I trip over them, I pick them up. I yell at them to pick them up. I clean up the dusty mess they leave behind.
But there are blessings in each of those soles.
That we have two feet to put into them.
That we are healthy enough to run around in them.
That we have a house to pile them up in.
That we have more than one pair to wear, each. And that we have the money to replace some of them soon.
The fact that they are all piled up at 11:30am on a Wednesday means one thing, the kids are all home on break. Even if I am trying to work. They are here, fighting, sneaking electronic time, playing ball, riding bikes, complaining there’s nothing to eat, laughing, chasing each other with the hose (did I mention fighting). But they are here. With me.
I’ll try to remember this the next time I feel the urge to start shutting the windows so the neighbors don’t hear me yelling.