACK. I begrudgingly agreed, but first I pointed out that it was a beautiful day, had only sprinkled for a few minutes. I'd removed a few layers, tying them around my waist, because it wasn't crazy cold or windy. LET'S GO. 

As we turned around, Coach said, HOW ABOUT A COMPROMISE? LET'S GO A LITTLE BIT FURTHER - LIKE TO THE TOP OF THAT HILL AND THEN TURN BACK. 

Hooray. Yes, I'll take the deal behind door #1. We pressed onward. Really, we probably hiked almost the whole way there and part of me was bummed not to just go the distance, but I was glad he agreed to go further. The views were amazing.

From time to time we'd have to choose our footing carefully. I admit that I wasn't all that committed to choosing my footing carefully. Was it because he wasn't as excited to hike as I was? Was I trying to embrace my hiking decision? Was I overly confident in my red boots? 

There was a good deal of water/mud/puddles in the path and the grassy area next to the path was marshy. We got to an area that was PURE mud. Coach was assessing what to do, and I decided that if I just stepped lightly into the mud, I could make it to the other side and scale a bluff that was grassy and less muddy. 

Well. Life is full of bad ideas and this one ranks monumentally at the top of my list. The mud was less forgiving and more liquified (think chocolate pudding consistency, but in a bottomless pit sort of way) than I realized and the earth soon swallowed me . . .  up to MY MID SHINS on my right leg. I had no choice but to step with my left next to my right in order not to lose my balance/free my right. The earth made a meal of my left foot up to my shin too. 

Hard to imagine - but it was MUCH
worse than this initially.

MY BOOTS! BY PANTS! MY DIGNITY! 

OK, what dignity? 

Coach later admitted that he experienced a record breaking range of emotions in a 10 second time frame. He was concerned for me, angry that I'd rushed, worried that I was going to be upset or hurt, and also struggling not to explode with laughter. I burst out laughing as soon as I freed myself, and Coach then experienced total relief as he too bust a gut laughing. 

Repurposing the saying
RUB A LITTLE DIRT IN IT.

My survival-mode self lowered my body to a sort-of plank-like position to wipe the mud off onto the grass. I then ripped up fistfuls of grass, using them to target other parts of the boots and pants and wipe away the thick mess. Ma Ingalls would've been proud.

Note:  unlike Mini, I did NOT fall. I got sucked in, but didn't fall. 

I was so quick to wipe the mud away that I failed to pause for a photo. I was concerned that the mud would seep over the top of my prized boots, so the first photo we have does NOT do the mud-bath justice. Fortunately, my socks and my leggings beneath my pants remained clean. No mud seepage over the top of my boots. 

I was so grateful that I'd been the one to swim in the mud. Can you imagine if Coach had agreed to hike further against his better judgement only to fall victim to a mud disaster? 

OUCH!

We continued to our pre-agreed turn-around spot. The worst part of my mud-ssue, see what I did there? mud + issue:  mud-ssue. The worst part was when I wiped the mud off my hands on a pile of grass. I caught a bramble in my thumb and my thumb bled. 

When we encountered other hikers, we pointed to my 'example' - really pointing wasn't necessary since I was an EYESORE. The looks I got. When we retraced our steps and arrived at the mud-pool, a young woman from Switzerland was trying to navigate the area. We directed her to back up, scramble up the bluff and proceed with caution. Then I offered to take a photo of her with her phone and the amazing backdrop. She was ever so grateful. She was alone and was only going to have selfies to remember her trip. Selfies are better than mud-encased boots, as far as memories go - but legit full body photos in the beautiful scenery are even better.

The mud he is navigating is NOTHING compared to what engulfed me.

We returned to the hostel, even though we'd checked out and Carmel, the owner, gave me Band-Aids and disinfectant to clean my cut. When we waited for Tank to get out of class later that afternoon, I used paper towels and makeup wipes (good thing I don't wear a lot of makeup and didn't need a ton of those for my face, right?) to clean up the boots. I had to wear the boots home on the flight since I wouldn't have space in my bag. 

Bottom line:  the extra shoes came in handy and the boots cleaned up fine. Guess what? They're now more of a reddish-brown color. Careful what you wish for.  

Stayed in a hostel? Been to the Cliffs?  Been devoured by mud? Do you subscribe to the 'so ugly, it's cute' mindset for something you own? Do you think this is what I get for laughing SO hard at the text from Ed when he sent a photo of Mini falling in the mud on this exact trail? Are you lauging with me?