Have you ever seen a random shoe in the road and wonder how that happens? Whose shoe is laying out there on the side of the road and where is the foot that misses it?
I have the answer.
It belongs to Eliza. Not just a single shoe, either. A complete pair.
I blame it on a bad day and a bad habit.
Darn gum chewers.
Not to put any gum chewing readers on the defensive, but I find it a little bit gross. I don't mind the occasional stick for someone's desire to freshen their breath, but the constant jaw smacking sound, cud chewing motion or seeing a wad clamped out the front of the teeth of a child as they talk to you - I find it all a bit disturbing. It's my personal little pet peeve, I know, and I deal.
BUT, when that habit becomes my problem, it becomes a problem.
What I didn't document along our road trip was how many times I stepped in a wad of sticky, disgusting chewing gum. I think Utah must be the chewing gum capital of the world, and it shared its passion for the habit with the sole of every pair of shoes I brought with me there.
My disdain for the substance was fresh on my brain in the days after we arrived home as I was in the flurry of errands to catch up with life. Errands and Bridger don't mix. Errands and Bridger and heat is a lethal cocktail. So when I had just hauled a screaming Bridger back into the car with his wheelchair for the 7th time that afternoon as I was thoroughly sweating in the heat and humidity and turned around to see Eliza battling the world's largest wad of grayish melted goo of gum on both of her sneakers, my brain only saw one option in the sanity column - abandon shoe.
I exhaustively told her just to leave her shoes. She looked at me, confused. "Yep," I said, "just leave them and get in the car and do your buckles."
Once I clarified my intention to her, she thought it was hilarious.
Heat and humidity can do that to a mom.
Gum chewers - I promise not to think less of you for your choice of habits as long as you don't think less of me for leaving a pair of shoes in the middle of the parking lot. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
If you happen to find a cute pair of slightly smelly, little red sneakers with soles covered in gum laying in the road, finder's keepers.