reflections on daddy-hood and other random things
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Shoes, Glorious Shoes: Our Imelda Marcos Protoge
Little E. loves two things in the world. First and foremost, she loves milk. Rude is her mood at meal time until she gets that sippy cup at meal time. But following that, shoes are the next best thing. Now at almost 20 months, we attribute her mastery of the words "off" and "on" because she uses those as her commands to you when she brings you a pair of shoes. And she’ll do it for hours.
You just sit there, and she’ll scavage her room, A.’s room, and our room and bring you one pair of shoes at a time. You take off her shoes, put on the new ones, and she runs around with them on like it’s the first pair she’s ever worn. Now it doesn’t matter if these shoes are 2 sizes too small or if they are daddy’s big old shoes. She is happy as long as her feet are in them. And then repeat this process over and over until she gets hungry.
Want to see this child throw a fit? Try taking her, strapped in a stroller, into a shoe store and just buy shoes for her sister. No amount of stickers will appease her. She’ll feel slighted for life and repeatedly cuss you out in her babble, that is, until she gets milk.
I pity her poor husband. He’ll have to make sure she’s got an Imelda Marcos-sized closet or else they’ll have a pretty high monthly rental bill from the self-storage place.
You just sit there, and she’ll scavage her room, A.’s room, and our room and bring you one pair of shoes at a time. You take off her shoes, put on the new ones, and she runs around with them on like it’s the first pair she’s ever worn. Now it doesn’t matter if these shoes are 2 sizes too small or if they are daddy’s big old shoes. She is happy as long as her feet are in them. And then repeat this process over and over until she gets hungry.
Want to see this child throw a fit? Try taking her, strapped in a stroller, into a shoe store and just buy shoes for her sister. No amount of stickers will appease her. She’ll feel slighted for life and repeatedly cuss you out in her babble, that is, until she gets milk.
I pity her poor husband. He’ll have to make sure she’s got an Imelda Marcos-sized closet or else they’ll have a pretty high monthly rental bill from the self-storage place.
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