So....

The past few days haven't been particularly fun in NBO land. Without going into details that aren't ours to share, suffice it to say that there is currently a lot of sadness within our extended family. Jimmy and I are going through the daily motions of working, and raising our children, and doing everything we are supposed to do. Barely under the surface, however, we are constantly thinking about the people we wish we could be with right now, and wishing we could do something for them.

Of course, the only thing you can really do for anyone is be there. And, since we can't physically do that, we are being there in our heads. And our hearts. And with every ounce of our being.

And the other thing I can do, perhaps, is bring a brief, small smile to someone's face. Because, well, you have to do something. Even if that something isn't much of anything. And because, even in the face of despair, and devastation, and incredible sadness, sometimes you still need to hear yourself laugh.

And that is the spirit in which I am writing this.


Today I took NBO shopping for shoes. Shoes are the bane of my existence. In our house, someone is always looking for shoes, or throwing shoes, or drinking from shoes. I blame this on Jimmy. We have a picture from our wedding in which he is drinking champagne out of my shoe. Don't tell me he's not romantic. I'd been wearing those things for twelve hours, in ninety degree heat.

Romantic as he may be, I think he has passed this shoe, uh, interest, onto our children. If you're looking for shoes in our house, check near the water dispenser. Or the dog's bowl. More recently, we've found shoes in the toilet, though you're just as likely to find them in the sink. Occasionally we find them under the bed, or under the couch, or hidden in Jimmy's underwear drawer. But that cute bench near the front door that's the perfect spot for everyone to leave their shoes? You'll never find them there.

 I hesitate to bring more shoes into our house, because I know that's just another pair that someone may try to flush down the toilet, or throw at their brother, or drink milk out of (we don't let them drink champagne from them. Yet). However, B will be starting pre-school soon, and the one pair of shoes he currently owns is not going to cut it. I refuse to spend three mornings a week searching under beds, and in the toilet, and under the book case for shoes. Clearly, he needs a back up pair. This way, I'll only spend one and half mornings a week searching for shoes. And, with summer coming to an end, I figured it made sense to get new shoes for all three. 

B was easy. Spiderman sneakers here we come. O was easy once we figured out that we needed to buy his shoes from the "Toddlers with Feet the Size of Linebackers" section.  I thought N would be fairly easy, except that she needed more than one pair. And I knew that I only had a limited amount of time to find them before B and O tore the store apart. As it happened, they were sitting quietly in the stroller just a few feet away as N and I looked at shoes. They were so quiet, in fact, that you'd hardly know they were there.

That should have been my first clue.

After N and I had decided on one pair for her and were in the process of trying on a second, I noticed that people seemed to be, well, weaving, as they passed by in front of B and O. The first time, I thought the woman was just uncoordinated. The second time, I thought maybe there was something on the floor that caused the girl to walk like that. The third time, I was pretty sure I saw something fly through the air as a guy walking by appeared to duck.

As it turns out, I had inadvertently parked the stroller--with B and O in it--next to a display of women's underwear.

As I was helping N try on shoes, B and O were doing a great job of quietly entertaining themselves.

By throwing nearly every pair of underwear from that display onto the floor in front of them, regardless of whether or not someone happened to be walking by at the time. No wonder people were weaving and ducking as they walked by. They were dodging flying underwear.

I have to hand it to B and O, though. They're quite a team. When I finally realized what was happening, I noticed that B was talking quietly to O the whole time. "O, give me some pink ones...now some red ones...". O would hand him a pair, and B would toss them onto the floor in front of him, making his own little rainbow of skivvies across the department store floor.


I have to say, that O is a smart boy. He not only knows all of his colors, but I'm pretty sure he now knows the difference between a bikini and a thong.

N grabbed her new pairs of shoes as I picked up twenty pairs of ladies underwear from the floor. We stood in line not once, but twice, since B's Spiderman shoes were accidentally rung up twice. I figure the cashier thought that, with the noise level that was now coming from the stroller, there must be a fourth child in there who was getting new shoes, too.

As we waited in line, B and O growled at the people behind us. Continually. And Loudly. One woman glared at them. They glared back. Another woman told them they didn't scare her. I told her she's pretty brave, because they scare me, and I gave birth to them. One cashier just stared at us, obviously wondering why I was wasting money on shoes instead of straight jackets or a behavior modification program. Our cashier smiled a lot but didn't actually say anything. I think we made her nervous. As we waited in line the second time, to get the extra pair of shoes taken off our bill, another woman came up next to me and said, "I think we got here at the same time. Can I go first?"

Sure. Of course. Why wouldn't you--who is here by yourself - go first? I mean, that makes so much more sense than for me--who is going through this line for the second time, with a pack of growling, thong throwing wild animals-- to go first.

No, of course I didn't say that out loud. Instead, I gave her my biggest smile, and said "Yes, please go first.  All the other parents will probably enjoy having us here a little longer. It makes them feel better about their own kids behavior problems."

OK, fine, so then I growled at her.

It's not like I threw a thong at her.