Little Boots

A couple weeks ago I had a sad day.  Well, not sad sad, but one of those day when you realize that the dinosaur rain boots you bought in Calgary back in the summer of '08 when the oldest boy was 2 and have been worn and muddied and splashed in by him that summer and the next, then by his brother the two years after that, and the first sister after that, and now the youngest little Monkey is wearing them and you see a couple little holes in the soles.  Not all the way through, the socks are still staying dry. But holes nonetheless.

Those boots saw countless kilometres walked through the dinosaur exhibit at the Calgary zoo, trying to sneak away to climb up onto some terrifying lizard's back. They saw walks to and from the park a block away, a move across the provincial border to a new house. The boots got muddied in the river sand in the South Saskatchewan river, jumping in puddles there, bogging up the incredibly soft back yard we had there, digging for worms, giving Tonka trucks baths and "painting" the fence with wet sidewalk chalk. They were worn on the road away from that house to yet another, back to Alberta, where that little boy trudged new paths in a new back yard.

Those boots were passed on to a brother who had no front teeth due to an argument he had with gravity and a chair, who ran countless circles in those same boots with those same trucks in that new yard, They dug in new grass, went dinosaur bone hunting, wild life watching on new trails that ran through the beautiful place we called home. They discovered West Edmonton Mall, saw the river banks of the North Saskatchewan River, and caught fish in Minnedosa, Manitoba.

On the feet of a sister, those boots made the trip out to the east coast of the country. They stepped into the waters of the Atlantic, trudged through the rivulets that the rainy autumn brought.  They walked to and from school with momma and the littlest sister while Daddy was away at Basic. They ran around that beautiful back yard pulling siblings in the wagon, pushing the trucks around, having races. They walked dolls in strollers along the back paths to pick the boys up from school.

Those boots played at the playground of the MFRC preschool, splashed in the puddles of the parking lot, and dropped off her feet when she had to be carried (sleeping) into the house after. They were worn with frilly skirts and ribbons and bows.

Those boots were passed on to the final sibling to be used to "flat" slugs and worms, squish spiders and ants, and pick up rocks.  They climbed through the rocks in the back yard and ran to the park. They made mud, hunted for salamanders, picked chives and dandelions and the occasional tulip.  Those green cammo t-rex boots were worn with tutus, tights, and sparkles unashamedly.

Four sets of feet were kept dry by those boots.  Forty small toes. And now they are retired, no more steps will be taken with those T-rex boots. They have certainly earned a rest. And that is why I had a sad-ish day a couple weeks ago. Bittersweet reflections as I look back on all that those little boots have done, sweet because it has been amazing watching these kids explore and grow in them. Bitter because their role in our lives is done.