In our house, every day is a boot day. Rubber boots. Heavy boots. Especially snow boots.
It’s not because of the weather – we’ve had a pretty mild winter, and, for the last few weeks, snow boots have been unnecessary. When it’s sixty degrees and sunny, dragging around heavy, insulted boots can slow you down on the playground. Or, at least, that’s what Sean and I think.
Axel? He won’t wear anything but his snow boots. Our conversations go like this:
“It’s pretty warm out there today.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna wear my boots. It’s a boot day.”
“You might get hot.”
“I’ll be OK.”
“Yesterday, I noticed that all the other kids were wearing their sneakers and running shoes.”
“I wear boots.”
If I push a little further, well, you can imagine where it ends up. And yet, in the frantic early morning rush to get on footwear, grab lunches, and get out the door, when having a mini battle of wills is very inconvenient, I kept finding myself picking a fight over Axel’s boots. A totally unnecessary fight.
Really, this one? Wearing snow boots in spring? It’s not just that I won’t win – it’s that it doesn’t even matter.
He’s not using the boots to kick puppies or crush his little brother’s fingers. He just likes wearing boots. I don’t get it, but I also don’t understand why he finds saying the words bunny pants hysterically funny, and I never argue with him over that one. So what if his feet get a little hot, or he can’t climb up the slide as quickly as he could in sneakers. He’s going to have to deal with those, not me.
I just wish I’d come to the realization that this boot battle is not one to pick a little earlier – we could avoided some early morning heartbreak.
So, from now on, after feasting on a breakfast of almond butter and jam sandwiches, brushing teeth, and trying to comb away the bedhead, Axel’s picking his own footwear, without any argument from me. Even if he’s stomping around in snow boots when it’s 95 degrees.
Actually, tomorrow looks like a boot day for all of us. It’s supposed to snow.