The Case of the Missing Slippers, or, Seeing Interruptions for What They Are

On Monday morning, I could not find my slippers.
(Living in a home with four small children and one grown husband, I spend far more time than I want to admit searching for lost items. I’m frequently confused by where things end up: a piano book on a windowsill behind one of the shelves in the school room, a favorite stuffy in a suitcase that hasn’t been used in months, a lone shoe in the pantry. It’s like they’re toying with me.)
I searched in all the obvious places: in my closet, next to my bed, by the kitchen door.
No luck.
Now. If I was searching for something belonging to one of the kids, experience has taught me to look in odd places (like the aforementioned suitcase, or in the pantry, or, I don’t know, on top of the fridge). But these were my slippers. I know where I wear them, and I know where I put them when I take them off.
I looked in all those spots. Multiple times. They were in exactly none of the places they should have been.
Monday mornings can sometimes be a bit rough around here, even when my slippers are exactly where they’re supposed to be.
For starters, well, it’s Monday, which is reason enough all its own.
But beyond that, Jonathan leaves early (and when I say “early,” I mean early, as in before 5 AM early), so he isn’t around to help head off fights between the little two or keep the big two on the straight-and-narrow path of morning chores and responsibilities. Breakfast – which is a real meal in the Palmer household, thank you very much – falls entirely to me.
Add to that the fact that Sundays, which are filled with family and friends and worship, end with a later-than-usual bedtime and, well, you can see how it might be hard for my kids to face the reality of a back-to-school morning.
(Ahem. How it might be hard for me to face the reality of a back-to-school morning.)
I often feel an admittedly self-imposed pressure to hit the ground running at the beginning of the week. Five days to the weekend, and there are plenty of places to go, people to see, things to do.
Oddly enough, “playing hide-and-seek with my slippers” is nowhere to be found on that list of things to do.
In an act of desperation, I asked the kids if they’d seen them.
Miles grinned up at me, clearly pleased with himself.
“I found them yesterday and I HID them!”
(See, I knew they were toying with me.)
I laughed and asked him where they were. He shook his head.
“No, Mama, you have to look for them!”
(Yeah, kiddo, so funny story – that’s what I’d spent the last ten minutes doing.)
I know, I know. They’re just slippers. Why all the fuss? If I really had so much to do, why spend the time searching?
If you really must know: my feet were cold. That’s why.
Sure, but why not find another solution? A pair of warm socks, perhaps, or another choice of footwear. Why be so fixated on a single answer?
Well, the short and easy answer is that I wanted them.
The longer answer is that they’re a part of my routine. In the morning, after I have showered and dressed, I put on my slippers before I do anything else.
As it turns out, I am a creature of habit. And one of those habits is wearing my slippers in the morning, while I’m making breakfast and teaching school. It’s just what I do.
So there I was, with my day starting off on the wrong foot (heh, see what I did there?). Due to unexpected search parties, I had been thrown off of my routine and I was running late. I had freezing toes, a to-do list a mile long, and a sweet-and-silly-yet-oh-so-maddening boy grinning up at me, wanting me to play along.
What’s a mom to do?
Well, this time, I think I got it right.
(Which is not something that happens every time, let me assure you.)
I gritted my teeth, grinned back at him, and said, “Ok, buddy, can you give me a hint?”
Without missing a beat, he pointed to the living room.
“Look in the couches!”
“In the couches?”
He ran over, and mimed looking behind the cushions, beneath the slipcovers, underneath the frame. I did as he instructed on (count them) all four couches in the living room.
(Yes. We have four couches. Well, actually, we have six – no seven – total. Which, when I write it out like that, is insane.)
(It’s a long story. Better not to ask.)
Spoiler alert: the slippers were not anywhere near any of the couches.
Perhaps all of this slipper nonsense was really just a test.
Certain life experiences this past year have resulted in a number of things being added to my plate. This isn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but it can result in me becoming focused on my list, driven by the things I need to accomplish.
(Or, perhaps more accurately, the things I think I need to accomplish.)
In recent weeks, I have been trying to bring more balance back into my life, trying to rebuild those good habits of prayer and reading, of exercise, of writing. I’ve been trying to remind myself that people (and, specifically, my kids) are not interruptions, preventing me from doing the things I need to do. That, more often than not, those people (specifically, my kids) that I sometimes see as interruptions are, in fact, exactly what I should be giving my time and energy to.
Maybe, on this particular Monday morning, what I needed to accomplish was not washing a load of laundry or tidying the kitchen or sweeping the floor. Maybe it was ok if our school day started a few minutes late. Maybe I didn’t need to get to whatever extra thing I would have crossed off my list if my slippers had been where I expected them to be.
Maybe, in playing a silly game with my six-year-old, in going along with his sense of humor and fun, in making myself ridiculous by getting on my hands and knees to hunt (unsuccessfully) for my hidden slippers, I did exactly what I was supposed to do on that particular Monday morning.
(Which, I will admit, sounds much more beautiful and wonderful written out like that than it did in the moment.)
Don’t worry: I finally found the slippers.
They were in the laundry hamper in my closet. Naturally.
(I know. You were super worried.)

Love the way you tell the story!!