All this growing he's doing makes it hard for a mama to keep up:
"I need new running shoes," he said, about a month ago.
"Ok," I said. Then I stored it in that corner of my brain where I was keeping The Storm's request for science project breads. He didn't get them.
"I need new running shoes," he said, again, when I asked him to join me for a jog around the block, a week or so later.
"Can you wear your old ones?"
"I guess."
This sort of thing went on all month. Then, last week, when I suggested, once again, that he wear his old shoes, he said, "I can't. They really hurt my feet."
We hit the mall.
"What size are your old shoes?" I asked, in the shoe department.
"Six."
"We'll need a size seven," I told the salesman.
Too small.
"Seven and a half," I said.
Too small.
"Wow, Hollywood, you're really growing! Sorry," I said to the salesman, while the boxes piled up around us. "Can we try an eight?"
Too small.
"I'm a really sorry to bother you, again," I said to the salesman, who was doing his best to avoid us by then. "We'll need an eight and a half."
Too flipping small!
No wonder his feet hurt! He's been squishing his size nine dogs into shoes three whole sizes too small him, for over a month.
Speaking of dogs, Shadow's also giddy for the new shoes.
Since, they mean hand-me-downs for her: "New chew shoes! Arff!"
