Missing Shoes

There is one thing I can absolutely count on during summer: while I might lube my kids enough to avoid a blistering sun burn or yell “Stop!” loud enough before a trip to the ER, it’s a known fact that at some point all three of my kids will be shoe-less. I pretty much start counting the days after the 4^th just to see how long it will take before every one of them loses a shoe. And I don’t mean under the bed or in the laundry hamper kind of lost, I mean lost as in forever. Gone for good. Disappeared. Vanished. Sorry mom, no clue.

Sometimes I walk the beach wistfully hoping the ocean might return that one blue flip flop. Sometimes, while weeding, I dream that I will find the missing Croc among the coneflower. Sometimes I eyeball shoes dangling from phone wires or crushed on the side of the road, and I think – is that one ours? that one? – until I realize that though my kids are big-footed, a mammoth size-12 Nike is kind of pushing it.

I am pretty sure that the missing shoes live somewhere with the missing mittens. And the missing shin guards. And the water bottles and the lunch boxes and the hooded sweatshirts. I think there is a secret world hidden beyond all the places I usually check – the trunk, the backpacks, the neighbors’ houses – where my children’s stuff gathers to mock all our best intentions to hold onto to things until we no longer need them.

Despite the camp fees and the industrial sized and not-cheap sunscreen (that empties in about a day and half), I’m sure the budget could allow for a few new pairs of shoes. But, what’s the point? They’ll lose those, too.

So I remind my children that callused feet, tougher than any New England shoreline, are the hallmarks of a well-spent and genuine summer. Plus, there’s an upside for me: when all the signs say “no shoes, no service,” its very easy to deny another stop at the toy shop for more tie-dyed rubber bands (which, no matter how they are shaped, my dear sweet children, are still just RUBBER BANDS).

Little do my kids know, but I know where extra pairs of sneakers and flops are stored for each, but I keep them out of reach until it is entirely necessary. I do this not because I have become so perfectly prepared for summer, but because I know that at some point I will be too lazy to run into Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee or because the air conditioned movie theater seems like a day at the spa. Like the ice pops hidden at the bottom of the freezer, I keep this stash of shoes for these types of non-emergency emergencies, so that we can make a quick escape without anyone clamoring, “Mommmmmm! Where are my shoes?”

It’s sneaky, but it works. And when it’s 90+ degrees and a kid-style rumble is about to break out, it’s wise to have a back-up plan with soles.

(This was published first here.)