Yesterday we spent over two hours looking for Gracie’s shoes.
Well, not shoes, exactly, so much as her flip flops. Fashionable multi-colored peace-sign bedeckled flip flops. Her new flip flops.
I should mention that her little sister has a great affinity for these flip flops - for all shoes, everywhere - and that Bee’s feet are almost as big as Gracie’s. And Bee has taken a liking to wearing her sister’s shoes around the house.
Yes, at the tender ages of almost-8 and almost-6, we’re at that stage when one sister (usually Bee) will wear the other sister’s shoes, clothes, purse, jewelry, etc, and then the owner of said item cannot find it. And holy hell rains down all over us poor Casa de Katie inhabitants.
I really thought I had more time before this happened. I was thinking, oh, say – 15? 13? Some time half past EIGHT AND SIX for sure. But, no. It’s already here.
We found Gracie’s flip flops late yesterday afternoon, after running the errand that required shoes to be worn. They were in the one place we didn’t think to look: the food pantry, on the floor next to the trash can. Because obviouslywhen you’re throwing something away or pondering what snack you’d like to beg your mother to please let you eat, you must stop and take off your shoes mid-strategy session. …
All pleasant little white lies I was sweetly whispering in my head that this was just an aberration died a rather violent death a few hours later when the girls were cleaning from a weekend of being indoors. Gracie picked up one of her tie-front shrugs from under the couch – one that Bee had been wearing, coincidentally – and started shrieking at the top of her angry-voice, “BEE! IF YOU’RE GOING TO WEAR MY CLOTHES, YOU HAVE TO PUT THEM AWAY!!!“
There was no pretending after that. It’s here. The teenagery clothes-fighting has smote me down already. And now I live in fear.