One of us has a shoe fetish

So Portland is turning Judybat and I into weird, Bizarro Superman versions of each other.

It's turning The Boy into Imelda Marcos.

I'm only partially kidding. He has a new dinner-time game that he plays while the adults eat. First he runs into his room and brings out his blue, slip-on shoes, then he demands -- imagine a 2-year-old looking up at your plaintively and saying, "Shoooo, shooooo!" -- that you help him put them on. Then he runs back into his room and brings out his new Nikes with the velcro closure. Cue more "Shooooo, shooooo." Then he scampers around the house once more, this time bringing his new yellow rain boots (which are already too small and gave him little baby-sized blisters." You can guess what happens next.

I think a child psychologist would have no trouble recognizing this as yet another variation in the endless cycle of, "Pay attention to me now!" games that the kid seemed to learn in utero. It is, however, getting a little old.