If motherhood had a soundtrack, I’m pretty sure it would just be me on loop asking:
“Where. Are. Your. Shoes?”
Not once. Not twice. Not casually.
But with the full emotional range of a TV drama series...
And if I am speaking honestly, this isn’t just a kid problem.
Somehow, my husband’s shoes tend to magically disappear too.
Like… sir...
You own three pairs. How are all three missing? 🤨
Shoes in the pantry.
Shoes in the bathtub.
Shoes inside toy bins, behind couch cushions, outside on the back porch — shoes anywhere except where they belong or can be located without a full FBI-level investigation!
(It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.)
We moms have a sixth sense.
Can’t remember if we fed ourselves lunch, if we’ve drank enough water, or the grocery store list…
but we can find a missing Croc using only intuition and a vague memory of someone yelling, “LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!” fifteen hours earlier.
Not proud of this, but I once found a missing shoe in the freezer.
Yes. The freezer! Right next to the corndogs…
I didn’t ask questions.
Some mysteries are better left unsolved.
💛 But it is beautiful chaos
Motherhood isn’t neat or organized or predictable.
It’s messy, loud, snack-filled, love-filled, occasionally chaotic magic.
It’s:
Small humans yelling “MOM WATCH!” a bunch of times until we look while they are doing… nothing.
Cold coffee and reheated leftovers.
Finding patience you didn’t know was ever possible.
And once in a while, tiny peaceful moments where everyone breathes at the same time.
Motherhood is 10% calm…
and 90% detective work, emotional support, and professional shoe-locating services.
And somehow — somehow — we wouldn’t have it any other way. 💛
Your turn:
Where’s the weirdest place you’ve found shoes? Is your partner a constant forgetter also? (Don’t even get me started on the car key and wallet situation!)
Asking for “research purposes”… 😉
At this point, I’m convinced the shoes hide on purpose.
