The Missing Shoes

I was contentedly cooking dinner last weekend when Teyla toddled into the kitchen. She was carrying two Polly Pockets upside down in her chubby fists, waving them wildly with the glee that can only come from a younger sister snatching an object normally forbidden.

I narrowed my eyes in her general direction and zeroed in on the crime scene.

Miraculously, both Pollys still had clothes on.

But both were missing a shoe. A purple cowboy boot and a pink ballerina slipper, to be exact.

And Teyla was chewing.

Years of parenting have given me the deduction skills of Sherlock Holmes. I reached for the baby, who quickly scurried to the laundry room. But by the time I grabbed her and swiped her mouth, all evidence had disappeared.

She was no longer chewing.

Teyla gave a shriek of exultation and staggered into the living room. My mind raced. I wondered if I could pretend I hadn't seen what I just saw.

I looked down at the Pollys. Like roughed up miniature Cinderallas, they were -- hair askew, dresses messed. Missing a key piece of their outfits.

I suspected they might get their shoes back, someday. But I knew they wouldn’t be delivered on a velvet pillow.

If you know what I mean.

To rule out all other options, I did a through search of the Polly-land, also known as the northwest corner of the dining room table. No extra purple cowboy boot. No extra pink ballerina slipper.

Darn.

The next morning, shortly after Teyla woke up, a strong odor came from her lower half.

The prince had arrived.

I sighed and carried her to the changing table. I removed the diaper. Sitting near the top layer of the … well, you know … were the missing shoes.

That’s when my faux OCD started to argue with my strong gag reflex.

On one hand, I needed those shoes. Natalie had already noticed they were missing, and I hate – HATE – losing pieces of our toys. I am the Mom who puts all the Little People back in their rightful spots each night. No cow or table left behind; that’s my motto.

On the other hand, well, EWWWWW! This was most certainly not in my contract.

So let’s take a survey: It's only one day past Mother's Day. Doubtlessly, you've been in similar -- or worse -- situations. What would you do?

If you don’t blog, you won’t get this, but I almost took a picture of the shoes once they were "found." I stopped myself before I actually grabbed the camera. Because, really. I’m dedicated. But the line has to be drawn somewhere. I chose to draw it here.

Update: If you're wondering what I actually did, you can read the rest here.