help and she could see why. With her pulling and him pushing, the boots still didn't want to go on.
When the second boot was on, she had worked up a sweat. She almost whimpered when the little boy said,
"Teacher, they're on the wrong feet." She looked and sure enough, they were. It wasn't any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on _ this time on the right feet.
He then announced, "These aren't my boots."
She bit her tongue rather than get right in his face and scream, "Why didn't you say so?" like she wanted to. Once again she struggled to help him pull the ill_fitting boots off.
And then he said, "They're my brother's boots. My Mom made me wear them." She didn't know if she should laugh or cry. She mustered up the grace to wrestle the boots on his feet again. She said, "Now, where are your mittens?"
He said, "I stuffed them in the toes of my boots..."