- April 18, 2024
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We are only a few weeks away from school starting, so the kids are getting depressed. Soon, they’ll say goodbye to Make-A-Snack-And-Hope-Mom-Cleans-Up-The-Mess Land and head back to Yes-Teacher-I’ll-Do-Whatever-You-Say Land.
Mom, of course, is doing her best to hide her excitement at having the house to herself for a few hours a day. Dad, of course, is trying to hide his frustration with the rate of growth of his children’s feet because — didn’t we just do this? — it’s time to go shoe shopping again.
Grant, my 9-year-old, sits on the floor of the store and tries to cram his foot into a shoe that he likes. He winces in pain. “These things are way too small,” he says.
“What size are they?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“What size did you wear before?”
“I don’t know.”
I direct him to the contraption next to him on the carpet, the metal plate with the slider that is supposed to measure your foot, and I explain to him how the world works.
Jackson, 11, doesn’t need new shoes because his aren’t very old, but, being the helpful and thoughtful child that he is, he suggests that I could buy him an extra pair of shoes a few sizes too large, considering these are on sale, and they’re really cool, and eventually he’ll need —
“No,” I say.
Ellie, 5, is already jogging around the store in some sparkly gray shoes and trying out a pair of aviator sunglasses. Jackson and Grant open an umbrella that is on sale for such a low price that if we don’t buy it, we are being ungrateful to the store.
We manage to leave after buying only two pairs of shoes, and I take a deep breath and try to avoid thinking about the next ritual we have coming up: Pencils-Pens-Glue-Notebooks-Folders-And-Fancy-Erasers Shopping.
