Here’s the song reference.
Again, before anyone worries, the title of the post is metaphorical.
As I’ve posted before, Mr. Man is very, very attached to his Spidey sneakers. There have been, since the acquisition of said kicks in March, no fewer than a dozen crises at our house directly relating to the absence of one or more red, white, and blue light up shoes. When we had portraits made of the tribe last month, Mr. Man flatly refused to cooperate with anyone until he was permitted to wear his favorite footgear with his footie pajamas. Every morning for nearly nine months, his first question on the changing table has been, “Where Spidey sneakies? I need Spidey sneakies and socks.”
Mr. Man had doffed his shoes upstairs Tuesday night, and thus was unable to reunite them with his feet until he came upstairs for breakfast yesterday morning. Seizing them from the counter where they lay, he ran to me, waving them in the air while clapping them together to make their lights flash, all the while pleading, “Put Spidey shoes on, Mama, put Spidey shoes on, need Spidey shoes on, can’t not want socks on feet without Spidey shoes Mama!” Laughing, I bade him climb on a chair so I could help him on with his shoes.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
The sole of his left shoe came off in my hand.
My jaw dropped, and I gasped, less in surprise that a shoe that has seen at least nine hours of daily wear by a two year old for nine months had fallen apart than in anticipation of the reaction of the aforementioned two year old to the demise of his beloved shoes.
Baby Guy wandered in just then, pointed at the sole in my hand, and helpfully offered a cheerful, sing-song, “Shoooooooo!”
Mr. Man looked like he had just lost his best friend. His eyes widened, his lip trembled, and I dove for the rubber cement to effect a quick, albeit temporary, repair. “Sweetie, if you stand on that foot until the timer goes off, I think we can get one more day out of your Spidey shoes.” I set the timer on the stove for three minutes, and Mr. Man obligingly stood very still, watching the timer and periodically calling off numbers.
Once the cement had set on the forlorn footgear, we headed out the door to a local big-box store, where we were likely to find replacement Spidey shoes that would not only light up, but would also be compatible with a budget that’s on a severe diet this month. Fortunately, we were quickly able to locate a pair in his size (in all honesty, the old ones should have been retired for size reasons a month ago), and after clapping them together briskly to ensure they did, in fact, light up, Mr. Man solemnly informed me, “These my new Spidey shoes, Mama. I put them in the cart now.”
After adding a few grocery items to our cart, we paid for our purchases and headed home. I would have put the new shoes on him before we left the store, but they were so laden with plastic tags, elastic cords, and other jumk that I didn’t want to risk missing one or leaving a mess in the middle of the store. Once all the labeling and display materials had been removed, I called Mr. Man over to put on his new kicks.
“NO. I can’t want new Spidey sneakies, want OLD Spidey sneakies, these MY Spidey sneakies, put those Spidey sneakies on table, I can’t want wear those right now.”
Ten minutes later, while I was making soup for lunch, Mr. Man meandered back into the kitchen, holding his tattered old shoes in his hands.
“Okay, Mama. I have new Spidey shoes now, please?”
“Okay, buddy. You want to sit in Daddy’s chair and I’ll put them on you?”
“Yeah. I sit Daddy’s chair and have new Spidey sneakies. These sneakies broken.”
“Yeah, they are. Mommy’s going to keep them, though. Sometimes, Mommy hangs on to things because they were special to you guys.”
“Mama no throw Spidey sneakies in the trash?”
“Nope. We’ll keep Spidey in your keepsake box.”
“Okay, Mama. I not can’t want throw Spidey in trash. I like Spidey.”
After we got his new shoes on, Mr. Man jumped down from the chair and went clumping all over the house, showing his sisters, his brother, the dogs, the fish, and a cricket he found in the basement his spiffy kicks. Every so often, he came back into the kitchen to see if his old shoes were still on the counter, and after lunch, he asked me, “Mama, we put Spidey shoes away now? I can’t want them get thrown out. Bugaboo says they’re trash.”
Bugaboo hotly replied, “I did not! I said they’re TRASHED.”
In any event, we put the shoes away in Mr. Man’s keepsake box, which stopped the argument. They’re safe — and I fully expect to have to pull them back out at least once this morning.
Today’s prayer: Lord, thank You for the means to provide shoes for Your little blessings, and for that they each have two feet needing to be shod. Thank you for their hopeful hearts that believe in heroes and truth and good guys winning, hearts that love You and Your good servants. As they grow, Lord, please help us teach them that it is more pleasing to You to use what You provide to buy two pairs of shoes, that we may share one with a child who has none, than to spend twice as much on a single pair for ourselves, and please keep our eyes open for the shoeless or footless children among us that we may be Your light to them.