The children's shoes, that is? When I packed clothing and toiletries for the children back in May, I laid out 1 pair of tennies, 1 pair of church shoes, and all the complete pairs of Crocs I could in a duffel bag and put it in the back of the van. Along the edge of our new porch was decreed "Croc, rubber boot, and boat shoe zone" while tennies went in the mud room. Since then we have misplaced at least 5 pairs of rubber shoes, even after replacing 3-4 pairs from Goodwill. My lone pair of light blue Crocs that I bought 2 years ago are sitting on the porch, damp from an early morning walk around the garden, but I could only count 4 pairs of children's shoes. Timmy had to wear his sister's pink shoes to dinner last night after searching the car and not being able to find the mate to the ones he swore were in the van. When we pulled back in the driveway I spotted the missing shoe where it had fallen out in the mad scramble to pick up Will and Mary from sailing, drop off Will, Mary, and Maggie at swimming, and go to Dysarts, our favorite truck stop restaurant for supper.
This mystery of the missing shoes is perplexing. The kids don't come home with only 1 shoe most days, I don't find them in the grass when we mow, and I don't think the wild animals eat them. But perhaps I am mistaken, just maybe there is a critter stalking around the house at night, waiting for his chance to snatch a brightly colored Croc and drag it back to his den. There is the slightest possibility that my children are not to be blamed for misplacing their shoes on an almost-daily basis, but that we will spy a nest in the trees constructed of rubber strips of their footwear.