‘I just can’t with this shit’

And by “shit,” I mean “shoes.”

If I may be boastful for just one moment: Not every morning is a shit show at my house.

In fact, we’re pretty good about it (Nat calls our method “Shock and Awe” in which we move so fast and quickly with the kids — Wake up! Brush teeth! Clothing! Breakfast! Lunch Making! Jacket-Putting-On!— that they don’t have time to register what is actually happening to complain about it.)

But one place where we always slow down in the Morning Getting Out of the House Supply Chain is HAVING OUR CHILDREN PUT ON THEIR GODDAMN SHOES.

(I’m sorry for the cursing but it’s sooooooooo aggravating. O.M.G.)

Imagine: You’re a coach. And your runner is doing great. I mean: They are really kicking butt. It’s looking GLORIOUS. And then they get five feet to the finish line when all of a sudden — BAM. They collapse onto their backs and start waving their feet in the air like a helpless turtle.

That is what it is like almost every morning with my children and their shoes.

(I’ve created a Venn Diagram about the phenomenon here.)

Sam is getting better but it’s still a struggle.

And then there is the baby.

Oh, the baby.

Every morning, as I’m sweating in my jacket and deeply sighing trying to shove my baby’s feet into ridiculous baby-sized sneakers, Nat says to me: “Dorothy! Let it go, she is just going to take them off in the car anyway!”

And I retort: “No! We can’t have her go to school with no shoes on! They will call social services on us!”

Nat: “DOROTHY. SHE DOESN’T EVEN WALK YET. LET’S GOOOOOOO.”

And yet, every morning, I put matching (matching! Does anyone know what a fucking miracle this is?) socks on my baby and then I find matching (again! matching! I am a fucking SUPER MOM) shoes on her.

And then, not even 1 minute later, she starts taking them off in her car seat.

kitshoeless
This is the look Kit gives me while she’s starting to take off her shoes and I’m telling her not to. (And yes, I know the upper strap of her car seat needs to be around her sternum. I adjusted it after I took this picture. So there.)

We won’t even be out of the driveway on our 3 minute drive to day care when we will hear the sound of her undoing the Velcro of her shoe.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

All three of us, will yell, in unison: “KKKKKKKIIIIIITTTTTTTTT! DO NOT TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES!!!!

A little giggle and three seconds later….

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

[That would be the sound of her second shoe being taken off and thrown somewhere in the backseat]

And then, two minutes later when I park at day care, this is what I’m presented with.

img_0733
Those are two bare feet, two discarded shoes and one very satisfied baby.

So what do I do? I take her (extremely pleased self) out of her car seat, shove her socks and shoes in my jacket pocket, and then carry her into daycare in her bare feet in the freezing cold. If I do manage to put her shoes and socks back on in the car, she takes them off the second I drop her off. And there she remains, shoe and sockless for the entire day. [I can imagine the tisking: “Not only does she leave her daughter in day care all day but she also doesn’t even bother to buy her shoes. That poor, poor baby.”]

When I pick her up, I put her shoes and socks back on her for the walk to the car (what can I say? I’m all for presentation!), only to have her take them off in the drive back home.

And yet, child services haven’t been called yet.

Funny how that happens.

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