"Ouchy shoes!" Toby called as I tried to hurry him out the door with his sisters. Stopping to inspect his toes I realized he had a valid complaint. It had been six months since his last shoe-size promotion. Yesterday I found the time to dig out a box of shoes I had been saving for him, hand-me-downs mostly from our former neighbors. To Toby's delight there was not only a practical pair of size 8 tennis shoes, but a size 8 pair of brown crocks that looked like Mater from the Cars movie.
I respond sweetly, "Oh, do you want help putting your truck shoes on? Say 'please.'"
I respond, slightly annoyed, "Toby, I just put them on. You took them off. If you want them on, LEAVE them on! DON'T take the shoes off!" as I cram them back on his feet.
You wouldn't believe how many times this scene repeated itself. Ten? Fifteen? I'm not exactly sure, but I actually had to hide the truck shoes from him! You think I'm cruel, but he got over it, and I got dinner made. I'm telling you, he can't handle truck shoes yet. Maybe when he's older.