The Case of the Missing Shoes, or How to Tell Who Your Friends Really Are...

"Mom! I forgot my socks and shoes!" said the panicked voice on the other end of the phone.

Not something you hear every day, right? Now settle in, and let me tell you a story.

It is mid-April, which for us, means band concert season. Yes, three this week alone. And my husband is a military guy, which means his schedule is, well, weird. And at the total mercy of his benevolent Uncle. You know, Sam. We love this Uncle, because he gives us a job and a house, but he can really wreak havoc on a family's evening. But I digress. Back to my story.

Last night was a band concert for a couple of our sons, which is evil on a Thursday, because Thursdays at our house are madness to begin with. All was progressing well; dinner was on the table, people were eating, band uniforms and instruments were at the ready. But, Dad was not home. And he continued to not be home as the clock kept ticking toward departure time.

See, Adam has his German class at the community college on Thursday nights, but we had worked it all out with his teacher--he was going to hop back and forth between the two locations. Yep, no problem. Except Dad was not home. Which meant I had to load up everyone in the big van and drag them all with me across town to the community college, drop off Adam, then get Logan to the school at his appointed time, 40 minutes before the concert was to start. Are you beginning to see the issue here? In my perfect, imaginary world, Dad would get home, and while he was eating a leisurely dinner with the younger ones I could get the older ones to their various destinations, and then save us some seats in the auditorium. All by myself. But nooooo. Now I am hauling everyone with me all over town, and getting to the concert early. WAAAAAY early. Much too early for an almost 18-month-old boy to keep it together for a concert.

But again, I digress.

Got Adam to his class. Got Logan to the school. Played outside with the other children for several minutes, trying to postpone the inevitable walk into the auditorium. Walk into the auditorium, find some seats, and hook Abby up with a friend. Now I'm down to two kids. Dad calls. He's eaten dinner, put everything in the refrigerator, and is on his way. Whew. Kids get restless. I let them wander, and thankfully, people surrounding us are understanding. And nice. Dad gets there in time and we stand for a rousing rendition of the national anthem, with our son playing proudly away on his french horn. Go Logan! Things are going to work out, I just know it.

I listened to the first number (which sounded pretty dang good for a middle school band), and then hustled my buns out of there to go back to the community college to pick up Adam and bring him back to the school for his segment of the concert. I opt to take the baby, because really, he'll be happier in his car seat than in an auditorium, right?

Then I get the call. Yeah, the one from way up there at the beginning of this story.

Apparently, we didn't have it as together as we thought. Son #2, who shall remain nameless for the remainder of the story, forgot his black shoes and socks. A cardinal sin in the band world. You can't just march out on stage in a black band uniform and ratty sneakers. Sorry.

I am halfway to the college at this point, and my mind starts racing with questions: Do I try to get home, grab his socks and shoes, and get him to the school on time? Do I buy him some emergency shoes at WalMart? Will Logan's shoes fit? What size does he wear? Why do we have all these children anyway? They just mess with my plans and give me gray hair!

I quickly realize that there is no way on God's green Earth that we can make it home and back in time. We only have about 25 minutes until Son #2 needs to be walking onto the stage. There is also no way that Logan's will fit him, even if we can get to him in time. My brain is swimming, and then a name and a phone number pop into my head! This dear friend will probably not think I am an insane person for asking for her husband's black shoes, with a pair of socks to match. And I remember her phone number! It's a miracle. I call. She can't find his shoes. Dang. But in her sweet way, she calls four other people, and rounds up a pair of shoes and some socks for my son. They are a size too small, and much too narrow for my wide-footed lad, but as I tempt fate by speeding our huge van around town, he changes into his uniform (shh, don't tell the police), squeezes those shoes on, and hobbles into the band room. Thankfully, all he has to do is get on and off the stage in them, so who cares if he has to curl his toes for a little while. Of course, I found out later that the band had already left the band hall for the stage, so he had to race to catch up. In too-small shoes. Ouch.

I get myself back into the auditorium as the band is assembling themselves on the stage. Husband and Josh have relocated further down in the auditorium so they can see better, so I haul myself and the little man all the way down to join them. We sit through a really great number, and even the baby seems to be enjoying himself. Or maybe it's the sucker I popped into his mouth as we sat down. Hey, don't judge me. You do what you gotta do in these situations.

Then, as the conductor is stepping up onto his podium to start the second piece, the baby knocks his head on the seat in front of us, and begins to wail. ugh. At this point, the conductor steps back off his podium as people begin to chuckle. I haul little one out amid the laughter, and listen to the rest of the concert from out in the lobby. To his credit, DH did signal to me that he'd take the baby, but I was on the aisle. A mistake I don't plan on making again.

So, the moral of this story: Always take your shoes and socks to band concerts. And always have at least one friend who will call everyone she knows to track down emergency shoes for you. And who won't think you are weird. Oh, and get a babysitter for band concert nights. I've got one coming tonight!