Let's talk about shoes.

I was reading a post on Ohdeedoh this afternoon that got me thinking about shoes.  The main picture in this post is this quaint little basket of summer footwear, carefully styled, and residing by what is clearly a main entrance.

This is where my mind began to wander to my own house.  I know, it's sad, the basket of shoes is not really the point of the post at all, but the sight of it pulls me to a constant annoyance I carry, and have carried, ever since my husband and I moved in together over 10 years ago.  I can be a bit of a festerer, I admit, but I have not come to a suitable solution, and I am flummoxed.

My apologies, shoes seem to be a bit of a theme this week, since my earlier post involved the stinky kind.  But this post is simply about numbers.  We now live in a lovely house with a proper entrance.  It is a luxury we have not had EVER, and, I assure you, I am thankful for it each and every day as I shove the door open with one hip – a baby on the other – 5 bags, a sippy, a blanket and my keys in my hand as I shout to my wanderer to "hurry up and get inside before all the cold air gets out!"  – Wait, I'm pretty sure I have heard that line before somewhere...  Hmmm.  Nevermind.  – And for the first time, I can enter my house and fully turn around without knocking something off the wall or slamming into another door.  It really is dreamy.

But then I look down and slowly up the short flight of stairs to the living room, and what do I see?  SHOES!  EVERYWHERE!  This is not a new phenomenon.  Even when our entryway was a 3' square, there were piles of shoes spilling into every available space and making it so that the door would only open about 8".  – I assure you, a pregnant woman does not do well in these conditions –  But now, not pregnant, able to completely open the front door and rangling two shoe-wearing little creatures, I am still welcomed every night by a cascade of shoes.

I admit, it is a very lovely thing to have the kids trained to remove their snowy/muddy/wet/salty/stinky footwear at the door.  And I take no responsibility for said feat.  My husband is the "no shoes in the house" nazi.  (I save my neurosis for other areas of the home.  Towels on the rods folded in perfect thirds, please!)  But the consequence of this mandate is an ever-growing pile of stinky/dirty shoes at the front door.  "Welcome to my shoe store!  It's all used, but very cute."

Brett was trained well, and, in a house with light-colored carpet (although we mostly have hardwood), it makes a lot of good sense.  I assume, however, the second part of the training was to also carry said shoes to your room and put them away, but I don't know.  We never had the "no shoes" rule when I was growing up.  Maybe because my whole family spent most of the time barefoot anyway, I don't know, I'm from Iowa.  But until that first apartment where shoe racks were installed at the DOOR after we moved in, I had never experienced this phenomenon.  (At least in the apartment they were organized.)

Mom thought maybe if we put a basket by the door of our new house, then the shoes could at least be contained.  But, no.  They have filled the basket, spilled to the floor, and are slowly marching in organized pairs up the front staircase.  What is a girl to do!?

I refuse to be the mom that just cleans up after everyone all the time.  What lesson does that teach other than, "Please tip your waitstaff?"  And you know, my husband has impeccable taste in shoes, but I would much rather see them on his feet than under mine.  (Love you, honey.)

So, that's the shoe rant.  What is the solution, friends?  More baskets?  Cubbies?  A sign that says, "Please keep your shoes on until you are within throwing distance of your closet?"

Your sage advice is welcomed.  And please, if your feet are cold, come on over, we have shoes to spare.