Out of the Wild

Taking my children to the children's shoe department at Nordstrom's was like taking two hyenas raised in the wild to a five course dinner at the Four Seasons. When they walked in their eyes slanted like carnivores eyeing a pack of lame coyotes just laying there ready to be devoured. The escalator, the shiny floor with paths that lead to bountiful places to hide. The one place they were supposed to be, the shoe department, was like the high desert with no food or water in sight.

When we first arrived, Josie, like most children was drawn to the mirage. The balloons lured her in but it took seconds for her to reach up, grab one and move on to other departments. Owen was stuck in the stroller but maneuvering his way down and out. My mom and I were on our own mission to find practical tennis shoes and sandals amongst the many impractical beauties.

My mom managed to find a good pair of sandals and lure the unsuspecting salesperson over to find Josie's size. She measured their feet, and like most primitive animals, Josie and Owen behaved beautifully in hopes of later catching the sales person with her guard down.

After trying on their first pair of shoes, the two wild animals assumed they were done. Owen took off down the right towards purses. Josie went left making a beeline for the down escalator - a welcome challenge after months of boring playground slides.

I finally managed to corral them and lead them to the strategically placed aquarium in the back of the children's shoe section. Just as I was able to gather a few more shoes and talk to my mom and the salesperson about the right size, Josie came running towards us wailing. "He bit me! He bit me!" The sales person looked horrified and began to apologize for the behavior of the older boys who were playing by the aquarium. "No, it was my other child who bit her," I said. She raised her eyebrows but then quickly smiled and nodded her head with understanding like any good salesperson was trained to do.

After three more tantrums, a countless number of hits and pouty faced "STOP MOM"s, and a near amber alert for Owen, we made it out of the store with the four best pairs of shoes in the department, credit due to grandmother of the year, Tina, who even in the wildest of times is able to maintain composure and get the shopping done.

I realized that living in Morgan Hill is a lot like living in the wild. No one cares at the Gilroy outlets if my children run up and down the aisles of the Stride Rite outlet. There are no sales people to judge me and no escalators or shiny aisles to lure my children into harm's way. Whether we move or not, I will definitely need to bring my children to the mall in San Jose at least a few times a month to practice trying on shoes and walking through aisles without knocking over rows of purses. These are important skills and without them, my mother will never take us shopping again.