By Jennifer Savage

My three-year-old daughter Eliza loves Spiderman. She tells me so all the time.

“Mama,” she’ll say in her serious voice. “I really, really like Spiderman.”

“I know you do, baby,” I tell her. “I know you do.”

I’m not entirely sure where the obsession started except that a friend’s son, Johnny, might have lit the spark. He’s since handed down t-shirts, coats, pajamas and muscle shirts all with Spiderman splashed across the front or back or both. Eliza was so enamored with Johnny’s light up shoes that she would wear them around whenever we were at his house. So the next time she needed shoes we found ourselves in Target.

“I don’t like these,” she said of every pair I tried to get her to try on. As I was reshelving shoes of every kind she slipped around to the next aisle.

“Mama, Mama!” I heard her squeal. “I want these!” She had found the same pair of light up shoes.
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