At the very top of the bin that holds my three boys’ shoes sits a bright red reminder of a parenting promise I broke — roughly six years into motherhood.
Every time I’m in the mudroom, I see them.
Scuffed. Faded. Velcro barely hanging on. The lights in the soles, once flashing with obnoxious enthusiasm, now blink only occasionally, like they’re too tired to keep up (much like myself).
They should have been tossed months ago. Instead, I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Because those shoes represent the last parenting rule I held onto from the days before I actually had children.
I had all these parenting rules before having kids
You know the…
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