The Case of the Missing Brown Sandals

Today, it's raining. Ian makes a note of his footwear as we're walking through the park. I also have footwear on my mind because I just bought Ian and Julian each a pair of nice brown, leather sandals when they need to be taken somewhere where "park rat" attire won't cut it. We went to a birthday party last night and I turned the house upside down looking for Ian's, but to no avail. I even emptied corners of their closet that I swore I would only empty in the event of war or an act of God.

"Mom? Ya know what?"

I nod.

"I'm not wearing my boots today so I can't jump in the puddles."

"No, you can't."

"And you know what else, Mom?" I nod again. "You couldn't find my brown sandals yesterday."

Genius. Thanks for the reminder. Ian continues. "You couldn't find them because I hid them in a suitcase so you couldn't put them on me and I could wear my cool sandals."

What?! I'm shaking my head. This, I'm sure, is not the first or last time one of my sons will put something over on me. I'm thunderstruck, however, by his sly creativity, his ability to do it without me ever noticing, and his ability to keep completely mum about it until he is halfway to school the next day and safely out of range of another wardrobe change. His execution of the scheme was flawless and cool-headed. I had to hand it to him.

I look down at him while he spins his yellow umbrella over his shoulder and walks along next to me. He looks gleefully self-satisfied. "Ian, I had no idea you were so sneaky."

He nods in acknowledgement and his tone is slightly sympathetic. "Yeah, Mom. You have to watch out for me."

No doubt. Jean-Paul strikes again.