Socks are a Problem
Socks are a very big problem.
Every day that I write or paint, I do not wash socks. How many days in a row can I go?
This morning, the bus was nearly to our house, and Little Guy still had bare feet.
“Mom! I can’t find any socks!”
“Did you look in your drawer?”
“Naw. They’re usually not there.”
What kind of sad commentary is that?
“Look in my studio, Dear.”
Of course that’s where we keep the socks.
And the rest of the Laundry Tidal Wave. The doors close, so I can live in denial that we are about to be overrun by laundry.
“Hey, Mom!” He comes out yelling. “Wow! Thanks, Mom! A matched set! That almost never happens!”
So, due to the snow this week, instead of the usual 56 socks randomly thrown in the laundry room of doom, we have “Bonus Socks.”
Bonus Socks are what you get when Little Guy plays really hard out in the mud, like this:
Socks are a very big problem.
Every day that I write or paint, I do not wash socks. How many days in a row can I go?
This morning, the bus was nearly to our house, and Little Guy still had bare feet.
“Mom! I can’t find any socks!”
“Did you look in your drawer?”
“Naw. They’re usually not there.”
What kind of sad commentary is that?
“Look in my studio, Dear.”
Of course that’s where we keep the socks.
And the rest of the Laundry Tidal Wave. The doors close, so I can live in denial that we are about to be overrun by laundry.
“Hey, Mom!” He comes out yelling. “Wow! Thanks, Mom! A matched set! That almost never happens!”
So, due to the snow this week, instead of the usual 56 socks randomly thrown in the laundry room of doom, we have “Bonus Socks.”
Bonus Socks are what you get when Little Guy plays really hard out in the mud, like this:
Bonus Socks are also earned when you have a wonderful blizzard like the one that hit the midwest this week. Bonus Socks are hanging everywhere. They are drying on the rack in the entryway (they are supposed to be there). They are hanging, quite damp, by the fireplace in great anticipation. I mean, if you were a kid and you were told to hang up your socks to dry, wouldn’t it occur to you that, um, snow…socks….fireplace….they go together. Maybe Santa will come four or five weeks early, it’s worth a shot. There are bonus socks under the couches, in their beds, and everywhere else. When a kid’s socks are wet with melting snow, they just have to come off right then. Or that’s what they tell me. What do I know? I just wash ‘em.
On the subject of snow, the kids enjoyed it enough for all of us. I watched as they flung themselves from the top of the hill, bellyflopping without a sled, trying to swoosh to the bottom. They used no sleds because sadly, I wouldn’t let them. What a dumb call to have to make. I hate refereeing. But twice last year, kids on sleds crashed into a post thingy about half way down the hill. It didn’t look very important, but both times our septic system alarm went screaming off, and no one could flush any toilets or take any showers till the septic superman came to fix it. And based on that picture of socks, we clearly need the shower. But I know that now the snow is here, I will cave in a few days. They will be sailing down the hill on sleds, building jumps and flying.
Small One likes to build, too. She built a snowman. I stand corrected: A snow girl. She ran to the house, excitement so high she was bounding.
On the subject of snow, the kids enjoyed it enough for all of us. I watched as they flung themselves from the top of the hill, bellyflopping without a sled, trying to swoosh to the bottom. They used no sleds because sadly, I wouldn’t let them. What a dumb call to have to make. I hate refereeing. But twice last year, kids on sleds crashed into a post thingy about half way down the hill. It didn’t look very important, but both times our septic system alarm went screaming off, and no one could flush any toilets or take any showers till the septic superman came to fix it. And based on that picture of socks, we clearly need the shower. But I know that now the snow is here, I will cave in a few days. They will be sailing down the hill on sleds, building jumps and flying.
Small One likes to build, too. She built a snowman. I stand corrected: A snow girl. She ran to the house, excitement so high she was bounding.
“Guess what, Mom! Guess what, Mom! My snow girl likes snowball fights! She doesn’t even care if I toss a snowball at her face! See?!?!”
With vigor, she chucked a powdery white snowball at the snow girl. She was right. Snow Girl didn’t even flinch. Later, at supper, I commented to the family how sweetly she played.
“You’re kidding, right Mom?” said a wiser child. “Do you know what happened to that Snow Girl?”
I calmly scooped up another ladle of potato soup, and admitted I didn’t.
“Well…The older guys were down at the bottom of the hill, having a snowball fight. Small One pushed her Snow Girl all the way to the edge of the hill,”
“And heaved her off the side!” chimed in another kid. “The big Snow Girl rolled all the way down to where we were playing. Small One ran down the hill after her, yelling like Wallace the Bruce, and joined in our fight.”
After supper, I looked up Wallace the Bruce. Can’t look ignorant to the son on topics of history. Apparently, among other things his mother would never want to know, Wallace is remembered for opportunistic and surprise attacks, strategically using terrain to his advantage.
Hmmm… perhaps I can train her (and them!) to use the mountainous sock terrain in my home to lead attacks against the laundry pile. Now that would be a surprise.
Maybe I could reward them in clean and dry Bonus Socks.
With vigor, she chucked a powdery white snowball at the snow girl. She was right. Snow Girl didn’t even flinch. Later, at supper, I commented to the family how sweetly she played.
“You’re kidding, right Mom?” said a wiser child. “Do you know what happened to that Snow Girl?”
I calmly scooped up another ladle of potato soup, and admitted I didn’t.
“Well…The older guys were down at the bottom of the hill, having a snowball fight. Small One pushed her Snow Girl all the way to the edge of the hill,”
“And heaved her off the side!” chimed in another kid. “The big Snow Girl rolled all the way down to where we were playing. Small One ran down the hill after her, yelling like Wallace the Bruce, and joined in our fight.”
After supper, I looked up Wallace the Bruce. Can’t look ignorant to the son on topics of history. Apparently, among other things his mother would never want to know, Wallace is remembered for opportunistic and surprise attacks, strategically using terrain to his advantage.
Hmmm… perhaps I can train her (and them!) to use the mountainous sock terrain in my home to lead attacks against the laundry pile. Now that would be a surprise.
Maybe I could reward them in clean and dry Bonus Socks.
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