Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Lost and not-yet Found

My son has hidden his tennis shoes. He's done a fine job of it too, because they have been unfindable for four days now. I'm a relatively intelligent adult and I have no idea where he's placed them. I'm beginning to understand that this may have been entirely intentional. I saw him go downstairs with them one day and come back up without them. I assumed that he'd "put them to bed" because this is what he does with most everything else. He hurls things like stuffed animals, race cars, sippy cups and all articles of clothing from his top drawer over the side of his crib, laying them to rest in heaps like a tiny junkyard--thereby "putting them to bed." His shoes never went to bed. They didn't go to the book bin, or the stuffed animal box, or his dresser, or my dresser, or the bathtub, or the dryer, or the creepy closet under my stairs that smells like a nursing home no matter what I do. I've exhausted all his hiding places and come to realize that he's evolving and adapting his schemes like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park. Every time I think I'm ahead, he one-ups me. Some days it's all I can do not to be eaten alive.

Joke's on you, Elias. Now you're stuck wearing Converse AllStars in the pouring down rain. Extra socks? Check.

No comments:

Post a Comment