Shoes

It's no secret that there are shoes strewn all over the house every. single. day. 

I am no saint. They are mostly mine. I try to put them where they belong, but I just can't do it captain! 

(What movie? What movie?)

These itty bitty Adidas are the only ones that don't get into my psyche. They are a precursor to the days my baby girl comes home from sports practice and lazily takes off her sneakers, while swiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. She will then walk swiftly over to the fridge and grab some ice water or perhaps even take a swig of the cold OJ straight out of the bottle. Of course, I'll hasten her for doing such a nasty "guy" thing, but will smirk because I once did that too. My favorite girl will then walk upstairs to shower, change, and maybe talk on the phone or do her homework. As she does so, she will blindly step over her dirty sneakers, and not even give them a second thought. I will probably yell her full name, "Eliana Marie Richardson," and tell her that I am not her maid, and for her to pick up her sneakers this instant. She'll pretend not to hear me, and I will sigh, pick up the shoes, and put them where they belong, while smirking a knowing smile the whole way. 

"This is the time to remember, cause it will not last forever."