During yesterday’s breakfast rush, one of mine sat down to scarf waffles before racing to the car so we could be on time to school. We actually left the house last week without one of the slower school-goers. I wonder if they will ever learn that I actually mean it when I say (yell): “WE’RE LEAVING WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!!”
“Do we have an extra pair of shoes?” she asked between scarfing bites.
“Do I have an extra pair of shoes? What?” I ask while wetting/brushing her brother’s stubborn wayward hair.
“Yeah … you know, shoes? En extra pair?”
I didn’t have time to decipher cryptic, so I asked again, “Are you talking school shoes? What kind of shoes?”
“Yeah,” she threw in a little non-chalant groove, “school shoes. Just wondering if we have an extra pair.”
“Just because … Do we have any?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your sister has an old pair.” Then I paused and continued, “That’s neat. Are y’all collecting shoes for kids who might need another pair?” Yes. That’s where my mind went – to charity. But I was wrong on that charity part.
“Oh – it’s not for kids. I can’t find my shoes. I’m hoping they’re in the locker.”
I looked at her, probably with a slight smirk of disgust. Seriously, she can’t keep up with one pair of shoes? She dropped the conversation. I moved on without clarifying further details. And we raced to school. I didn’t think anything about shoes until a few hours later when I called her school about something else and talked to the receptionist/knower of all things school-related, Joy.
Apparently, Shoeless Snopes actually went to school with no shoes. She just wore socks! Banking on the hope that she had, in fact, left her shoes in “the locker,” with “the locker” actually being the bathroom/locker-room, she walked in the front door in socks.
“She came in socks?” I ask Joy in disbelief. “Well, did she find her shoes?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “Someone found a pair of shoes on the floor in the bathroom Friday afternoon. Apparently, they were hers.”
“Well I hope you took a picture,” I told her.
“Yes. Now, not only does she leave her clothes on her own bathroom floor, she’s leaving them on your bathroom floor, too. We’ve hit a new low. Apparently, she clearly feels so at home there – she’s happy to spread the love to your bathroom. Oh my word!!”
How, I might wonder, could she go there? A little distraction coupled with the good-intention gene that I’m sure that I passed down didn’t help. I bet the kid got to chatting with a friend as they changed clothes for tennis. Maybe checked their phones. Zoned into the Land of Oblivion. Then, one thing led to another and my well-intentioned, more-interested-in-people-than-things kid left her shoes right where she took them off. She probably thought she would remember to put them in her bag. But rather than just do it right when she took them off, she good-intentioned them. Wow – who knew it could be a verb?!
I keep telling her – complete the task. Do it in the moment. I understand her intentions are great, but her follow through has a bit to be desired. Kind of like my follow-through. Hmmm…. But I’m trying! Best to do it now rather than wait.
I hope she’s learning her lesson. Regardless, Joy and I got a good laugh. I still can’t believe she actually got out of the car in socks! And I didn’t even notice. We need serious help over here.
Thanks for walking the road with me.
This made me laugh … and reminded me of how this distraction often way-lays me from following through.