If the Shoe Fits...

Taking my children shoe shopping is my next favorite thing, after leprosy. Most of the time, I just have them stand on a piece of paper, and trace their feet. Then I pay a sitter an amount approximately 12 times what I spend on the shoes, so as to avoid the embarrassment of being summarily thrown out of the store.

I would imagine.

Once in a while my husband takes them, so that I can stay home and enjoy some quality personal time. But frankly it's more fun to follow him with a camcorder.

Typically I do not buy shoes for both children at the same time. I do this because I wouldn't want them growing up thinking life is FAIR, or anything like that. Also, this allows me the option of duct-taping one of them to the bench. But in this instance, I really had no choice. Abby's toes were punching through, and Max's teacher offered me actual MONEY if I could coax him into sneakers.

Max is (how can I say this delicately?) INSANE about shoes. He definitely has the Imelda Marcos gene. Not only does he have upwards of seven thousand pairs of shoes, but they fall into only 2 *very specific categories: slippers with animal heads, and loafers. Penny loafers, tassel loafers, plain loafers, loafers covered with finger-paints, patent leather loafers, and even a pair of loafers with dog poo stuck in the sole.

At school, they require sneakers. You'd think that loafers would be a step UP from that (well, not the dog poo ones), but no - they're very firm about this.

So Max naturally picks out the most hideous pair of sneakers I've ever laid eyes on. They're green and purple and black, with laces, and a ski-boot type buckle, that when fastened, gives them the deceptive appearance of old fashioned spats assaulted and possibly killed in a paintball factory.

My GOD they were ugly. But then, these days you get to pay MORE for that.

No matter. But I did take the time to inquire whether they had a matching pair for my husband. Alas, they were out of that size. Max promised to share his.

On to Abby. Abby is three years old. Meaning that by now, she has licked all the mirrors in the store, and now has her hands in her pants.

Abby needed sneakers as well. She's not nearly as opinionated as her brother, usually being completely content to wear sneakers, sandals, and/or ruby slippers (sometimes even on her feet) as long as they clash appropriately with her clothes. The Blues Clues sneakers had caught her eye, which was remarkably convenient, considering they had 3 similar varieties to choose from.

This is where I come to my major beef with the whole shoe-buying process. Fit. If I've learned anything in my life, I've learned that just because the shoe SAYS it's your size, doesn't mean it fits. "These run big." What the heck is THAT supposed to mean? If it's a 7, it should be a 7! If they run BIG, why isn't it marked 7 ½?

Coupled with the deceptive size labels, is the fact that kids will LIE to you, when there are shoes at stake. They will look at you with their big round eyes, and tell you how wonderful the shoes feel, even as their toes are folded back upon themselves, if they like the traction design on the sole. There is simply no way to tell for sure, short of toting a polygraph around.

We do that toe-poking thing. I'm not sure what that is, because I've never (to my knowledge) actually FELT a toe using this technique, and wouldn't know what I was looking for anyway. Is feeling a toe there good or bad? Who knows?  I think we do it to buy time. To consider, "Well if they DON'T fit, I'm out 25 bucks!" while simultaneously squinting to see if we can't dredge up some psychic powers, just this once. When we really could use them.

It goes without saying that psychic powers or no, I'm wrong approximately 102% of the time. But the good news is that the shoes were on sale, so I'm only out $20. My husband will be very happy to hear this.

It may just cushion the blow about not getting sneakers to match Max's.