When I was in the Philippines last year, Big Sis E and I went to SM in Makati to pick up a few gifts to bring home to our respective mothers-in-law and our children. After all, we reasoned, with Mom gone, it would be a long time before our kids got something from the Philippines.
I couldn’t think of anything for The Boy, but Big Sis E insisted we find him a pair of squeaky shoes. They’re shoes (really, sandals) that squeak every time you take a step. You see, my mother brought a pair back for my older niece (who loved them) which were later handed down to my younger niece (who also loved them). It isn’t something you can find here in the US, either, so I agreed that would be a perfect gift.
Fast forward nine months, and The Boy is walking well, wearing a size 7 shoe, and finally able to wear the squeaky shoes. I put them on his feet a few months ago, and he was intrigued, but not totally sold.
Ever since we came back from New York, though, he’s wanted to wear the squeaky shoes everywhere. Cute Husband said The Boy brings him the squeaky shoes every afternoon, demanding he put them on his feet. He’ll even take a shoe and hold it to his foot, pointing and saying something that sounds suspiciously like “Shoe on!”
This morning, we were running late (again). It was a combination of waking 15 minutes late, a gigantic poopy diaper, a minor battle over breakfast, and general absent-mindedness (on my part) that set back my normally scheduled routine. But the simple act of putting on shoes this morning was more complicated than usual.
“It’s time to put on shoes so we can go to school,” I said, sitting down on the floor. I had his sneakers in my hands; I just needed his feet.
He came to me with his squeaky shoes in hand, a big grin on his face as he thrust them towards me.
“No, Baby, those shoes are for the house. Don’t you want your sneakers?”
He shook his head vehemently, then sat down in my lap and proceeded to hold a squeaky shoe to his foot. “On!” he screamed.
I took the sandal from his hand and started to put on a sneaker instead. He squirmed and started to cry, grabbing for his shoe.
After a quick glance at the time, I realized this was a battle I couldn’t win. I put on his squeaky shoes, tucked his sneakers into my bag, then instructed him to go out to the car. Once we got to school (and before I let him out of his car seat), I quickly took off the squeaky shoes and slipped on his sneakers.
I don’t know what I’m going to do when he outgrows these….