Shoo Shoe

You know that sinking feeling when you've dropped the ball? Those moments when you give yourself a sarcastic "mother-of-the-year" award? That's been happening to me a lot lately.



My plate is piled high these days with teacher-contract-negotiations in full swing, graduate classes, the young women group at church that I'm in charge of, my newish job that I'm still adjusting to, five kids... I've made some changes this year to adjust to this new reality. There's a lot that I can pass off as "letting my kids be independent". Their clothes are dirty? We are letting them be independent with their clothing care. We will help them and remind them but ultimately it's their responsibility. Also, they sometimes have to remind me to remind them. Maybe that's why Marc took over the laundry. Lunches a little odd? We are letting them independently pack their lunches. I go shopping for the food, obviously, and I keep a list of different food groups to try and help them make a balanced meal but they put the food in the lunchbox and I don't *always* get around to checking what's in there. Free will, ya know? Because of this new independence, I miss things that I might have noticed previously. One thing I missed because of their increased responsibility for their laundry was the fact that Elijah's socks were consistently disgusting. Why, you might ask? Well, it turns out that Elijah's shoes had holes in them which he failed to tell me about. You know who mentioned it to me? His gym teacher. So, I asked Elijah to show me his shoes. Are you ready for this? Really? Because it's bad. If you are having an "I'm a bad mom" moment get ready to pat yourself on the back because I can almost guarantee that your kids' shoes don't look like this:

Yeah. That's less a "hole" and more a giant crater. That looks like a dog tore off a chunk of the shoe and probably a big toe with it. That shoe is like the Sorting Hat's long lost cousin. When you put it on, the gaping maw starts talking and tells you whether or not you're going to develop bunions. I was so embarrassed. Mortified. Don't children know they are supposed to TELL you when their clothing is pretty much nonfunctional? I mean, what did his teachers think? I don't know and I probably don't want to know. Clearly there are not only holes in the shoe, but holes my shoe-oversight plan. We bought new shoes ASAP and this shoe went in the trash. At least I hope it's in the trash. I half expect to see it lurking under beds in the house and singing songs with the word "shoe" in them. Shoo, shoe. Don't bother me. I belong to five somebodies. Even if I am "mother of the year".