The kids used to constantly ask me, “Mommy, where are my shooooooooes?” To which I would reply, “I do not wear your shoes, baby. I don’t know where they are.” Or, “Where did you leave them?” Whichever reply I used, the reaction from them was always the same: “Oooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” followed by a huff and a quick exit.
One day I was in a hurry to leave the house and I asked Aaron if he had seen my shoes anywhere. You know exactly what he said: “I don’t wear your shoes, Mommy. I wouldn’t know where they are. Where do you think you left them?”
Smartie pants.
Today while we were getting ready to go to the pool for Aaron’s birthday party, I was bustling around looking for my shoes. The shoes I keep by the back door in a basket for easy donning and traipsing through the yard. The flip-flops. The I-don’t-care-if-they-get-wet-at-the-pool shoes. I started to ask if anyone had seen them, and I stopped mid-sentence. Aaron really had an impact on me all those years ago. I managed to find one shoe in the appropriate basket by the back door and the other shoe…gasp…in my closet with all my other shoes.
Shoes put away in my closet…the sure sign that Dom has been here.
I have gradually been moving toward better shoe care. And I thought the shoe basket by the backdoor was a great idea. Alas, so did Mabel. It seems that she is the culprit who runs off with my flip flops at random, causing me to lose my ever-loving mind.
I need another shoe system. Not just for the flip flops, but for all shoes in the house. A basket at the bottom of the stairs, perhaps? A nightly routine of everyone grabbing their own shoes from the basket and toting them up the stairs for the night? There has got to be an easy solution to the shoe disorder here.
Or I could just try going barefoot everywhere… I always did like Shoeless Joe.
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