Kelly Q. Anderson

A few years ago, I retired…from flip-flops.

Yes, that’s right. I decided I was DONE with cheap plastic tearing up my toes. I bought two pairs of rubber Birkenstocks during my pregnancy with Gus and never looked back (bonus points: you can adjust these! Which came in handy when my then-pregnant feet were swollen).

Since that time (and long after I gave birth to the 4-year-old pictured above), I’ve been walking the Earth promoting these shoes in a loud voice because everything about them is good: durable material, washable in the kitchen sink after a trip to the beach or pool, and they come in lots of punchy colors reminiscent of ice cream and beach balls.

Pretty soon, there will be no sandy feet.

Pretty soon, my baby-blue toenails will be tucked into hi-top sneakers or boots.

Pretty soon, the beaches will be deserted and the classrooms will be bustling.

Leaves will crunch under my feet and it will be far too chilly to stroll around in my favorite summer staple. So today I will be okay with sandy feet. Sandy shoes. Sandy everything.