It was after school, after the bus, and after finding out the evening belonged to Mom.

(John prefers his dad.  I understand the emotional dynamics going on.)

John was in the back yard, horsing around with the dog.

One of his shoes was floating upside down in the water.

There were lots of things I could have done.

I chose the “turn around and walk away” option.

He did have to fetch his shoe out of the pool.

He had no other shoes.

Three other shoes were up on the roof.

That’s another story.

Anyway, if he wanted shoes in the car to go to taekwondo,

then one was going to be wet.

I did hand him a pile of napkins.

I said nothing.

If I have learned anything in all these years of interventions,

it’s that once we have backward-chained to complete a habit/neural pathway,

Mom better zip it.

No learning will be reinforced if Mom nags.

It will just be push-back.

So, back to the wet shoe in the car,

John was wiping and talking about wet.

Shall we call it sensory averse?

I was driving, smiling on the inside.

Whatever lesson was learned, it was also about what a wet shoe feels like.

No rescue.

And it hasn’t happened again (yet).

Peace be with us,

Gayle