We’re done with the Robeez. The Little Jobber was fit for his first pair of hard bottom shoes today.

Sure, he trotted around this summer in his Old Navy Birkenstock-style sandals, handed down from his big cousin, Brady. Now, though, he has real shoes. Real, brown, big-boy shoes. They don’t even have monkeys or aliens or anything on them. They are just brown. Plain ol’ brown shoes.

(Please note the vigor with which Conal is banging on his xylophone. This banging has replaced the screaming around here lately. For the most part. Except sometimes there is banging and screaming. And running. And that firetruck still plays almost non-stop. No lie.)
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