Boots
February 11, 2013We were having a bad day.
Brooklyn was a snowy wonderland, and we were inside, getting mad at each other. Nothing worked right. The place was a mess. We should clean more, we should be more organized, but there's never enough time. We were in each other's way, because there's not enough space, never enough space, and we yelled. Then we hugged and apologized and then discussed our rational and well-thought-out points which devolved into more yelling, and then a second round of hugs (shoved together by Henry, who had really had enough of our behavior). We retreated to our corners. We pledged to be better in the future.
Outside the sky was turning bright, and there was all this snow, crying out to us, SLED ON ME. Now. Jerks. It was time to cheer up. Because: snow! Last year it never snowed, after all, and the sled sat in our upstairs hallway, whimpering softly to itself. Personally I loathe sledding, but the men in my family want nothing more than to hurtle down slopes, and I like to watch them and wring my hands.
We layered up and trudged outside, where the fun times could be had. Only, Henry's boots were bothering him. We're a few blocks to the park, but every few feet we had to stop so Henry could examine and adjust his boots. He was pretty grouchy about it. He kept taking them off. We were losing our patience. Everything, I thought, is terrible. We are incapable of joy. Around us all the happy families were passing us on their way to the park or back from the park, laughing, holding their sleds, probably going home to whip up artisanal hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows.
One block, two blocks. The wind was gusting in our faces. The seventh time Henry stopped to adjust his socks I wondered why we bothered going out, ever. Why everything had to be so fucking hard. I sighed heavily and Scott cursed under his breath and Henry was, I am sure, heartily sick of both of us.
Finally we got to the park, where everyone in the universe already was, and all having a delightful time. No one seemed to mind that they were sharing a relatively small hill in the park with everyone else in the universe. People were crashing into each other, sledding into each other, squealing and cheering. I stood up there, watching them all, wondering how they stood it.
There ensued some complicated sledding adventures. Complicated because there was too much humanity present on the hill to actually sled, and also the boots. THE BOOTS. By the time we left I was sure I had gone terribly wrong, not just in one area of my life, but every single one of them. Henry insisted he could barely walk, and he was being pretty dramatic about it, and I thought, this is because of the morning we had. Because I lost my shit and yelled loudly enough for the neighbors to wonder about me. I have literally hobbled my son.
When we got home I took a close look at his boots. Turned out they were TINY. Because the last time we needed snow boots it was 2010. They were at least two sizes too small. We didn't hobble our child emotionally. WE HOBBLED HIM WITH SMALL BOOTS.
Then we ordered him a pair of new boots, put on a movie, drank hot cocoa, and had a perfectly lovely day.
It occurred to me later on, Small Boots is every imaginary problem I torture myself with. Every dilemma I'm sure is insoluble, but could be fixed, if I dedicate some energy to focusing on solutions instead of the problem. And really, we have no big problems. We need a few feet more space, a few hours in the week. Boots can be purchased; time can be found; a few household-management changes can keep us from blowing up after a stressful week. It's all Small Boots. I'm no life coach, and I promise not to make this my catchphrase, but you have to admit, it has a ring to it.
Reader Comments (51)
Thank you for this. We live in New England and were hit by the storm, without power for almost 48 hours. Everything is up and running, and after a weekend and two snow days, the kids are blessedly back to school. Yet, I can't shake my crankiness (although backing into another car in the snowy grocery parking lot today didn't help). Enough excuses. As you said, it's all Small Boots. Thanks for the reminder on a day I really needed it.
Humbling reminder. "Stop, and remember the small boots." Loved this post!
It's "small diapers" in this house, but the sentiment applies! My husband decided to renovate our kitchen, in winter, with a 6 month old. While attempting to feed the baby avocado in the bathroom, I decided I had to throw my hands up and laugh at the absurdity, lest I lose it altogether... Small diapers, small diapers
Last time my son complained about boots and suffered my impatience about it he had a giant chunk of ice in one of them. Oops!
Those dang small boots keep tripping me up! Great post as always - thank you!
This happens to me all the time, and it is only now, at age 38, that I have realized that if I just calm the hell down the solution is much more simple than the anxiety about it would suggest.
