Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop

Happy Mother's Day to all of the amazing, hardworking moms out there!  I hope that yesterday brought you calm, rest, and a 6am wake-up call to break up an argument about paper airplanes.

I mean, I want good things for you, but I don't want to be the only one in this predicament.  

All jokes aside, I had a very nice day.  We went out for a great lunch, I received flowers and nice cards from all of my boys, two iTunes gift cards and a big ottoman for the baby's room that I had been eyeing for over a month.  And most memorably, I got to rip apart my house searching for one of my favorite sandals.  I chose to pretend they'd simply sent me on a an adventurous scavenger hunt with a great massage at the end as a reward, rather than accept that after hours of searching, I'd somehow lost one shoe since Saturday.

These Teva sandals have been my favorites for over a year now, and after falling in love with the black pair, I returned to the shoe store to purchase a pair in brown as well.  A few weeks ago when the weather finally turned warm enough to ward off boots (and my belly got big enough that I couldn't touch the floor in any position) I dug out the flip flops and kept them close within reach.  

As I was preparing to leave the house yesterday for my Mother's Day lunch, I first noticed that my right brown sandal was missing and presumed hidden.  Throughout my brief six years of motherhood, I have learned that if something cannot be found within ten minutes and in a reasonable location, it has certainly been stolen, possibly dunked in toilet water, and stashed in a cranny so remote that no robber, metal detector or psychic could find it.  Should you happen upon the hoard unexpectedly, you'd be likely to find seven to ten earring backs, your original driver's license (which you have since replaced), a handful of pennies, and MY SHOE.

I asked the boys if they'd done anything with it.  They said no, but I knew one of them had, so I promised amazing treats for anyone who could provide information regarding the whereabouts of my favorite shoe.  Cael looked in one bench for fifteen minutes while Graham repeatedly brought me the one shoe I still had in possession and stomped his feet when I wouldn't reward him for his efforts.

And, after three hours of looking, I gave up, propped my shoe-less right foot up on my new ottoman, and accepted that it was gone.  It must have been tossed in a trash can that I had emptied, or picked up with dirty laundry and was tumbling in the dryer.  I was even open to the possibility that the dog had carried it outside and used it as a shovel to dig a tunnel to freedom in the mud under the fence despite his lack of opposable thumbs.  

Anything was possible.  That was, until I saw this.

In the mesh zipper compartment of the piano keyboard case I'd propped against my bedroom closet door, was one strappy, brown flip flop.  And when I questioned the suspects, it became pretty clear who was at fault.

Graham wasn't very concerned.

Oscar hadn't done any digging.

But someone looked a little suspicious. 

 

"I guess I did do it.  But you have it now!  You're welcome, Mom!"

Apparently I should be grateful for my last and most original Mother's Day gift, but I'm still trying to muster up those emotions.  Now it's time to question Cael about all of the missing socks and call off the psychic...