I have to get something off my chest. I hate shoes and socks. I really wish someone had told me that half my parenting life was spent worrying about shoes and socks. From finding matching socks to putting shoes on wiggling little feet to the smell of shoes after a day of tween feet in the summer- everything about shoes is one giant parenting nightmare; and there is always a stranger around to remind me of the unspoken foot law.
Where in the history of mankind does it actually say that socks have to match? Perhaps there was a time when they all matched. Then dryers were invented: the anti-sock. Every time a dryer is run, a sock loses its twin. I have one athletic Puma sock from my college days. It lingers at the bottom of the missing sock basket, longing for the return of its mate-the same way I long for the return of my size 4 pant size. If foot law is ever studied, the day I became a parent has to go down as the pinnacle turning point for any established matching principle.
Why do socks always need to match? I answered that question about five years ago: they don’t. It starts with the pairing of similar socks. Two socks: pink at the bottom but different designs around the ankle: match. A black and really dark brown trouser sock: match. Two white socks, one adult and one child sized: match. It was a nice relief, just grab two socks and out the door. Not the endless pursuit for sock twins-which was to blame for most of my tardiness; most of it. If we are wearing boots and the socks don’t match who actually cares? About five years ago the Justice phenomenon happened. EVERYTHING Liv owned had to come from “Justice for Girls”. She would beg for those sparkly pull over shirts with bedazzled peace signs and a logo in bold sequins. Going to Justice with Liv was always stressful. She had a specific idea of what she wanted (banana earrings, monster high dolls, best friend necklaces, knee high “converse” looking boots with a blue leopard print and even more sequins). One day, she picked out a pack of socks. Unmatching socks. “Wait, you want to spend ten dollars for a pack of socks that don’t match? I have a whole basket at home. You can be the trendiest person in the second grade.” This was met with giant sad eyes so we bought them. I may have overpaid for that pack of socks, but as soon as that trend hit, they never wore matching socks again. Zebra on one foot? Watermelon on the other? So trendy and cool. How can we ever go back?
We are approaching winter, shoes season. The babies hardly wore shoes all summer. There was no point since they were always taking them off. I was perfectly fine with my loss on that battle. They were probably well known at the playground: the Barefoot Taylors. Don’t let your kids see; they will start to get crazy ideas about a barefoot utopia. Jackson was climbing the slide ladder monkeying his toes around the bars for better stability. An intently watching little boy began to take his off as well. “No No!.” his mom scolded. “We don’t take our shoes off. See. Mommy has shoes on. And daddy has shoes on. Sister has shoes on and brother has shoes on.” She condescended. The kid shrugged and ran off to the tire swing.
Just when I think I am starting to get this whole stay at home mom thing down; I get a little too confident. My plan: two stores and a drive through to the bank. First fail: getting them out of the door. I found at least four single shoes for Cece. In a rage of annoyance, I walked through each room. Looking in corners, and bookshelves and toy bins. Where is another shoe?! I put her socks on. She immediately took them off. Where is the other shoe? Jackson started taking off his pants. “No!” I yell. “Go bye-bye” I put his pants back on just as Cece follows his lead and takes hers off. Are you serious? I line up all her unmatched shoes. Hoping I was missing one possible mate. No luck. Jackson is running circles in the middle of the living room and crashing into the Christmas tree. Bulbs are rolling and I am still hunched under the couch praying a shoe will suddenly appear in the same place I have searched twenty times before. Finally, I find a pair of Jackson’s old shoes that are slightly too small on him and way too big on her. I tie them as tight as I can and load them in the car. Store 1: grocery store. Thanks to some free turkey at the deli, we somehow make it to the checkout with no meltdowns or sudden urges to climb out of the cart. Next stop: the bank to deposit cash. Fancy. I think as I slide my cash into the machine. “Error.” The screen reads, and only half of it comes back out. “Temporarily out of service” was the only explanation it had. I panic staring at the other half of my cash. I debate on whether it is enough to take Jackson and Cece into the bank. They are both sleeping and I am not prepared – I have no books, no toys, no candy and my phone screen is cracked. Cece remained sleeping and Jackson woke up and ran around the bank; pressing his face against the glass while people were meeting with bankers, trying to type on the computer in an empty cube, drawing pictures on the pamphlets. We had to wait to fill out some report. Luckily an extremely patient stranger let us go ahead of him. Last stop: Target – where toddlers turn into nightmares. Cece had one shoe off. I ignored any urge to put the other one back on. The good thing is that we only needed one item: the last of Josh’s birthday present. The bad thing is that electronics are located right next to toys. “Paw Patrol!!” Jackson kept yelling. “Get Skye! Get Rocky! Need pups!” We make it to the checkout since I caved and bought him a pup. He had the packaging open and the bar code was destroyed. While two cashiers were assisting on the pup crisis, the woman behind us entertained Cece. “Where is your shoe? She kept asking.