You have GOT to be kidding me.

Well, it started out as any other day. We got up, had breakfast, and got dressed. For you see, today we have some errands to run. A trip by the church to drop something off, a stop at the bank, and a quick run to the Wal-Mart. Everything is going fine. I wish that it had occured to me that it was going to be THAT kind of morning. I brushed my teeth, pulled up my hair, gathered the girls' things and started to put on shoes. First, Tater found her sandals and put them on all by herself. Wait to go, big girl. Then, after much protest, Tot's sandals slid on without a hitch. I got my keys, my sunglasses, and was ready to head out the door. All I have left to do is slip my brand-new-New-Balance-slip-on-wanted-more-than-anything-and-had-to-search-3-states-to-find-my-size-and-finally-bought-at-a-6-hours-away-store-that-I-just-happened-to-see-on-our-way-out-of-town tennis shoes. I looked, and I looked, and I looked. I enlisted the help of Tater and Tot to help mommy look for her shoes. I searched high and I searched low. I tore through my closet, the girls' toy boxes in the toy room, the oven, under my bed, under thier beds, in the showers, under the couch cushions, and on the front porch. No luck.
Bet you'll never guess where they were. (At this point you should, if you haven't already, read yesterday's post.)

Yep - you guessed it.

She had thrown them away.

Now, I bet you're thinking - "How cute and funny and it ties in to yesterday's post. The little almost two year old is going through the throw everything in the kitchen trash can phase. What a simple little prank - it could be worse!"

It was.

My tennis shoes weren't in the kitchen trash can. You see, during the frantic turn the house upside down looking for them rant, I actually looked in the kitchen trash. But, no tennis shoes. It was after I had completed this raid that lasted a good twenty minutes, I had this slightest glimmer of a thought. "No, it can't be", I told myself. I went back and looked at the kitchen trash can and , lo and behold, it was relatively empty. Which meant only one thing. My husband had taken the trash out yesterday. I remember him doing it when he was helping me carry the girls in from our outing. Our trash goes into a big-trash-can-on-wheels that is picked up by one of those huge trucks with the arm that comes out and dumps it. On Tuesday. TUESDAY!

It is then that my inner super-hero "can't let anything happen to the shoes" self comes out. I run in leaps and bounds to the curb where the trash can waits. I pray and silent prayer that the big truck hasn't made it yet. I breathe a sigh of releif and a thankful prayer when I am welcomed by that beautiful smell of rotten food, cut grass, and poopy diapers. But I do not delay. I dig right in . My huband and I mowed the yard last night and dumped the bag into the trash can, so that was the first layer to dig through. Then I spotted the old pizza box that he had thrown away with yesterday's trash. I new I was getting close. I scooted around to the other side of the trash can and pulled the first bag out that I saw. I saw a milk jug and a juice jug that I recognized as the latest flavor of the week. Ah, this had to be the one. At this point I was covered in grass and gagging from the stench. But I hastened to see what this bag may behold. I ran my hands around the outside of the bag trying to feel something familiar. Let's see, a diaper, no two diapers, a macaroni and cheese box, paper towels...and then it happened. My hurried fingers landed right on the heel of one of my favorite shoes. There they were, in the midst of poop and milk and ketchup covered paper plates, were my all time favorite shoes. I tore open the bag, which by the way ,somehow smelled worse than the entire trash can, and removed two gray slip on New Balance with the baby blue N. Oh yes, I'll be wearing them to Wal-Mart. I don't care how stinky they are. They are my favorite shoes.

So this is what that whole "one man's trash" thing is all about. Who new?