Big Shoes to Fill

The children LOVE to play "shoe store". They get out all the shoes from the front closet and clomp around the house in the most ill-fitted footwear they can find. I have tried explaining to them, ever so gently, that this really isn't what happens at a shoe store. They then explain to me, ever so gently, that I have never brought them to a shoe store...so how would they know...and could I just bring them to a shoe store soon, because they WILL be good this time...and maybe while we are there we could get pretzels at the mall...and Joseph promises that he will most definitely NOT bite Thomas this time...and Thomas promises that he will try to make Jesus' heart so happy...and Sarah promises that she will try really hard not to hide under the clothing racks so that Mommy and Daddy can't find her and go in search of a security guard...

I need another cup of coffee.

Anyway, last night we took the children to the mall. Sarah needed sneakers. "No more velcro for me, Mom! I want laces!" Right! Because, as it stands now, we have to figure in an extra 45 minutes when we want to leave the house...just to put shoes on the children. I would have to add on more time to unknot the laces that she wouldn't untie before taking off her shoes the last time. And all the knots that she put in the laces while she was using her shoes as a leash for her stuffed dog, Frenchy. Then she would have to put on her own shoes and tie them herself. What's another 15 minutes among friends? A nice, even hour to leave home would be easier to calculate for my mommy-brain, anyway. "Sure, Sarah! Sneaks with laces, it is!"

All joking aside, I am really grieving as she begins this new stage. She is becoming so tall and independent. I cried in the shoe department last night as she was trying on shoes. When did my baby grow up? I remember the first pair of shoes. Delicate and feminine Mary Janes. I remember trying to squeeze her chubby feet into them. I couldn't buckle them. Matt and I laughed. I did not laugh last night as she picked out hot pink running sneakers (with laces) so that she could "go so much faster". Why does she want to go faster? Do they sell sneakers that make children slow down?

No pretzels last night. No biting. Tommy DID makes Jesus' heart happy, I am sure. Sarah did not hide under any clothing racks. But driving home, I still felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. Who knew that buying new shoes could be so emotionally taxing?