Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Where is that rascally shoe?

I am amazed at the mind of a ten year old. Make that a ten year old boy. I think if I were to live to be 104 years old, I will not understand this quagmire that is the male mind. Everyday our children are required to pick up their rooms right after breakfast. Mind you one of the last things they did the night before was pick up toys, but I guess we have a ghoul of some sort that comes out at night and plays with my kids favorite toys and leaves them to be picked up in the morning. Sorry, that was just too cute of a rabbit to not chase. Anyway, I went to get clothes from Malcolm and Heath's room to start our packing process. The closet is crammed with whatever the two boys did not want to actually put up. So they got to come put all the toys where they belong. I clean out drawers while gritting my teeth, because if they would have put their clothes away the right way, I wouldn't be refolding them at this point. Huge pet peeve. I then ask Malcolm to finish cleaning up the closet. It would be nice if the drawers would actually close, the shoes be matched up, and all the "stuff" that is shoved between the wall and drawers be put up where they belong.

In record time, Malcolm is done with this despised job. That should have sent alarms clanging in my head, but I guess I was preoccupied. I went back to get socks or something, and asked about a backpack that seemed full. I get some vague, non-reply as I see my son disappear suddenly out the door. The backpack is full of single shoes, hats, trash and what-not that he didn't feel like putting away anymore. Ugh! It took more time to fill that bag, cram into the little space Mom wasn't suppose to look, cover with other things, then it would have taken if he would have just put the stuff away. Then I went back tonight to get shoes, and can't find the match to two of his shoes. Our conversation went something like this:

"Do you know where your other flip flop and tennis shoe are?"

"Um, my what?"

"Look. Right here. Two shoes, don't match. They are huge. Can't miss them. Know where the pairs are?"

"Um . . ."

"Listen. You have one more chance. I know you know that you have two feet, and therefore, two shoes that match to cover those said feet. DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE OTHER SHOES ARE?"

"Um, I think"

He crawls between me, the closet door, a toy bin, and the bed. Half disappears behind the bed and comes out with the flip flop. Then repeats the procedure to produce the tennis shoe. Why were they there, and how did he know they were there you ask? He put them there because he didn't want to turn around and take a half step and set them on top of his clothes drawers.

I just don't comprehend.