You know you’re transitioning from one season to the next when you can’t find matching shoes. We have one red boot still missing from the summer, as are the matches for two right-footed sneakers that belong to my children. No matter. They don’t fit anyone here anyhow.
The basket of cleats is still full of matching pairs, albeit muddy ones. There are my 18-year old soccer cleats, my son’s new ones and the pair abandoned by his brother when he quit soccer shortly after I bought them for him. I’m hoping they’ll fit the kid who still plays come spring. At least they don’t smell like a swamp.
This is, to me, evidence that a season is about to end and another is about to begin. It’s when I wonder where the winter boots are and what I wore on my feet in the snow last year. It’s when I put away the cleats, and when I officially lose track of the flip-flops. (Mark my words: I’ll probably find just the right foot for all of them next May.)
I’m not sure how four people can have so many darn shoes, or why these shoes seem to multiply in the garage by the door to the kitchen like hamsters in a Habitrail cage. I know that the kids outgrow and/or ruin their $12.99 sneakers every four to six months, and that my husband, the marathon runner, never gets rid of the running shoes he’s worn out, leaving him with a wide selection to wear for yard work. I also know that I had to buy my older son a pair of men’s size 7 winter boots this year, knowing that he’ll actually hand them down to me next year for the first time ever.
The shoes (which I organized for the photo in case my mother-in-law reads this) come with what I call Seasonal Shoe Disorder, which can cause headaches and malaise. Also, tripping, especially when I’m bringing in the groceries. The cure is to give up on finding the matches for shoes that don’t fit anyhow, and to make a few worn out running shoes “disappear.” Then maybe I won’t end up searching for soccer cleats next spring, or wondering what I wore on my feet to the beach last summer.