Crap. I just remembered: I'm 39.
You write so well about the annoying, unproductive behavior that results from our stressful, busy lives! It comes about in the most inconvenient times - like on a pleasant Saturday afternoon or on the way to a party! When I catch myself doing such behavior and then try not to do it, my catch phrase is, "Try not to be an asshole, try not to be an asshole...." Small boots is much cuter!
I loved this! Just want I needed. I have so been there.
Alice - you're an amazing writer!
Brilliantly written! I don't have kids, but I have 'Small Boots' issues to be sure. I am terribly guilty of making small problems insurmountable and not seeing the solutions that are simple and right in front of me. I *heart* you Alice Bradley! Hang in there and we will too!
You just described my Saturday perfectly. Except we ended up with ice packs and lots of sobbing after the 9-year-old collided with a tree on the long meadow in Prospect Park. (Luckily it wasn't worse -- could easily have landed us in the ER). Sledding is so dangerous! Why don't we insist on helmets?!
I love Small Boots. It really does have a ring to it. It's just Small Boots, people!!! Don't stress. I'm going to be using this one.
You are sure to get some new readers as I've forwarded this post to every single girlfriend in my circle. Love it! Small Boots indeed. Will be using this as a mantra. Life coach or no, Alice, you have such a wonderful way with words. Thank you!
Small boots.
I'm trying to figure it out. It seems to be the moment when you see the problem is global and of earth shattering significance but it is something like small boots and could be corrected by larger boots.
Because initially I thought I'll say 'small boots' whenever I am freaking out. Small boots is the reason you freak out. But then I realized--No--small boots is the moment you realize that the problem is of a concrete nature and then you can take steps to address it. First, you realize the boots are too small. Next, you figure out you can get bigger boots.
God, it was ridiculous to explain this to myself in a comment. Overanalyze much? I feel like putting in a different psedonym but maybe I should suck it up and own it!
I find this happens to me so often, too; I am numbly and doggedly focused on helping my boys (who fight and fight and FIGHT even while they love each other and play together and then all goes wrong and the SCREAMS) find their own solutions, that it's a mantra of its own here: "TALK to each other and find a SOLUTION to the problem!" I will hear my five-year-old saying. and worst of all is when he says it to me, that I need to stop shouting and find a solution instead.
Also came here just to mention Caligula. You might want to find a different analogy. If you tell someone you're having a small boots kind of day, they might start nervously edging away from you.
Maybe I need to reframe the name "Caligula." Because seriously, a name that MEANS "small boots"? That's adorable!
Come on!
Where are you all going?
Caligula started out adorable. The name's due for a reframing.
Love your insight and humor about bad days. We all have them and I always get so surprised when they come around; as if I've never dealt with one before. I like your "Small Boots" catch phrase too! Perhaps I'll make it my mantra this week.
This was precisely my day today... except without the snow... or the sledding... or the boot issue. It was just a sucky day that eventually got better. Love your blog!
ˆam super behind and just read this --and oh man did it make me feel better. I live out on Long Island, and we have been dealing with the same lovely (imagine the word dripping with sarcasm) snow. My sons boots were too small. After we came back inside and he laid on his back on the floor while I yanked at his boots one at a time to get them off, I remembered the last time he wore them. He was in diapers. Maybe two?
Now he's five. I slumped away feeling like the worst mom ever.
I love how you write, Alice. And also how you ruin your kid's life.
Yeahhhhh...I'm stealing "small boots." I had one of those mornings where we overslept by 40 minutes, my daughter couldn't wear her new shoes with the light up toes because it was raining. then the dog digs out from under the fence and I find myself driving the neighborhood with the windows rolled down screaming his name. Which happens to be "HUCK." Which sounds REALLY fun when you are screaming it at 730am...you have to ennunciate.
"It's all Small Boots." Love this.
I am a life coach and that is a great catch phrase. I was recently musing over how, in an effort to make life significant, I have spent a lot of life making everything significant. These two things are not the same and the latter does not lead to the former. In fact, it does the opposite.
I love your writing and your perspective.
Loved, loved, loved this post. Don't sweat the small boots.