Cal's Black Running Shoes

Cal said this morning just before we were heading out to school that he wanted to wear his black running shoes today.  I about jumped out of my skin with excitement.  I bought these shoes several months, maybe a year ago when I visited a New Balance shoe store on a whim, and they’ve only hit his feet twice since – briefly the first day when I insisted he try them on and slightly longer about a month ago when he said he wanted to wear them to school.  That second time, I sent him to school with his Velcro Asics running shoes as a backup just in case he decided he really didn’t want to wear the black shoes.  He came home that day wearing the Velcro running shoes, and I never asked about the switch.

Cal’s gripe about these shoes is that they have laces.  He doesn’t like them “sticking out,” nor does he like them bouncing and hitting his leg.

Me, I love these shoes.  If I could have a pair myself, I would.  First of all, they’re black – I love black running shoes.  Secondly, they’re New Balance, a legitimate maker of quality running shoes.  I am so tired of those Velcro, Disney-character, light-up shoes for which Cal is a magnet.  Though we stopped buying those, I still haven’t fully recovered.  I mean, I really hated those shoes – cheap and cheesey.  It pained me to buy them every time we did.  I always caved, fearing the endless fighting that was ahead of me in the store and at home if I actually had a backbone and insisted we buy better shoes.

Anyway, when Cal re-emerged in the family room with these wonderful gems in his hands this morning, I quickly volunteered to help him put them on his feet.  It would be a delicate operation, so I had to make sure the conditions were right.  I lifted him onto the coffee table (saying “we’re only doing this so I can easily get your shoes on”), handed him my cell phone as a distraction and then started to work my magic.  I grabbed the right shoe, loosened up the laces, slipped it onto his foot and then gently tightened the laces.  I stopped and asked him, “Is this okay?”

“Tie them,” he responded.

“I know, I just wanted to make sure this isn’t too tight.  Is it too tight?” I asked.

“No,” he responded as his attention turned back to the cell phone.

I had achieved a satisfactory tightness of the right shoe.  I proceeded to tie it.  As I did so, I asked him, “What bothers you about the shoelaces, that they bounce or that they stick out?”

“I don’t want them to stick out… or hit my legs,” he responded.

Just as I figured.  I tied the laces in a double knot, twisted them so they were more parallel with the ground and then tucked the longer pieces under the taut part of the laces against the shoe.  As I did all of this, I felt myself holding my breath.  I mean, I really wanted him to wear these shoes, and I didn’t want anything to disrupt his interest in wearing them.  I was nervous.

Everything tied and tucked in, I asked, "How's this?"

Cal examined my work and responded, "Good."

As I put the finishing touches on the right shoe, I noticed that Ella had the left shoe in her hand, babbling something about wanting to put the shoe on Cal’s foot herself.  “No, thanks, Baby Girl.  I’ll do it myself,” I responded.

“I do it,” Ella insisted.

“No, Mommy do it,” I insisted more, grabbing the left shoe from her hand at the risk of her disrupting the calm Cal and I had established.  Ella doesn’t take the word “No” very well, oftentimes breaking into a tearful meltdown once she’s gotten over the shock that someone had the nerve to tell her, “No.”  For whatever reason – I’ve learned not to wonder why – she actually let me have the shoe without contention.

I proceeded to put the left shoe on Cal’s foot using the same approach I had used with the right.  Not too tight.  Double-knot the laces.  Tuck the ends under the lacing against the shoe.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Good.” Two "goods" with these fantastic black running shoes on his feet.  Today would surely be a great day.

Cal hopped off of the table and then asked me, “Mommy, do you want to see how fast I can run?”

“Of course,” I responded.  And Cal took off in a mad sprint to the front door.  He turned, smile plastered across his face, and then sprinted from the front door to the back door.

“Was that fast?” he asked me.

“Holy cats!  It was fast!” I exclaimed.

Cal smiled big, a nice compliment to the beautiful black shoes on his feet.  And then we headed to school without a backup pair of shoes for the day.