My Children's Shoes

Children's shoes are the bane of my existence. On a completely primal level, I despise children's shoes. They never fit, which no one bothers to tell me until approximately 30 seconds before we have to walk out the door. That is, if they can find them. I once spent a solid hour searching for a pair of shoes that I finally located. In the dining room. A completely logical location for a pair of church shoes.
Judging by the shoes, our back porch looks like forty-seven people live here. Everyone but me has at least two pairs of boots or shoes out there, and some have three. This is only because after politely asking the short people to please remove their shoes before coming in after they've played in the arena sand, mom had a complete crazy woman screaming fit. I'm pretty sure that fire came out of my eyes at some point. It must have made a lasting impression, however. Only once in the last few weeks have I had to bust someone for wearing dirty boots in my house. It is worth pointing out that when I did bust them with boots on, they were upstairs! They had to use the bathroom, and there was a spider in the guest bathroom. I'm not sure what was wrong with the other one they walked right past.
The people I really can't stand are the manufacturers of kids' shoes. A size 11 is never the same size 11. One pair of shoes marked a size 13 is EXACTLY the same size as another pair marked size 10.
As a general rule at my house, the more I pay for a pair of shoes, the less my kids like them. Maybe that should be my criteria when I'm shoe shopping. No, we can't buy these. They cost too much. You'll hate them. I own two beautiful, spotless pairs of Pediped sandals. The reason they are spotless is because, even after multiple assurances to the contrary while in the store, my kids have NEVER worn them. Apparently once they crossed the threshold of our home, they underwent a transformation from cute sandals to itchy, uncomfortable torture devices. Instead, my kids much prefer a $5 pair of Children's Place flip flops. Because those look SO much better with their outfit.
The one exception my kids will make to the cheap shoes rule is their boots. My daughter can pick out the most expensive pair of boots in a store in thirty seconds or less. I'm going, "Look! These Old West boots are so cute! You're only going to wear them about two weeks before you outgrow them. Let's get these."
Invariably, we leave the store with two pairs of $60 Ariats instead. Again, these are the only expensive footwear they prefer, and they show them absolutely NO mercy.
I hate children's shoes with shoestrings. When I informed my kids that in order to wear the $50 pair of Skechers they just had to have, they would have to learn to tie their shoes, one of them looked at me and said, in all seriousness, "Can't we just wear shoes with Velcro?" Yes, and rubber pants, too! Maybe you could just wear Pull Ups and skip that whole bathroom business.
I have returned the same two pairs of my baby's shoes a total of three times. Twice because they were the wrong size (see the whole 10/13 thing in the first paragraph) and once because the two shoes that I had were NOT the same size. They were both marked size 6, but in one shoe my baby's toe was right where it needed to be, and in the other it was hanging off the end. It was loads of fun trying to explain, on my third trip, why I was there to exchange a pair of shoes for the exact same size. Not that the girl behind the counter cared. I think I could have said I wanted to exchange them because their chi was bad and she would have nodded and kept punching buttons. No kidding, I thought I was at the airport for a second. I really think she pushed every single button on that register at least twice.
The only thing I hate more than my kids' shoes is stepping over their shoes. If you ever hear that I've broken my neck, you can bet it was because I tripped over a pair of freaking shoes. My number one, enforceable by cruel and unusual punishment rule is that when you take off your shoes, you put them in the laundry room. After the second or third reminder of the day to PICK UP your shoes, I begin to examine the flip flops in my hand and assess their potential as a weapon. They couldn't really do that much damage, could they?