Last Thursday I returned home from a swim at the local pool, with sun-exhausted, hungry-for-their-dinner kids who were getting crazier by the minute. I was counting down the hours before bedtime, as usual. As I stopped the stroller in front of our house to take the baby out, I quickly realised she was only wearing one of her sandals. Balls. Fucking balls, man. Awwwww…. suck!
Everyone who’s seen her wear them always remarks on how wonderful they are. I was completely bummed. So bummed, I could have cried about it. Seriously, I nearly did.
Ignoring the laughter of the Baby Jesus, I decided to quickly retrace our steps, hoping to find the little shoe on a sidewalk someplace. It’s about a 15 minute walk, and I was already so very tired, body aching from having two swimming monkeys on my back all afternoon, but I loved those little sandals so much – a shopping prize from Winners I scored in the spring.
They’re white leather thong-style sandals with a little flower at the split, a few iridescent sequins and beads make up the stamen in the centre, complete with a few leaf details. They’re awesome. They’ve been the perfect accessory to nearly every outfit the baby has this summer. Everyone who’s seen her wear them always remarks on how wonderful they are. I was completely bummed. So bummed, I could have cried about it. Seriously, I nearly did.
With Oliver on his bike ahead of me, we raced back to the pool, on the exact streets we walked home. We didn’t see it anywhere. We checked the lost and found office at the pool, and with the desk attendant who had a casual peer into the bucket-o-lost-shit in the bin behind her… nada. On the way home again, I looked atop mailboxes and windowsills of some of the shopfronts, hoping someone might have picked it up, and placed it in eye-view of a taller person. Couldn’t find it anywhere. We make this journey to and from home at least twice a day, and though my eyes have been peeled for them every time, I’ve seen nothing.
I fucking hate losing things. I can survive the horror if I know my missing thing has definitely fallen down a sewer drain, or has been left in the bus terminal in another city or something, but having no idea what’s become of an item I can’t find drives me completely berserk. I know there are worse tragedies in life. It’s not her only pair of shoes either… I know. But still. I’m often hyper-organised as to avoid this kind of thing. I can be as relentless as a pit-bull on a bone – I get nuts about it.
The odd thing is, since I’ve been looking for this little shoe, I’ve come to notice how many stray shoes there are all over the place. Oliver and I counted four in our travels lately. He keeps saying things like, “Oh. Too bad that isn’t the shoe we need, right mummy?” and I’ll nod my head wearily. Since it’s been missing, I’ve wondered if some creepy dude hadn’t collected it for a pop-art stray shoe project, possibly titled “Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop” or something like that. Of course, if that was true, then those other four shoes we’ve seen around town should have been in the collection too, no?
I’ve wondered if it could have dropped in the street, now a complete, mangled muddy mess… or worse, somehow stuck in a wheel well of some vehicle, half way to Edmonton by now. Le sigh.
Since it’s been missing, I’ve wondered if some creepy dude hadn’t collected it for a pop-art stray shoe project, possibly titled “Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop” or something like that.
We do pass a daycare on our travels, and it occurred to me last night that someone might have seen the sandal in the vicinity of the tot’s school, and might have rescued it, dropping it off to see if it belonged to anyone inside. I resolved that I would ask when we walked passed them in the morning.
As I’m always rushing, we had no time to stop on my way to drop Oliver at camp, but on the way back, I started formulating what I would say when the people inside looked at me sideways at the request for a missing shoe. The missing shoe of a child isn’t even in their care. Shoe? What shoe?
I rang the buzzer once… then a second time. The intercom said, “Bonjour, welcome to KIDS… who is it, please?”
I stammered for a second, “Uh… I’m just a person in the neighbourhood… I wonder if there’s any chance you have a lost and found with a little white sandal in it? I thought I’d check…”
“Um, I don’t think so. Wait just a second.”
I waited. And then I heard the click of the front door unlocking, so I opened it, and wheeled the stroller inside.
A young woman greeted me with a wave, and asked me if she could help. She wasn’t the same one who buzzed me in.
“My daughter lost a shoe on the way home late last week, and I’ve been hunting for it, but I thought maybe someone might have dropped it at your door or something…”
“Let me look.” she said, brightly. I was at least happy she didn’t think I was a nutcase. I guess this sounded perfectly reasonable to her. She walked away for a minute, and then returned holding two little shoes in either hand. One was a Dora the Explorer garish pink sneaker with lights in the sole (no fucking way), and in the other hand was my baby’s delicate white sandal, completely unmarred and beautiful. I almost shrieked with joy! No fucking way!!
“Oh my goodness… thank you soooo much! I was so sure it was gone forever… it just occurred to me to check here, you know? And here it is! Thank you so, so, soooo much!” I could have hugged her.
“You’re welcome! They’re really adorable… I’m happy you found it.”
I waved goodbye, and left with the sandal, well secured in the stroller. I’m so happy I had the good sense not to toss the other one into the trash too hastily. I’ve been known to do that kind of thing, just so I don’t have a nagging unmatched mate taunting my failure at every turn in our house. I’d put the sole survivor in her armoire, hoping. You never know when these things might turn up.
Yay for me! Yay for summer fashion on babies! Thank you kind person for picking it up, whoever you are!!
And now I will search for the crazy-glue, so this can’t happen again.
G.G.
