Well, we knew this day would come someday, but it doesn't make it any easier. The time has come to retire "the boots"...sniff, sniff...
These cowboy boots came from a rodeo in San Antonio about 7 years ago for Munchkin #1 and were worn almost everyday until it was time to hand them down to Munchkin #2, and finally to Munchkin #3. Each one of my boys bore the nickname "The boy with the boots" at one time or another. I'm sorry to say, that I have no one else to pass them down to and they must retire.
These boots have seen so many things over the years. They have gone to preschool almost everyday with one or the other of my boys. They've played soccer, jumped in puddles, and been pushed high on the swings. They've been worn with sweatpants, jeans, camo. shorts, and, sometimes, no other clothing at all. They have had grubby boy feet in them, with and without socks. They've been full of sand, full of water (after being left in the rain) and full of goldfish crackers. We thought they were lost once, but they always found their way home again. These boots are a symbol of my children's young lives that is slowly slipping away.
They have been re-soled twice and re-heeled 3 times and they've stuck around through thick and thin (feet, that is). I hate to see them go because with them goes the chubby fingers, the infectious giggles, hugs around the neck, and sloppy kisses. I've already seen these things slip through my fingers like a stream of water. Those lovely days of toddler-hood and potty training, Cheerios and toy blocks. I miss those days already and they have barely passed.
I just can't part with the boots. They've been shined up and put in a place of honor on my fireplace, the focal point of our family room. I think it's a fitting reminder to cling to today because it will, too soon, be gone.