But we didn’t have the luxury of waiting for a bargain this time and I bought the shoes, which he didn’t particularly like because they didn’t light up or have Velcro straps, and he went to practice to run, and the boy can run; light on his feet, long stride, and scrawny because he has so much energy and there are not enough calories in the day to feed it.
His brothers were jealous of his shoes. Everybody wants new shoes, not second-hand or hand-me-down rejects. Everyone wants full-price, new smelling shoes. They want to go to Shoe Sensation, and it comes out of the four-year-old’s mouth like this: “When can I go to Shoezination?”
These boys are sort of word-smithy. When they want to make a semi-truck honk his horn, it’s not enough for them to start jerking their forearms up and down like a piston out the window in the universal signal for “Honk your horn!” They have to “Honketize” it. This afternoon, one of the boys had a pretty thick book, which, when he flipped through the pages really fast made a conspicuous sound, and was henceforth named the “fart-bookinator.”
All these –ators and –izers sound so threatening, rhyming as they do with words like “detonator” and “Vaporize.” And now “Shoezination”—I like it, as a term for what they put their shoes through in an average day, so that they end up looking like this:
On words, I realized this morning that there is an entire vocabulary that I have acquired since I began blogging, words like doubtless, disconsolate and luddite, words I never use in my every day speech because they sit on the tongue like a bad cold, all those Ds and Ls that somehow look very commanding when they are written out. "Of course, I'm a luddite by nature, but..." --no I am not a luddite by nature. I didn't even know what a luddite was until I started reading blogs, where everyone is a "luddite by nature, but..."