I know this may not your typical product review – but every time I wear you… I feel like I’m falling in love. So tonight I feel the need to express my sentiments to you in this letter.
I’ll admit – at first I wasn’t attracted to you (don’t feel bad – it’s not just you – compression in general). Usually I don’t judge based on looks, however, the first time I saw you on a group of runners – I assumed they were fashionably unaware men who forgot to change their trouser socks after work. I’ve since learned you are in fact as fashionable as you are functional.
As I sit here donning my divalicous pink and black progressive+ run socks 2.0 I can’t help but to feel the urge to get up and run…. run fast. But alas, I’m here with my children, who will soon be fighting me for something to eat (although we just ate dinner), something to drink (although they just finished a 2nd cup of apple juice), 5 more minutes on the iPad (yes, I’m THAT mom – don’t judge), or asking me a million questions like why apples don’t taste like bananas.
You may be asking yourself “why then, are you sporting my durable filament fiber of 85% polyamide 15% spandex?”
Allow me to explain.
You were created as a running compression sock, however I have found your abilities go way beyond stabilizing muscles and increasing blood flow and circulation. Yes, you can also be beneficial in post run recovery, but again – this is not why your open-pore mesh is compressed against my calf.
You see, tonight mommy had a glass of wine.
It was one of those days. A Saturday with the hubby out of town and two kids in tow to “help” me run errands and come back to tackle the million other things I had to do today. It seemed basic… just run to the post office to drop off packages, and stop by the store for some baby wipes. We NEEDED baby wipes.
After a 30 min battle with my 5.5 year old (yes. Do not forget the .5 part) of “what’s appropriate to wear in public”, we made it to the post office.
My daughter was dragging my 18month old son through the entrance (that 2 people so graciously held open for me AFTER I dropped the packages out of my arms while simultaneously attempting to hold the unnecessarily heavy doors open with my butt and foot and usher in my kids). I begged my kids to behave through ONE more errand and bribed them with McDonald’s french fries (go on, keep judging me… I can handle it). We were so close…. SO close to Walmart when my daughter squeals “LOOK MOM ART!! Can we do it??”
Home Depot was having their Free Kids Workshop today. Of course. The ‘rushed and frustrated’ mom in me said “just make up some story for why we can’t do it” but the mom that heard the excitement in my daughters voice said “you have time”.
So we stopped.
I tried so hard to retain my composure as my son tried to escape my one arm clutch while with the other hand I held a TINY little nail for my daughter to hammer into her photo frame. I need to add that this is the first time she’s ever used a hammer. I blame myself for not giving her better instructions or at least using the words “gently” or “carefully”. My thumb still hurts.
I entertain the 18month old with Sesame Street on YouTube (yep, he watches tv too. At this point you either feel totally validated or you are shaking your head in utter disgust) which lasts long enough to get the rest of the frame together. My daughter learned to say “ok move your thumb now” before using her freakishly strong 5year old hammering skills. I’d consider that a win. My son has moved on to pulling sh… “stuff” out of my purse. I don’t even care at this point – he’s quiet and entertained. We get the rest of the embellishments on the frame and it’s now ready to paint. My son apparently wants to paint also as he pulls a plate full of color down barely missing his white polo shirt (why I keep buying him white shirts is BEYOND me). The paint is on the frame, I’ve wiped off the “excess”, the last few pieces go on and all I can think about is putting on pajamas and pouring that glass of wine.
Let’s stop for a minute and let me say that was probably one of my most favorite memories with my daughter DESPITE the struggle. She was SO proud of herself and as much as she LOVES art she said “I hammered for the first time! And hammering is more fun than painting!” She is clearly a child after my own heart – and my dad’s too. We love a good construction project!!
So we finally head to Walmart for the wipes and I also remembered we needed frozen pancakes (yes, frozen. They both eat them. Almost every day.) when my son lost it. He was kicking and screaming and trying to wiggle out of his car seat. My daughter is trying to out-scream him telling him to stop screaming. So I turned out of the parking lot and started heading home.
I just can’t do this today. Especially since I just realized I was about to go to Walmart… on a Saturday. What. Was. I. Thinking.
I have paper towels (yup – I apparently hate the environment too) we can use for wipes, and my daughter can have Lucky Charms in the morning (<– not even kidding… and I even pick out the marshmallows and give my son a hand full of them because he likes them. How many moms have lost respect for me now?)
Of course on the way home I stop by McDonalds to get the fries… and Wendy’s too because my daughter wanted a frosty. Yes, I realize they were supposed to get that IF we went to the store (which we didn’t) but having to hear about not getting them would be worse for me in the long run… so we stop.
The rest of the day is filled with typical opinionated 5.5 year old battles 18 month old shenanigans.
So I pour the wine.
I’ve been purposely avoiding alcoholic beverages the past half year, so one glass (ok, one FULL glass) was enough to set off my alcohol triggered edema.
This is where you, my dear CEP, come rescue me like a knight in shining compression fibers. I rush upstairs (which fortunately adds to my fitbit step count because after today I just wanted to SIT) and grasp you in my clutches. I easily spot your fashionably vibrant colors and gently unroll your ingenious blend of polyamide and spandex on my continuously swelling (c)ankles. I instantly feel relief as the skin in my toes no longer feels like an abundance of sausage packed in very small casing.
Yes, CEP, you are more than just a running compression sock. Your qualities extend beyond giving more energy and greater endurance. You have activated the flow of blood such that I can pour myself just ONE more glass now that the kids are asleep (as I continue typing this in my daughter’s bed because she was “lonely” and needed “company”). And this isn’t the first time you’ll have saved me from a night of debauchery (some involving Honey Baked Ham over Christmas dinner. HELLO SALT AND WATER RETENTION), and it definitely wont be the last. And had I known about your glorious revitalizing powers just six short years ago, your presence would have graced my tired pregnant legs and I wouldn’t be giving pet names to my ever increasing spider veins.
So I conclude this letter by saying thank you CEP for supporting me. Literally and figuratively. On road and off. You have clearly won my affection.
With Kindest Regards,