The old switch-a-roo

It started with a pair of sandals. Recently, I was at a department store with the kids, where all their summer shoes were on sale. Knowing I needed an extra pair of shoes for Jesse, I started browsing through the display of boys sandals until I found a pair that would probably match with everything. I had him try one on and it seemed to fit okay. (Didn’t ask him to walk around in it, which was a mistake!) So I bought them.

They seemed to fit him at the store, but after we got home and he put them on himself, he struggled to strap on the upper part of the sandal. Oops.

Okay, I just told myself. I’ve got the receipt. Got the tag. I’ll just take them in tomorrow and exchange them for a bigger size.

Now it was a matter of keeping the sandals CLEAN and in good condition until then. Not an easy task for a 3-year-old!

So I waited until he lost interest in them then discreetly hid them in the store bag, with the receipt and tag, and put them up. Later, he wanted to know where his new shoes were. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and innocently reply, “They’re around here somewhere.” I didn’t think I would have much luck explaining to him the intricacies of making exchanges at a store and why we needed to keep the sandals clean. Eventually, he stopped looking for them and just went off to play.

Early the next morning, I hurried to the department store to make the exchange. I got the sandals in a bigger size. “This is the right size!” I declared to the store representative. She just smiled and nodded as she keyed the exchange into the register.

The only problem is, they weren’t. And I found that out at Jen’s next-to-last baseball game. We were all there and hubby noticed how Jesse’s toes were sticking out over the edge of the sandal. He pointed this out to me and I could only sigh and shake my head. Whoops.

So, the next morning, I was once again off to the department store. This time, I bought the sandals in a bigger size. (Thankfully, they were still on sale. And thankfully, they had those shoes in that size.) This was the biggest size available for these particular shoes. I only prayed that THIS was the right size.

This time, however, I was not alone when I was switching Jesse’s old shoes for the new ones. Jennifer caught me in the act. I explained to her the situation, set the new sandals up in the closet where Jesse had left his old ones, and put the old ones away on a shelf, deciding to toss them into the yard sale pile later.

When I showed Jesse where he’d left his shoes, Jennifer wanted to tell him they weren’t the same ones he’d worn yesterday. They were a bigger size. But I asked her to keep quiet about that at first. I wanted to see how these shoes fit him first. (In case I had to hide them again!) No problem putting them on. No problem strapping them on. His toes were below the edge of the upper part of the sandal. And ... he walked around in them just fine. His feet didn’t slide in them, he wasn’t tripping over his feet in them. Everything looked A-OK. Woot!

So I gave Jen the green light and she told Jesse they were the same shoes, but only a bigger size. He clapped his hands and said, “Yay!”

“They fit!” I declared, holding my arms up in victory.

But I know I am not out of the woods yet. Hubby has not seen Jesse wearing these latest editions just yet. And I can only dread the three words that might come out of his mouth. Three words that will send me into a nosedive: “They’re too small.”