“Mommy! My shoes hurt!”
Words dreaded by mothers (especially mothers of multiples) everywhere. Baby needs a new pair of shoes. And that means a trip to the shoe store.
I’m sure you remember what transpired on our one and only visit to Payless Shoes. Well, this trip was much more expensive, prolonged, and involved public nudity (mine).
This particular shoe store has become our store of choice for two reasons: it’s small enough that it would be impossible to lose the kids, and it has a childproof lock on the door so the they can’t run out and into the parking lot.
The trip goes something like this:
“Mommy, can we get these Jibbitz?”
“No. Stand up so this nice lady can measure your feet. No, stand up! Stop leaning over, you have to put your weight on your foot so she can see how big it is.”
“Mommy, can we get these Jibbitz?”
“No, I already told you we cannot. You need sneakers and you need church shoes. Not Crocs.”
“Mommy, can I get just one Jibbitz? They have Woody and Buzz.”
“No. I’m trying to talk to this nice lady about what shoes they have in your size. Go sit over there. Wait! Anne! Stop playing with those stools! You’re going to get hurt!”
“Mommy, how ‘bout just one Jibbitz?”
“For the last time, no dadgum Jibbitz!”
The nice lady’s smile is starting to look pained. She goes to the back and returns with a tower of shoes, and we begin a joint effort to get them on Grant’s feet.
The first shoe has barely gone over his heel when we hear, “They hurt! Mommy, they hurt!”
Ok, no problem. Bigger size.
The nice lady laces the bigger shoe, and Grant busts out melodrama worthy of Hamlet. “Hurt! Mommy, these shoes hurt!”
Ok, different style. Hideous style, but at this point, he has no shoes to wear to summer camp tomorrow, due to the blanket ban on Crocs, so I don’t care what they look like.
Our saleslady’s cohort, all bright and perky, comes out from the back to extol the virtues of this Japanese sneaker. “They’re light! Really light! So you can run like Superman!”
We all agree; with these ugly Japanese shoes, my son’s running abilities will magically transform from Phoebe from Friends to Clark Kent without glasses. We carefully velcro him into the shoes and I hold my breath as he stands up. They are the ugliest things I have ever seen; retro and futuristic melded together into navy, red, and white lightweight supershoes.
“Mommy, they hurt!”
A flash of pink pulls my eye to Anne, now perched on top of two stools she’s stacked on top of each other, approximately 5 feet off the floor.
“Anne, if you fall and break your neck I am so not taking you to the hospital.”
I feel the “Bad Mother!” stares, and I relent. “Ok, fine, if you break your neck I will call 911. Now get off those stools! How many times have I told you not to play with those?”
The shoe ladies fuss over Grant’s feet, finally pronouncing the Japanese supershoes a perfect fit, so we ask him to do a superhero run around the store. Which he does. The shoes are no less hideous in motion, but if they fit, I’m a huge fan.
But at the end of his victory lap, Grant pulls a face. “They hu-urt,” he says.
Lather, rinse, repeat, until there are no more athletic shoes in stock in his size to try. With every single shoe, he howled like his foot had found an errant bear trap instead of a retro New Balance.
We give up and move on to water shoes. A full hour later, Grant hates anything that touch his feet, and the saleslady has entered a period of glazed, near-catatonic silence. Bright and perky has started to tell me, repeatedly, about their fantastic return policy, and how perhaps if we just took the shoes home, he could break them in a little and maybe he’d come to like them.
Then I remember: church shoes. I lunge for a box of bucks (the saleslady having mysteriously gone from catatonic to supersonic to ring up another customer) and shove them on Grant’s feet.
“They hurt!”
“Of course they do. Now, let’s get somebody to check them.”
Both saleswomen reluctantly check and pronounce the bucks a great fit. Over his howling, I say we’ll take them. Plus a pair of sneakers he hates and a pair of water shoes that make him cry.
And then of course somebody has to go pee so I herd the children through the open curtain of the stockroom straight back to the bathroom. They each go, and then, as I’m doing my business, I hear the pop of the lock and the creak of the door, and I look up from my perch on the toilet…straight out into the front of the store.
Straight out into the front of the store with people in it.
People watching me wipe my nether regions.
Since my brain exploded, I don’t remember much until later in the day. Mark asked Grant to show him his new shoes, and there was such weeping and gnashing of teeth that Mark said, “Fine. You don’t get to go to preschool tomorrow.”
Oh, hell no he didn’t.
“Honey, I had no idea tomorrow was take your son to work day.”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t actually mean it,” he hissed.
Men. Boys. Is there that much of a difference?
*This post is linked to this week’s prompt at The Red Dress Club. The assignment? A memoir piece about an embarrassing moment.
Oh, man! My kiddos are both girls and they both (so far) like shoes, so I guess I dodged a BIG bullet there. But, I have had the bathroom stall door swing open on me before I've finished my business more times than I can count.
I think by that time in the day, I would have completely lost it when the door opened.
