It is Sunday morning and we are getting ready for church. As I am getting him ready, I know I have to tell him what he has to do next early on, because well, toddlers are not known for their promptness. So I tell him:
"After you finish brushing your teeth, put your shoes on".
He then turns me into a fire pole by throwing his body at mine as I stand by his step stool by the sink in attempt slide down my body. He attempts this three times cackling, "FIRE POLE!!! HAHAHAH..."
"I am not a fire pole. Stop."
He stops, then launches his body full throttle off of the step stool, to a not so smooth landing.
He goes to his room in an attempt to don his knight armor.
"No armor. Shoes."
I go to my room to brush my teeth and in turn, see the child round the corner whilst fighting imaginary foes with sword in hand.
"Put your shoes on."
He disappears, presumably to put his shoes on, only to return with his brand new bow and arrow. Moments later, he breaks said bow and arrow.
He takes a moment to lament this quick loss, and worries what he will ever tell Jessie, who gifted it to him from her recent trip to Zion.
"You're going to miss church if you don't put your shoes on."
The child rushes into the other room to look for his shoes in a short lived moment of panic.
I come out hoping that maybe, he might FINALLY have his shoes on.
Instead, I find him doing what he called, a "hot dog dance" to his own reflection mirrored in the blackened powered out TV.
"PUT YOUR SHOES ON."
He puts his damn shoes on.
Then flings his body at the open door.
We leave to walk to church, finally.