Buying new shoes is always a drama. It is usually a two stage thing. Check the size on one visit, then buy shoes without trying and take them home or attempt a second visit for the fitting. Especially when buying wellies. They’ve never been popular with the little man. I think it’s to do with the restriction, because he does love to run. His first pair only had a handful of outings which did go well following a well won battle. Well it had been about a year since the first pair so I decided to brave the subject again. I didn’t bother with any of the painful stuff, I just went and got some. I knew the size and picked the colour of the day. Now for the plea bargaining. I tried explaining that wellies keep your feet really dry so you can have a much fun as you like when it rains. He still preferred his shoes which duly got a couple of soakings. It was around this time that a little pink pig and her brother came to the rescue. The little man decided that he too liked jumping in muddy puddles. As Peppa quite rightly tells the Queen, “STOP! If you jump in muddy puddles, you must wear your boots….. your majesty” Job done. That was all the persuasion he needed. Clever Daddy.
We started with trying them in the garden. It was like he had lost the ability to walk. He seemed concreted to the spot. With perseverance and a safe and steady hand gradually his confidence grew. I promised a special outing to test their worth. We’d had a couple of goes in Mummy’s work car park where there are some perennial puddles. But for a true test we needed to wait for a downpour. We kept the wellies in the car in case of emergency rain fall. On one occasion we were in Boots (no pun intended) car park. Mummy had run in to get some bits and it started to trickle. That was enough for the little man. “Wellies on Daddy” I obliged. It was one of those surprise rains so other than wellies, we were rather ill-equipped. I therefore had to stand with an umbrella while he danced merrily on a wet paving slab. Hardly a puddle but it sufficed at the time. We then had to quickly get back in the car and act like nothing had happened so that Daddy didn’t get in trouble from putting him at risk of catching a cold. Of course this didn’t work. Poirot sussed it the second she returned.
The day arrived. We had planned a trip to the dinosaur park with friends. We woke that morning to the tail end of a filthy downpour. Localised flooding kind of downpour. Not that local you understand, we live at the top of a hill but elsewhere in the county there were some very happy Uniroyal Orangutans (target audience). The forecast however was good so we continued with our plan and a perfect day to test the true worth of the invincible wellies. You’ll be dry as a bone still resonating in my sales pitch memory. Experience or clairvoyance told me to pack a spare outfit. However the sun was fully out, what could go wrong? I could answer that with words, or I could just skip to the part where he is sitting on the changing table in uni-gender baby changing room (well done Dinosaur Adventure). I changed him and then dried everything out using the hand dryer so he could have anther go.
A second time I was less prepared. We got a proper soaking and I had nothing to hand. He ended up wearing some old socks and one of my fleeces that I had in the car. It didn’t stop us having a whole load of fun though. (watch it here). The thing is, he’d have probably got less wet if he’d have been wearing shoes or sandals and they would certainly dry out quicker. Two days for wellies! So what is the point? They are colder, look clumsy and are harder to walk and run in which surely makes them less safe. My wellies are fine but they are about 14 inches high (and they’re wool lined) But for a 3-year-old, we’re talking 5 or 6 inches max. They’d cope with a wet lawn but any kind of puddle is out of the question. Where’s the fun in that?