My daughter, Kelly, loses her shoes on a daily basis. Her morning routine starts when she wakes up. She throws on some clothes, runs a hairbrush through the top layer of her hair, and pours enough cereal in her bowl to uncover the prize. Then, like Moses in the desert, she wanders through the house looking for her shoes. I use the term “looking” loosely; if I didn’t help, I’m pretty sure she’d use up the same 40 years Moses did.

Here’s the funny part: she can find other things without any problem. The other day I watched as she pored over the book “Where’s Waldo?” Like most kids, she loves searching for the little guy they intentionally hide among the pages. She’ll focus with laser-like concentration until she finds him. (If they really wanted to stump kids, they’d call the book “Where’s Waldo’s Shoe?”)

I don’t think lack of intelligence is the issue; Kelly has a good understanding of concepts like “under,” “behind” and “downstairs.” But when it comes to shoes, she draws a blank, like a trauma victim blocking out a painful memory. She’ll only look for her shoes in places that are completely obvious. Like on her feet.

Her eyesight isn’t the trouble, either, except for her peripheral vision. It comes and goes. It works perfectly at the mall when she’s trying to find the right fashion accessory at Claire’s. During the morning shoe search, it shuts down to conserve power.

One time, I thought we had a breakthrough. Kelly went downstairs to find her shoes, and she was actually gone for more than a minute without calling for help! Ten minutes went by; I got curious and went downstairs to check. I found she was making excellent progress: on her Barbie puzzle.

“Where are your shoes?” I asked.

“Shoes….” she murmured absently. “Oh yeah, I forgot!”

Short-term memory failure at such an early age is sad.

“I know what the problem is,” my husband, Steve, said. “She doesn’t make an effort because she knows you’ll rescue her!”

I couldn’t believe he could be so clueless. “I’m not helping, I’m teaching!” I explained impatiently. “Don’t you ever watch Animal Planet? Lion cubs learn by example! They follow along as the mother stalks her prey! You might think they’re not paying attention, but they’re watching every move. That’s the reason they’re eventually able to survive on their own!”

It’s true; as I walk through the house, Kelly shuffles along behind me. I’m poised for any sign that her shoes might be near: my muscles tense as I walk by a pile of clothes in the bathroom…my nostrils flare as I pass a jumbled mess on her bedroom floor…my hair stands on end as I see a trail of mud in the entry way. I do it all so that someday she’ll become independent enough to strike out with her own pack.

This morning, looking for Kelly’s shoes seemed to take even longer than usual. By the time we spotted them, I was relieved. Not that we’d finally found them, although I was glad for that.

Mostly I was happy they still fit.