Before school one day last week, SB came to me very upset.
"Mom. I can't find my boots," she huffed, tears welling up in her eyes.
I, sympathetic as always, say, "You wore them yesterday. Where did you take them off?"
Now we have tear spillage. "I don't know!"
In our house, shoes go into the Shoe Bin. All the shoes are supposed to go off of feet and into bin. I try to keep everything organized by bin, but SB has lately taken to keeping her shoes in her room because two small shoes can be easily lost in a bin with 41 other shoes (yes, 41, because there's always a shoe missing).
"Are they in your room?"
"No," she assures me. "I looked there."
So we check the living room. No boots.
We look in the kitchen - entry way to our house - and no boots.
We look in the dining room, play room and her brother's room and no boots.
Finally I go back to her room.
And sitting on the floor, square in the middle of the floor, are those darn boots.
"SB! I thought you said you looked in your room!"
She runs to her room and proclaims, "I did! They're not here!"
Then she sees the boots. In the middle of the floor. Where, I can only assume, she put them the night before so as not to lose them.
"Oh," she says, "How did they get there?"
Sometimes, I think she does this just to mess with me.
I remember so many times not being able to find things right under my nose. My mom was an expert finder, too.