Flip flops

This child…sweet, precious, STRONG willed, brilliant child of mine is…well…just precious. No matter the hour of the morning, be it 5:30 a.m. or a lovely 7:30 a.m., she comes downstairs with her sleepy eyes and WILD hair with two things in tow: faithful Buddy and flip flops. Flip flops as if she’s headed out (she likes the sound they make). She’s barely awake and won’t speak for a good few minutes, but she’s coherent enough to climb out of  bed, open her closet and search for a [matching] pair of flip flops- from the 345 pairs covering her closet floor (some battles aren’t worth fighting- just shut the door).

And we laugh because it’s hilarious to us. She can’t tell you her name at whatever hour she wakes up, but by golly, the girl has her flip flops on. It’s just funny to us.

This morning, I cursed the flip flops, I sure did. They aren’t allowed at school. They are too dangerous for the playground, bikes, etc. I get that. We follow the rules at our house. Yet, we couldn’t find the SIX pairs of “school shoes” we own. COULDN’T.FIND.THEM. Not one pair. We don’t play in the mornings…we get up and get OUT! So, I sat, rather impatiently, until she found her shoes. Has it even been 12 hours since we took a pair off (I recall asking)? Unlikely.

We found A pair about the time I’m usually pulling up at work, but nonetheless we found some. They were all in hiding. I’m convinced the owner of said pair hid them, hid them ALL in attempt to “have” to wear flip flops to school. Somehow they all ended up in the same hidden pile. Amazing. I’m pretty sure that was a well thought out (and almost executed) plan in her little mind that took place while she was supposed to be asleep last night.

Precious precious precious.

(you don't have to be so jealous of my honey mustard sink/counter tops. It's project #987. I'll let you have it when we rip it out)