The lost shoes

June 18, 2008

Not more than three weeks prior, our family of five took a journey to Washington D.C. While I will not describe that in full now, I will say that it was within days of our return that the mystery began. Two shoes went missing. Not a pair mind you, but two shoes none-the-less. Gladys’ sparkly sneaker (purchased reluctantly for half-price from Stride Rite in a moment of weakness) and George’s left sandal, a handsome brown one that covered the toes. After a mild and polite interrogation of the children, I searched through all of the obvious locations . . . the shoe closet, the bedrooms, the bathroom . . you understand, I am sure. Nothing was found. Days went by. “Wear your sandals on the hike, Gladys, with socks please so you don’t have blisters.” With great humility I accepted a pair of hand-me-down sneakers for George from a friend. “I’ll return them tomorrow when the sandal turns up,” I reassured her. “Certainly, they couldn’t be far, I was in a hurry, and . . .” Two and a half weeks later, the mystery continued. The borrowed sneakers stared guiltily from the front hall.

The past year has brought great and positive changes to our household. The fact that our youngest (and last) has now begun to outgrow certain equipment has given me a new lease on space in my house. The great purge has begun. It was during this very purge that I happened to notice a sparkly sneaker nestled behind the television in our master bedroom. Hmm. Perhaps not-so-coincidentally, Gladys enjoys hiding in small spaces. Enthused, I peaked behind the other televisions in our home and was delighted to find a small, handsome, brown sandal. Hmm. I am not a detective, but I couldn’t’ help but have some suspicions. Without a word, I put both shoes next to their pairs in the shoe closet and waited for our next departure.

The next morning, we were heading out and Gladys looked for her shoes. She came charging out of the front hall with both sneakers “Mommy!! Mommy!! I found my sneaker!! It was in the closet!!” I told her how delighted I was that she found it. She put them on the wrong feet, and we went out the door. Surely, I thought, this is the end to the story.

The very next day, a very dear friend came to visit with her two children. Our children played for about three hours until we could no longer justify withholding their dinners. As she prepared to leave, she noticed that one of her sandals was gone. We looked high and low. I laughed to myself. I looked behind the television. My friend was a little embarrassed. While our 3-yr-old daughters ran off to look for her sandal, I whispered the story. My friend left giggling in the only pair of flip flops I have ever owned. A full 48-hours later, I have not seen her black sandal.