But I totally would have said the same thing to my husband!
Angela, believe me, my daughter was not making the whole experience easier. Aside from acrobatics on the store furniture, I think she tried on every pair of shoes on the girls' side of the store while my back was turned. HUGE mess. And she really wanted a pair of fur lined clogs…if you can define “pair” as two left shoes.
Tracie, not to worry. I lost it by the time they got the freaking bathroom door closed. And this wasn't a stall door; it was a bathroom, with a straight line of sight through the stockroom out into the store. Hell, I could see the parking lot from the toilet.
Which is why my head exploded.
And yeah, the whole staying home from preschool thing? That's a punishment for mommy!
So far I've been lucky. I've only had to take my kids shoe shopping once (generally I can buy shoes without them)
Man, gotta love kids…
Hi-lar-ious, Angie, in a way that I can relate to all too well! I think I can guess which shoe store, and that's actually the only store where I could get C to wear anything other than Crocs. But I bribe my boys with Jibbitz *and* a cupcake if we come out of there with shoes. Whatever works, I say. We did loads of occupational therapy for sensory issues (including the shoe thing), so I'll take it however I can get it!
Carrie, I'm jealous! If only I could go without them. I've tried, and it just doesn't work. They have hard to fit feet.
Traci, you know exactly which shoe shop! They should win an award for patience. Didn't realize the cupcake place was closed on Mondays (oops) so my usual bribe option was not an option. I've got to say, if I had it to do over, I may never have introduced Crocs, since wearing anything other than Crocs has become such an issue. Oh, well.
What do you MEAN you didn't mean it? Husbands.
Alex wouldn't wear any shoes AT ALL before we introduced the crocs. So even though I know I'll live to regret that decision, I felt we had no recourse. I also didn't think the crocs would WORK. Stupid me.
I love this. We have been going through a phase of “my EYES hurt.” WTF? Your eyes hurt? We closely exam them, checking for sand, splinters, Jesus's effing log, whatever. Nothing. They make this shit up to put us in a home so they can run the place. I swear. And when there are two it's worse. This morning Jay and Will teamed up and demanded fig newtons for breakfast. Jay: Mommy,I will only eat Newtons. Will: New! New! Me: We are not having cookies for breakfast. Jay: Then we will starve. Will: New! New! I should have had twins. At least I'd get some sympathy. This crap is hard. OH, and my work computer won't use my Google account. It's me. Amy, a/k/a HonestConvoGal. Your Soul Sister.
KLZ, I told him, “You cannot make empty threats. You have to follow through or they will absolutely eat you alive.” He was not impressed. And yes, Crocs are like kid crack. Once they try them, they won't wear anything else.
Amy, I guessed that was you by the second sentence or so. Not to worry. Yes, this crap is hard. We went through it again this morning. Grant said his gray shoes hurt if he wore them with white socks, so he needed gray socks. WTF? How stupid do they think we are?!? I actually almost kept him home from school. But he turned a corner at the last minute and I let him go. Partly because all of this has caused a migraine and I couldn't deal with a morning of him in time out.
Some days I just want to put my head down and say, “What am I doing wrong?” Then I remember that (according to all the friends that live in my computer, at least), I'm not alone.
Kids really should come with an operator's manual.
Bwa ha ha! That sucks. Our kids are terrible at opening the bathroom door on me. Thankfully never to a store-full of people. Yikes. We haven't entered a world of anti-shoes yet. Maybe because I just buy them cheap Target shoes right now. (Though when they start school, I will only be buying good ones because if my mama only taught me one thing, it's to invest in good shoes.)
“Hurt” means the same as “They aren't Jibbitz so I don't want it!” Oh kids.
Cassie
http://www.fluteitup.com
Oh. My. God.
That is all.
{You poor thing, I'm passing wine.}
This cracked me up! I could see this happening to me very easily! I also cab really sympathize with that shoe business. Ha! On another note, so glad you were down with Warren G. with me the other day.
Jennifer, I tell them every single time we're all in a bathroom together (which happens far more often than I would like) not to open the damn door. This is the first time it's happened, and what a venue. It was difficult to march right back out there and pay for shoes. Glad I wrote this or I may have blocked it from my memory forever.
Cassie, you're brilliant. That's exactly what “hurt” means in this context. Can you be my child translator?
Galit, yep. That was pretty much what my husband said. And then he made me a drink.
Kelley, so glad it made you laugh. And that you saw that tweet!
This actually made me cry with laughter. I have also been presented to the general public in a bathroom stall, but not in quite as grand a manner. I think people think I'm making up my tales of daily life – good to know someone else has these experiences on a regular basis too!
Oh, my! This was DEFINITELY one of those laugh out loud stories…and I don't like to use LOL lightly, so know if I say it I mean it.
I was totally there with you in that shoe store…living through the torture of finding the perfect pair of shoes, living through the added torture of public humiliation bathroom style. You told this so well!!
I feel for ya, girl
Stopping by from TRDC and so glad I did.