*Ugh. Yes. With each passing year I am growing ever more aware that the bulk of my pop cultural references/puns are growing ever more outdated. I'm a walking Onion article. From 2003. Which is also suspiciously the last time I made a joke that could be considered "current" or "with-it" or "a far-out-happening-fun-time gag."
ANYWAY. We need to discuss the above pile of socks. After letting my children's laundry pile up to embarassing levels over winter break — to the point where one or more of them were wandering into my bedroom every morning to mournfully inform me that they had no pants/underwear/socks/long-sleeve shirts, while I muttered fitfully from under the covers to just GET SOMETHING OUT OF THE HAMPER, Y'ALL GOTS NO PLACE TO BE TODAY ANYWAY -- I finally had to cave and run eleventy different loads of wash, one right after another.
At one point, three complete wardrobes were arranged in teetering piles around my living room as I folded and folded and sorted and stacked. There were size 6s and 3Ts and 24 months to set aside, as everyone is solidly in 7s and 4Ts and 2Ts and I KNOW, it's like there's this whole mythical clothing code that only makes sense to parents of very young children, but only kind of, because how has my 19-month-old outgrown the 24-month clothing, and why do the 3T pants show off Ezra's ankles while the 4Ts puddle around his toes and tackle him to the floor on a regular basis, and DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN I JUST BOUGHT NOAH SIZE 6 PANTS, HOW ARE THEY TOO SMALL ON HIM ALREADY?
ALSO WHAT: Do you children just wander around leaving a trail of mismatched mittens behind you at all times like breadcrumbs? Because Jesus.
But the socks. The socks were the worst. They covered the entire coffee table and Jason and I very literally spent several hours sorting through them, trying to pair them up and guess whose foot they currently fit, since we rarely splurge on the "fancy" socks anymore, the kind with the sizes printed on the bottom, like them fancy movie stars wear.
And also what, you know, the fuck:
Did the sock on the left shrink? Or did we (foolishly! like foolish fools!) buy Noah and Ezra identical packs of socks in different sizes? And good Christ, seriously? We managed to lose the same sock twice, basically? For double the uselessness but quadruple the "oh look I found a match oh wait shit nevermind" annoyance?
And speaking of poor purchasing decisions:
These three little orphans came from the same jumbo-sized value pack (VALUPAK!) of socks, and I'm guessing we already lost most of the over fourteen slightly-different color/stripe variations.
Now, I'm aware that different stripe colors should not matter in the slightest, when you're talking about 1) BOYS, and 2) stripes that go on the BOTTOM OF THE FOOT, but somehow I managed to birth not one, but two boy children who care — DEEPLY — about the exact matching status of their socks. They will routinely put their underwear on backwards and their shirts on inside-out and will fail to notice that hey, buddy, I think that shirt is actually one of the baby's unsnapped onesies.
And yet if I were to hand them any two of the above socks and say something like, "It doesn't matter, just put your shoes on and no one will ever know,"...well. Look. I tried it once. It did not go over well. Ezra spent the entire day trying to hide from us so he could remove his shoes and socks in peace, and eventually succeeded and I found the socks in his coat pockets, when I was looking for his mittens.
The mittens were never found, and on second thought I think those socks might be Noah's, anyway, so maybe they were annoying him for size reasons as well. But NOAH'S sock issues go just as deep — if not deeper, as we once got into an argument over a pair of gray socks because gray socks are not real socks. Only white socks are real, Mom.
(Needless to say, Noah has a wonderful supply of pristine and fully paired-up gray socks up in his room. One day they shall pass down to Ezra and we shall promply lose 79.3892% of them within a week.)
(Rubs temples, pulls sock lint out of forehead wrinkles)
There are 35 different socks in that top picture. THIRTY. FIVE. None of which have a match anymore, thanks to (I assume) our sock-eating washing machine and/or the sock-eating space behind our washing machine or some other sock-eating vortex I am not aware of. How did my children even come to OWN that many pairs of socks? Doesn't that seem...excessive, especially considering the several dozen intact pairs I managed to put together?
Anyway, I cannot believe I just ranted for that many paragraphs about socks. (AND WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH AIRLINE PEANUTS?) They've just been sitting there in front of me for two days now, taunting me in their own little socky pile way. Throw us out! They say. We dare you! You'll find our mate 10 seconds later and will regret it forever! Turn us into (disgusting, pilly) mini sock puppets or (gross, greyish-brown) lavender sachets so we may better haunt you for years!
In other words, parenting. You will spend all of your money on socks. You will spend all of your time sorting and folding and cursing at socks. You will then promptly lose all the socks. Then one day when you are old you will find this in between the couch cushions and cry yourself to sleep, because WOOKIT THE WITTLE SOCK GAH OH GOD SUNRISE SUNSET.