i wonder if my son will carry on our nontraditional tradition. those musings are for another time and my other blog. in this particular wide open white space, the shoe is the thing.
z doesn't like his own shoes as much as he likes mine, especially any with heels, which have become mostly obsolete since my name changed to mamma. it's not that i've lost the urge to wear them; i've lost the occasion. my loss is my son's discovery. every day is reason enough to explore my closet floor, filled with wedge heels, boot heels, and stiletto heels, my neat arrangement of which he happily destroys. if i'm in my room, he's sure to be amidst a mess of shoes, sitting atop a plastic storage box of more shoes, concentrating desperately to arrange the meeting of one fat, flat foot against the sole of whichever shoe has caught the attention of his enviably thick-lashed cerulean eyes, which will look larger as he looks up at me and says, "shoosh?" "yes, baby. mamma's shoes."
it's always one shoe, and on his right foot. he typically chooses a wedge, as would any discerning walker. those spiky suckers are for looks, not for comfort. see, already a problem solver and not even two years old. i never have to question if this kid of mine is going places. for now, he goes clunk, drag, clunk, drag across the hardwood hallway and into the living room. and if i'm lucky, i'll catch him look over one shoulder and smile when he hears me laughing at him.
my pint-size platform pirate. he finds the treasure in everyday things.
