When I get obsessed with something, I can’t really let it go.
In some ways it’s a good thing. Like I sent out a zillion resume tapes until I secured my first TV reporting job in the glamorous city of Great Falls, Montana. If you’ve never been there, it’s like Aspen. Without the fabulous restaurants, fancy shops or glamorous lifestyle. What I mean is, they both have snow.
But in other ways, my driven nature can be a drawback. Like the time I tried on two different sizes of a Gap down coat for 45 minutes (obviously pre-children) because I couldn’t quite decide whether I wanted it to be snug and sexy or have a little extra room for a sweater underneath. I bought the bigger size. I still wish I had bought the smaller one. I don’t even own the coat anymore.
So when 8-year-old Dylan told me she couldn’t find her new school shoes, I thought, “no problem.” I will find those leopard print wonders! I will do it for Dylan. I will do it for every kid who has ever lost his or her shoes. I will do it for shoe designer Jessica Simpson. Dammit, I will do it for anyone who has ever dated Jessica Simpson!
I began looking in the obvious spots. Like Dylan’s bedroom. The mudroom. The car. The garage. The yard. The attic. Under the couches. The playroom. Okay, seriously, where the hell are they?!
Then I made my girls pray to St. Anthony, the saint of lost things. They had a lot of questions about St. Anthony. I told them, “Look I’m not Catholic. Stop interrogating me. Just focus on the shoes.”
Listen universe, I will find those shoes. Don’t mess with me. I am not to be toyed with. Last night between my four kids, I was woken up 6 times. That’s more than the prisoners at Gitmo. At one point, 2-year-old Harlowe was standing outside of my room singing at 3 AM. SINGING. And despite a total crib tent recall, I found one. A safer version in AUSTRALIA. That’s right Harlowe baby. You’ve got 7 to 10 shipping days left to sing in front of my door in the middle of the night. If I can track down an crib tent in Australia, those shoes are mine.
Except maybe they aren’t. So I drag my daughters to Target and descend on the shoe department. Where Summer finds a new pair of shoes! Which would be perfect if Summer had lost hers. But she didn’t. It was Dylan.
We come home. It seems hopeless. And you know when it comes to shoes, life can seem pretty hopeless.
Then I decide to leave the kids at home with Rick and check out a playground we went to on Saturday. Yes, it’s dark. Raining. Lightening. Hail winds. Whatever. I drive over there and then I realize. Those mofo shoes are in the bottom of the stroller! I just know it.
I jump out of the car, open the back, pull out the stroller and there they are! I do my own little size 13 1/2 leopard print victory dance in gale force winds.
Jessica Simpson would be so proud.